Tea Turbulence and Coffee Convulsions

I wonder what is it in coffee (and tea) that makes loo visits more frequent. And come to think of it, I can’t understand why tea and coffee are served at an alarming frequency to airline passengers. The other thing that baffled me, is that even knowing what tea and coffee can do, diuretically (is this even a word?), the airlines seem to turn a blind eye at the fact that there is just not enough loo-boxes inside aeroplanes!

Methinks that the airline people are secretly enjoying themselves, as they watch (or think, or know) how their passengers are lining outside the loo-cubicles crossing and uncrossing their legs, hopping from one foot to another trying to keep it in. Some might even pray to any loo-deity they know so they may reach the loo in time, before they discharge down one leg and spend the rest of their lord-knows-how-long flight in misery.

Because you know they hardly let anybody bring anything in your carry-on luggage anymore these days. One day it might be: 100mL of trousers. What is that? a pair of short pants or a bermuda?

Unless of course, you are in First Class instead of Back-of-the-Class Class, for which one might be expected to pay an arm, a leg and through the nose, or the equivalent thereof. Then, not only will you get your very own loo-box of a slightly larger size and more pleasant mood-/ambient-lighting, you might be allowed to bring whatever hell it is you want in your carry-on. A change of wardrobe, and whatnots. I suspect they might even let you carry your hamster, cat, or possibly a pygmy camel or an endagered tarantula on board.

You might even be allowed shoot your own Snakes on a Plane home video.

Because First Class means you’re special. Surely, a person with one arm, one leg, and a nasal passage connected to one’s wallet is considered special.

say goodnight

silence soars softly into the night
prayers wisp-whispers upon thy brows,
as calm clear water that balms and soothes
wearied wings past a day-long flight.

the sun sings as it slumbers
a lullaby of magenta and warm bright ambers.

then the moon smiles
quiet, simple, and slight
amidst promises
and the twinkling night.

the world ends.
the dream begins.

The Plurk People

Disclaimer the First: don’t expect this to be a structured essay on anything. this is more a blather than anything else, a stream of consciousness of a very confused mind. Read with caution, and expect to come out at the end of this with a headache.

Disclaimer the Second: this is not about how to use Plurk, that is: no technical advice to be found anywhere on this page. This is about my life with Plurk, three weeks worth of it.

Those who know me, and know me well, know that I am all about procrastination. So, unsurprisingly, I am ecstatic to have found a thing called Plurk. And it doesn’t take long to get addicted. And unlike many other things, I skipped the denial phase, and went straight to the unrepentant card-carrying addict. For me, it’s not a Shakespearean “to plurk or not to plurk”, it’s more “to plurk or to plurk even more”.

What is plurk, you ask? What animal is it? How do you use it? For this, I refer you to the great wisdom of these wonderful people: Leonnie, Imansyah, Ivan Lanin, Teeg, Rheta, Plurktionary, and Indonesian Plurkers Wiki Site.

Oversleeping and Efficiency

I woke up this morning to find I’ve overslept. After the initial scramble out of the bed, thudding onto the floor, wrestling out of the tangle of sheets and slipping on cold, morning floor, suddenly everything fell into place. Everything became a single-minded, almost automated attempt to make good time. In the bathroom, out the bathroom; food on the stove, and straight to the breakfast table, off to the sink…

Teeth, brush, brush, brush, spit. A drop of mouthwash. Or two.

Change. Shoes on feet. And suddenly I’m out of the door.

Forty-five minutes. Or was it even less?

I finally realised that things could be so efficient in the morning. That I don’t need to wake up so bloody early to plod along doing useless stuff to make one eyes realise that it’s not supposed to close that long anymore, to coax the body to forget staying horizontal. Or such like.

So, I’m going to try oversleeping again tomorrow.

Of course, the downside is that I can’t bum around drinking my morning coffee and reading the “Irate Readers Letters” section of the paper in the morning. But, I get more sleep, which I value very highly — being the sloth-incarnate that I am, I guess.

Trash in the Sea

Seeing the multitude of trash floating in the sea and on the shores of Jakarta Bay, a friend said, “Disgusting. Humans! Deplorable!”

Another friend walked up to her and said, “I still maintain that they are debris washed ashore from Atlantis.”

“GOSH! Is that…?” a friend asked, pointing at a floating woman’s sanitary napkin, unable to finish her sentence.

“Ariel’s not pregnant yet, is she? Mermaids.”

And speaking of mermaids, a short and entirely forgettable-come-midday topic: “The Starbuck Siren Slash Mermaid: Porn or Not”. Obviously, my mailing list isn’t the place for up-to-date coffee house gossip. But, just in case I need to know about it later, I’m putting down the links here. Just for my information, really: here and here.

Empire (Stephen Howe, 2002) pt.01

Author: Stephen Howe
Title: Empire (part of the “A Very Short Introduction” series)
Publisher: Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK
Year of Publication: 2002
Status: Draft, In Progress, Unbetaed; Previous Part(s): 00

Pendahuluan: Berita yang saya baca hari ini…

Sebagian besar dari sejarah dunia adalah sejarah mengenai kekaisaran. Bahkan, dapat dikatakan bahwa semua sejarah adalah sejarah imperialisme — atau [sejarah] kolonial, apabila seseorang memilih arti luasnya atau mundur cukup jauh. Karena buku pendek ini hendak mengatakan sesuatu mengenai keseluruhan sejarah manusia, dari jaman yang paling awal dan melingkupi keseluruhan bumi ini, tempat memulai yang paling masuk akal adalah koran hari ini.

Empire (Stephen Howe, 2002) pt.00

Author: Stephen Howe
Title: Empire (part of the “A Very Short Introduction” series)
Publisher: Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK
Year of Publication: 2002

Sejarah dunia adalah sejarah tentang kekaisaran besar — sebuah sejarah yang belum berakhir. Kita bukan hanya sedang hidup dengan warisan kekaisaran-kekaisaran kolonial agung dari jaman yang sudah lalu, tetapi juga di suatu dunia moderen dengan ekonomi yang dibuat berdasarkan sistem imperium itu. Ada banyak yang berpikir bahwa Internet adalah bentuk baru dari “kekaisaran global”, bahwa gagasan “hukum internasional” adalah sebuah penipuan maha-besar, dan bahkan negara Inggris (Britainia) itu sendiri merupakan koloni terakhir di dalam Kerajaan Inggris Raya (British Empire).

Buku ini mencapai sesuatu yang gagal dicapai oleh buku lainnya dalam pokok bahasan ini: melihat bagaimana ‘gagasan sebuah kekaisaran’ itu diartikan sepanjang sejarah — dari jaman kekaisaran Romawi kuno, sepanjang pemerintahan Genghis Khan, Raj Inggris, kolonisasi benua Amerika oleh pelaut-pelaut Spanyol, Perdagangan Budak di Jalur Atlantik, dan Kekaisaran Soviet, hingga saat ini — mengurai penggunaan dan penyalahgunaan nama (julukan) ‘kekaisaran’ (empire) dan ‘kolonial’, dan menawarkan sebuah pengamatan yang meyakinkan mengenai perubahan-perubahan mendasar di dunia moderen ini.

Irritating callers

Often, when you most need peace and quiet to finish up the day’s work and just go home… unwanted things happen. Including irritiating calls from unwanted callers. And so it happened one evening, at work, as we slaved away working, trying to avoid the ever-nearing deadline.

“Hello?” I asked.
“Is Trisna in?”
“I don’t know any Trisna.”
“This is not Trisna’s house?”
“This is an office.”
“Well then, who are you? It’s late… what are you doing at work?” I can’t believe it! Horny old man.
“Sir, I’m trying to make a deadline. There is no Trisna. This is not Trisna’s house. Good night.”
I had to resist slamming the phone down.

Not long afterwards, another ring.
“Hello?”
“You’re so cold,” the man cooed *yuck!* “Let’s chat…”
“Sir, I’m busy.”
“So, I’ll call you when you’re not so busy.”
So I said nothing and slammed the phone.

An hour later… Damn, I thought, no end of work in sight yet. But the next telephone ring heralded the same person, who was steadily getting to my nerves. Oily speech and all.
“Hello?” I said (I hate phones without caller-ID)
“Still working?”
“Sir, my goodness. Don’t you have anything better to do? Nothing to do? No people to do? No one to do you?” I really have to stop myself from snorting (so unseemly, of course). “Well, of course not. Or you won’t be calling strangers at night.”
*slam*

The next ring was less than a minute, and I was so ready to call names at the caller. Fortunately I heard my mum’s voice from the other end. She wanted to know when I would be home. Phew! if mum knew what I was about to yell out, I’d be disowned for sure.

An hour later, and finally work was almost done. The dratted phone had to ring.
“Hello”
“Oh! You’re still here!”
(Dmn this man. Sarcasm and cutting words really flew past his head. Or he might just be a kind of oh… I don’t know… someone into sadomasochism or something, people who revel from violence from other people) Crap! Have to think about something else.
“Sorry, Sir. I’m on the night shift.”
“A girl? Night shift? Oh, that’s rough. You’ll need some companionship. Don’t call me, Sir. Call me mas” (a term of endearment in Javanese or some sort)
“Sir, I’m busy, okay?”
*slam*

The phone rang again.
“Why did you slam the phone on me?” he said without preamble.
Shit! Quick! Think!
“Sir, you’ll have to wait. We’ve just received a new body, and I need to log it first. By the way, are you looking for a body in particular, since you’ve been calling a lot of times tonight?”

There was silence from the other end, before finally…
“Um…” he sounded uncertain for once. Gone the casanova posturing from before, which made me really glad. “What kind of office is this, exactly?”
“Why, it’s the morgue’s office, of course. Where else would anyone store a dead body?”

Another bout of silence, and I’m on a roll.
“Sir! Oh, damn. Please hold the line. The new arrival’s arm has just fallen off! OH SHIT! It’s gone under the cupboard,” I said into the phone, all the while trying to make as much noise as I can with my office equipment. “Damn! Hey, you!” I called to a friend who has just returned (might as well recruit someone into this ruse. “Help me hold his head. It’s almost chopped off here! Don’t let the head roll away, okay?” We were trying so hard not to laugh. I mean, what the hell, really.

Finally, I remembered our audience. “Hello… Sir? Hello?”

Oh well.

Jakarta’s Cathedral (R Kurris SJ, 1991) pt.00

Author: R. Kurris, S.J.
Title: Sejarah Seputar Katedral Jakarta
Publisher: Penerbit Obor, Jakarta, Indonesia
Year of Publication: 1991, 2001

Note: This book by Father Kurris traces the story of the Cathedral since the days of the Dutch East Indies. It was part historical fact and part novel, and it was infinitely fascinating, not only for the story of the church itself, but for the history of my city.

Prologue
[...] we, from the 21st century, will have lost contact with the 19th century, one which witnessed the spread of Catholicism through the Indonesian archipelago.

Man must see himself as a link in a chain of continuous historical process. Whether he wants it or not, man lives in a continuous movement, even when the society in which he lives has virtually no historical perspective. We are standing in between the past and the future. The past is needed to project ourselves into the future.

This book is written by someone who loves the Catholic Church, by someone who loves history, by someone assigned by his superiors to serve the Church as a minister at Jakarta’s Cathedral. We hope that readers, by understanding the history surrounding the Church of Batavia-Jakarta, which once encompasses the whole of the Dutch Indies territories, but later diminished only to include the territory of Indonesia’s capital plus Tangerang and Bekasi, may appreciate more of this Church. It is only fitting that we remember the struggles, the service and rise-and-fall of our fore-fathers. The past is almost like another country; we cannot say much about them if we don’t delve into them.

Often, there are university students knocking on the door to the pastor’s residence (the rectory?) on Lapangan Banteng (lit. Bull’s Field) to ask for information about the history and architecture of the Cathedral. This book is to answer many of those questions. Architecture students are encouraged to read chapters IX, XII, XIII, and XIX.

This book is not intended as a historical study text brimming with complete data and other scientific requirements, but instead this book is meant to provide a historical narrative which may help readers to understand why the Catholic Church in Indonesia is the way it is now, both in terms of form and appearance.

To all friends who have provided much support during the writing of this book, especially to Mrs. Lely Nathan and Lynda Soelistyo, who have diligently provided corrections and helped with the preparation of this manuscript. Thank you.

R. Kurris, S.J.
November 1991

The unbeliever

Apparently the first person to publicly deny any inclination toward religious beliefs might just be a robber.

It so happens that, a long long time ago in a village far far away, there were a village full of very religious people. Every holy day they would convene in the only religious building, which so happens to accommodate their numbers perfectly. The whole day, they would renew, reaffirm, and express their faith.

Every one of them — from the smallest of children to the oldest of the living — would leave whatever it was they were doing and go to this gathering. The children dropped their toys in the middle of the road and ran home to get into their best clothes. Travellers stopped. The shopkeepers closed their shops, the looms stood unattended, the farmers sent up an extra prayer so that their cattle did not stray too far from the farm as the masters went to such gatherings.

So. Every one of them. Except one. Of course he did not lie and would never, for the life of him, say, “Oh I am sick” or “Oh I’m allergic” because whatever flaws the villagers had, they were not liars. In fact, they were very honest people.

So, this one person, every holy day, would leave a note on his house door, explaining why he could not be at the religious gathering. “Gone out,” the note said. “At heist.”