Wee Mischievous One

In normal circumstances, laptop and 'sambel goreng udang' rarely exist in the same sentence. A couple of months ago, I was harshly reminded that having a toddler roaming freely unchecked in one's living room comes under the heading of 'possible abnormal circumstances may occur'.

I should have been suspicious when things were too quiet. I was doing something in the bedroom while my better half was doing whatever she was doing in the bathroom. I knew something was amiss when there was no sound at all came from the living room where usually my riotous chatterbox of a daughter generate enough noise to compete with a medium-sized traditional market. She must have been doing something that is extremely fascinating. For her. And, from experience, whatever fascinates her carries a rather disastrous consequence for me.

I called out to the missus and asked her to check on the offspring. She did and seconds later with a slight tone of amusement she called back,"You better have a look at this!'. I rushed to the livingroom and there she was. Squatting on the dining table, my daughter was smearing the keyboard pad of my laptop with sambel goreng udang, which was meant to be our lunch. She grabbed a handful of the sambel and put it on the keyboard pad. Then, she slowly and meticulously spread the concoction like one would spread butter on a sandwich bread. In doing so, she wore the expression of someone in an intense state of concentration. It was as if the fate of humanity depended on whether she managed to cover every inch of my laptop with the oily concoction of chili and prawns. And I just stood there dumbfounded.

She has always been fascinated by that poor device. My fault, really. I often displayed her pictures or play her clips on the screen, just to see her reaction. Apparently, she grew fond of the poor thing. Once, I left the laptop unattended and the next thing I know she happily punching the keyboards at random. There went the editing that I had done for the past hour. Plus now when I left-click what showed up was the prompts normally saved for right-click. And numbers showed up instead of letters although I pressed the latter. I can't help but admiring her affinity for destruction.

She was about to decorate the screen when I finally came to. I called her and hold out my hands. She looked up and smiled proudly as if to say, hi Daddy, look what I can do with a bowl of sambel goreng udang!

Yeah, do that when you're ten and you're grounded till kingdom come, Missy...

Rest in Peace, Herr Weber!*

Ask anyone the first thing that comes to mind when they heard the word ‘government’. Chances are you will hear the word ‘bureaucracy’. And very rarely in a friendly tone, either. What is it with bureaucracy that send people shivering in disgust?

For one, the word signifies a maze of a process with lots of forms to fill and equally lots of people to seek approval from, not to mention the frequent, not-so-short waits that go with it. The depressingly long and time-consuming procedure is also known as red tape. The expression refers to old British custom of tying up official documents with red ribbons.

Earlier this year, a friend of mine caught a rather severe flu. Being a dedicated employee that he is, he didn’t want to miss a day’s work and therefore decided to visit the MoF clinic during lunchtime. With his head pounding and his nose running to the point that he started sneezing every ten seconds, he casually walked to the clinic expecting to get an immediate treatment. He was so wrong that even God himself could not make it right.

As he had never been there before, he was required to fill up a form consisting of the details of him and his family. Other than that, he had to fill up two slips, yellow and blue. However, to obtain those two slips he must first fill another form that necessitated the approval of his superior or somebody from the General Affairs Division. That meant he had to go back to his office to get the signature of his superior and get back to the clinic to get the colored slips, and return to his office again because the slips had to be manually-typed, not handwritten. On top of that, he had to go to a nearby Fujifilm outlet to have his photos processed because the slips required an attachment of two recent photos. He was starting to see a long, dark tunnel with a bright light at the end by the time he arrived back to the clinic to get some medical treatment. See what I mean?

It didn’t start out this way, mind you. A German gentleman named Weber developed this noble concept of setting things in order. Within bureaucracy, Herr Weber dictates that labor should be well-defined and specified to avoid confusion, roles should be hierarchically arranged with a single chain of command, rules should be impersonal to ensure fair treatments, and similarly relationships should also be made impersonal by the use of procedures and written records. All these are designed to ensure that works are organized efficiently and services dispensed effectively. However, as is the case with other noble concepts that looks good on paper but do not mix well with human implementation (remember Socialism?), along the way bureaucracy began to derail from its original course.

Hierarchy which was supposed to be a way of delegation of authority and procedure as a way of standardizing service are often seen as a convenient method to avoid making decision. If you try to question the clinic people why the slips has to be manually typed, the most likely response you will get is: Hey, I don’t make the rules! If you are mad enough to insist that the rules be changed, they will tell you that they don’t have the authority and refer you to their supervisor whom will in turn refer you to his supervisor, and so on and so forth. The next thing you know, you are filling the guest book of Istana Merdeka.

However, before you start sipping Baygon, please note that there is still hope. MoF is undergoing a bureaucracy reform. The reform includes a restructuring of the existing organizational structure, development of better—hopefully less maddening—procedures, improvement of business process, and enhancement of Human Resource quality. Hopefully, once the dust has settled MoF will emerge as a more efficient and better serving organization. And Herr Weber would stop stirring in his grave.

It's an article I submitted to the office mag, Warta Anggaran

The Bubur Ayam Rant

Yes, madams. I'm fully aware that given the fact that bubur ayam does consist of at least seven different condiments, you as the purchasers of the said bubur ayam reserve the right to customize its content to your liking. I understand your distaste of fried soybeans and why you want to remove them altogether from your serving. I understand the underlying economic principle that drives you to ask the bubur vendor for additional bitternut chips and shredded chicken as a compensation for the removal of fried soybeans. I understand the health concern behind your demand that the aforementioned shredded chicken be free of skin. However, it's a bit ironic bearing in mind your request for liver and intestines satay, isn't it? I vaguely understand why you want the chopped celery be separated from the chopped shallot although they have been traditionally mixed by the vendor. I understand why you want the tapioca cracker be crushed, while the bitternut chips left whole. I totally agree that kecap manis should be used sparingly while that yellow sauce should be sprayed liberally. I understand why you want the sambal be placed before the soy sauce. I understand why you insist that the fried shallot flakes be sprinkled thoroughly rather than be stacked at the centre. I understand that you and all of your three colleagues have different taste and the content variation of your orders should be adjusted accordingly. And logically, I agree with you that bearing in mind the complexity of your orders, the vendor needs to be reminded over and over and over and over again.

What I don't understand is how you and your friends have the heart to do all this when it's nearly 7.30 in the morning and the line is a fucking mile long and you're not even in it!

You, Me, and The Story

I caught a brief glimpse from the TV and you asked me to download it from the net if I happen to go to the Uni. So there we were. Just past midnight. Half a loaf of garlic bread and and choc-vanilla ice cream right out of the 2 litre tube. No words. But we both know the story.

Things To Do At Glendale

Hi Glenn,

I heard that you're willing to take over my job at Woolworth Glendale so I compiled this 'to-do' list for you. Don't forget that the last 101 leaves the uni at about 11.1o pm, make sure you're on it. Taking a cab will cost you about 20 bucks. It's not worth it, man.

12.00 Upstairs

Go upstairs (Lunchroom and Offices)

- Change the bin liner of the garbage can under the sink in the lunchroom

- Use the used bin liner to collect garbage from the offices

- Go downstairs and dispose the garbage at the back dock

12.15 Floor (Meat, Seafood, Bakery, Entrance)

Get the broom from cleaner’s room

- Sweep the floor from meat section à seafood à bakery à entrance

- Sweep the express checkout

- Get scissor mop from the cleaner’s room and gather the garbage, put them at ‘the base’

12.30 Floor (Checkouts)

- Disengage the trolleys from checkout, put them into the far corner

- Put the mats up from every checkout (sometimes they did it for you)

- Sweep the checkouts, gather the garbage with scissor, and put them at the base

01.00 Floor (Produce)

Get a trolley from one of the aisles

- Gather the rubber mats, put them near the chicken section at the back

- Sweep the produce section, get all the fruits/veggies from under the racks.

- Gather the garbage with scissor mop, put them at the base

01.30 Floor (Aisle)

Sweep the aisles, gather the garbage with scissors, and put them at the base

02.30 Floor (Tidying up)

- Get red shopping basket from the entrance

- Sort the garbage à anything with a barcode goes to the basket

- Get a bin liner from the fast checkout, put the rest of the garbage in there.

- Dispose the garbage at the back dock, return the broom and the scissor back to the cleaner’s room

- Get two 150 litre bin liner from the cleaner’s room and replace the ones in the fast checkout

- Grab dustpan + small broom from the express checkout and go upstairs and have a break. You deserve it.

03.00 Upstairs (Lunchroom)

- Check the wall-mounted tissue roll and hand soap. Change them if you have to.

- Use a roll of wet tissue to clean the table, the pantry, and the sink.

- Empty the garbage bin and re-attach with fresh bin liner

- Dispose the garbage near the entrance of male change room.

- Grab a bin liner and go to female’s toilet

03.15 Upstairs (Female Changing Room and Toilet)

- Check the wall-mounted tissue roll and hand soap. Change them if you have to.

- Scrub the toilet bowl with the available tool. Use chemicals to remove stains. Yuck!

- Using a roll of paper napkin, clean the toilet bowls

- Wipe the mirror and the sink.

- Change the toilet tissue rolls

- Empty the garbage and fasten the fresh bin liner

- Dispose the garbage near the entrance of male change room. Grab another bin liner from under the sink of the lunchroom as you go along.

03.30 Upstairs (Male Changing Room and Toilet)

- Check the wall-mounted tissue roll and hand soap. Change them if you have to.

- Scrub the toilet bowl with the available tool. Use chemicals to remove stains. Yuck!

- Using a roll of tissue, clean the toilet bowls

- Wipe the mirror and the sink.

- Scrub the urinoir.

- Change the toilet tissue rolls

- Empty the garbage and fasten the fresh bin liner

03.45 Upstairs (Sweeping)

- Get the broom from male changing room and proceed sweeping as follows: Hallway -> office 1 -> Lunchroom ->Female Toilet -> Offices 2, 3, and 4 -> back to male changing room

- Gather the garbage with the dustpan and put it in whichever liner still open

- Sweep the stairs.

- Dispose all the garbage at the back dock

04.00 Upstairs (Mopping)

Once you dispose the garbage, go the cleaner’s room and get a bucket of water and a mop. The chemical to use is either VIEWQUICK or TEMPO HD. If none is available, just use water. Bring it upstairs. Proceed mopping upstairs with similar sequence as the sweeping, including the stairs. Once you’re done, come down and bring the dustpan with you. By now, Sonny should have finished mopping the floor. Return the dustpan to the checkout.

04.30 Floor (Buffing)

Get the buffing machine from the back dock. Attach the pad protector and you’re ready to go. Start with the section where the water from the mopping has dried out. NEVER run your buffing machine though a puddle of water. Usually the sequence is Back -> meat section -> seafood -> bakery -> entrance-> produce -> aisles -> front -> checkout -> middle. Once you’re done, dismantle the pad protector and return the machine to the back dock.

05.30 Floor (finishing mop)

Refill your bucket with clean water. Get a scrapper. Go to the checkout. Fasten a plastic bag to your shirt.

- The sequence is entrance -> checkouts -> aisle -> back -> meat section -> seafood -> bakery -> produce

- Don’t forget to mop the black lines along the refrigerated sections (aisle 17, back, meat. etc.)

- Remove any visible marks left from the mopping, careful to clean the edges.

- Pick up any tidbits of garbage, remove stickers with scrapper

06.55 Tidying up

Mop the cleaner’s room and tidy up a bit. Once the gate is open, go to the front and mop the front just under the gate.

07.05 Hurry up and catch the 7.16 101 bus.

Get some rest, man.

HAVE FUN!

Lebaran di Cilacap, Yin...

Yin, lebaran nanti kita main ke Cilacap. Pagi-pagi ke Teluk Penyu. Pakai jaket kuningmu itu. Naik motor ke ujung Areal 70. Liat matahari terbit. Tapi jangan lama-lama, bisa masuk angin ibumu.

Beli serabi di deket brug Menceng buat Atung dan Uti. Mampir sarapan lontong opor di depan SMA Yos. Pernah ke Pasar Saliwangi, Yin? Pasti belum. Nanti kita ke sana juga. Liat-liat ikan yang nggak pernah ada di gerobak sayur manapun di Bekasi.















Agak siangan, kita bujuk Atung untuk nganter kita ke Nusakambangan. Nggak usah lama-lama. Sesorean aja. Uti pasti nggak setuju, takut kamu item. Tapi biarlah, kita ajak juga kalo perlu. Nanti kita naik feri dari Wijayapura. Cuma sebentar kok, kaya waktu kita nyeberang dari Foreshore ke Stockton dulu. Nggak usah ke Permisan, kejauhan. Main-main aja di Limusbuntu. Cari buah kersen. Kalo haus beli es kelapa muda. Nggak usah khawatir kalau lapar, ibumu pasti sudah menyiapkan ransel makanan cukup buat seminggu.


Sore kita pulang pake perahu tongkang. Kalau kamu masih belum cape, kita jalan ke alun-alun. Bawa tikar, kita duduk di rumput. Lihat kendaraan yang seliweran sambil makan kacang rebus. Mau balon? Boleh. Tapi jangan di lepas ya? Bapakmu ini nggak punya sayap.

Sabar, Yin. Tiga minggu lagi.

Just Outside Auchmutty

It's pretty quiet now. Save for the steady humming of what I suspect to be a large air conditioner stowed somewhere. The occasional rustling of the leaves would tell you that the possums are coming down to feed on a nearby garbage bin. Charming animals, these nocturnal marsupials. Occasionally, my fellow allnighters would come out here for a cigarette, hoping that it will jack up their system. Hoping that, for example in my case, it will help figure out why a company pursuing a related diversification strategy would opt for multi-divisional structure or whether works council is better than traditional unions.

Come daytime, people would come and go. Banters exchanged, opinions offered. Some New Age guys sell veggy lunches between 11 and 2 on the far end. In summer, squadrons of white cockatoos would insist on having their say up there in the trees. Noises. Lots of them.

But it's quiet now. And they are all behind me. It's time to go home.

Ode de Cappuccino

An old friend called out of nowhere, insisting that it was imperative for us to grab a cup of coffee and catch up. I had no problem whatsoever with that, given my other alternative of spending a particularly sunny Saturday was rummaging the landlady's dusty storeroom for old novels that I had not read. I had been doing that for the last couple of months, ever since I found out that the storeroom was not locked. Accidentally came across 'Merantau ke Deli', that Soe Hok Gie book, and heaps of old computer magazines. Anyway, after some negotiation, it was agreed that for geographical fairness, we would meet at a cafe somewhere around Sudirman. Now that could pose a bit of a hiccup. I'd never been to cafe before. Not once.

Yes, I suppose it's pretty sad. I had been living in Jakarta for nearly two years and during that period of time I had never set foot into a cafe. Not that I didn't want to. The guys at the office had been mentioning about going to this cafe or that. They even conjured up some sort of verb for it; ngafe, which I deduced to mean 'going to a cafe'. To my mind, it was equal to going to a fancy place where people dress up fashionably and had intelligent conversations, both of which would make me feel helplessly out of place, like the last time another friend asked me to meet him at the lobby of Borobudur hotel, which was just across my office but felt like a world away. I guess I just wasn't up for it. Anyway, I had agreed to this little rendezvous and it was too late to fake terminal illness. There was nothing left to do but act the part and hope nothing disastrous happened.

After a frantic effort to make myself a bit presentable, which I assured you was not easy, and a surprisingly smooth bajaj ride, I arrived somewhere near the vicinity an hour before the designated time. I needed the extra time to do a little reconnaissance survey to give myself a little edge. Now, by then I have come to terms with the fact that I was, and still am, a hillbilly beyond salvation. But I was not particularly keen about everyone finding out. So yeah, I needed the time to find out as much as possible about the procedures of going to a cafe. One fundamental question, for example, is whether you sit down and wait for the waitperson to come to you or order straight from the counter like in the warung at the end of Pejambon street where I usually had dinner. It would be awkward if I missed this important information. I could end up sitting there sweating under my shirt for an hour waiting for the waitperson that never came. Then everybody would know that I had never been there before, or worse, they would find out that I had never been to a cafe. That prospect made me shudder.

It took another half hour before I found the rendezvous point. I couldn't make out much from where I was standing but it seemed like a nice place. I could see the the entrance, which also served as the exit. At least three waitpersons manned the counter and some patrons were doing whatever it was they were doing in there. The procedure was still a bit of a mystery. However, I couldn't get any closer because it would look very suspicious. Then I struck an ingenious plan. It was childishly simple. I would wait for my friend to show up, ambush her near the entrance, and just follow her lead. Simple. It amazed me as to why I did not think of that earlier. However, as fate would have it, no sooner than I congratulated myself for crafting such a magnificent plan, my phone rang. It was her and she's very sorry to inform me that she would be around half an hour late. Something about her hair needing some sort of treatment. She then suggested that I went ahead and wait for her in there. Fuck. So much for my brilliant plan. I couldn't wait under fierce Jakartan sun for that long. Now that seemingly air-conditioned cafe looked very inviting. So I decided to go for it.

This was it. The poor sod from Kebonmanis, Cilacap is going to enter a cafe. By then my stomach was doing a backflip every few seconds and my heart was jumping up and down at quite an alarming rate, but I steeled myself and approached the counter. The waitperson was very nice and she asked me what I would order. Actually, years later I learned that they are called baristas, not waitperson, or coffee-maker. Anyway, I looked up to the menu and realized that I might as well be trying to read Cyrillic in Braille. Aside from the cappuccino and green tea, none of the inscriptions in the menu rang any bell. The numbers was even more frightening. The least expensive item on the menu was the equivalent of three helpings of nasi padang. This excursion was going to cause a significant dent in my already meager budget. But that's another issue. Right now, I was torn between playing it safe and went for cappuccino or being adventurous and blindly went for some other beverages, assuming that's what they were. This was my chance of trying something new because I was in no hurry to go back to this place in the near future. After what seemed to be an eternity, I heard myself croaked the word 'cappuccino'. Damn, I chickened out at the last moment. But then I consoled my self with the thought that this heftily priced cappuccino would surely taste better than the ones in the sachet. Plus, I would probably didn't know how to pronounce the other coffees correctly anyway.

The barista immediately grabbed a weird-looking apparatus, packed it with dark-brownish powder which I suspected to be coffee and strapped it into a nearby weird-looking machine. Then with her other hand she grabbed a large stainless-steel cup and placed it under a small pipe which immediately produced weird sound, like when you blow your straw into a bottle full of liquid. The cup was then shaken in circular motion and banged to the table. She then proceed to pour whatever was into the stainless-steel cup into a waiting smaller ceramic cup and top it with chocolate powder. I was thoroughly amazed by this strange coffeemaking ritual. Then, voila. My first cup of non-sachet, handmade cappuccino. She asked me if I wanted to have any cakes with that but I politely declined. I must keep the damage to my financial health at the minimum.

A while later, I settled down on a chair with the cup of cappuccino sitting prettily on the table in front of me. It looked good. It smelled good. So this was what going to a cafe like. I was tempted by the soft colored sofas at the corner but decided against it. It would be weird to sit there alone. The place was cozy and snug. It was funny because at that precise moment I could have been roasting alive in my own room reading whatever I dug up from the landlady's storeroom and feeling utterly miserable. Yet here I was. In a cool cafe with soft background music. Admittedly I would feel more at home at my own oven-like room, but this was not bad. Not bad at all. I was feeling pleased with myself just to be there. Suddenly a rather embarrassing feeling crept in. I felt the urge of wanting to be seen. You know, like when you're going out with a really gorgeous chick and you wanted to make your friends jealous but they were not around. You wanted them to think, man, that Eko guy is something. I wished the guys at the office would walked right then and there. I know it's pretty sad.

Anyway, there's the coffee in all its glory. It was almost to pretty to drink, but hey, I paid dearly for that. So I took a sip. It was much better than what I had expected. It's far better than my usual dose of Kapal Api. The taste of coffee was so thick you could almost chew it. It was not as sweet as I would have imagined, but I thought that was what a real cappuccino supposed to taste like. Besides, seriously, it's smooth and creamy as hell. It dawned on me that the white liquid on the stainless-steel cup was probably milk. I was right about this being better than the sacheted cappuccino--by several miles. I cursed myself for not bringing a book. A good novel would complete my first cafe experience. Just like in the movies.

Then my friend showed up and walked straight to my table, something which puzzled me. I was under the impression that one should order something from the counter to gain access to this particular establishment. She apologized for her lateness. She had had a creambath, which explained the coconuty smell. Then she walked up to the counter and chatted with the baristas. Apparently they knew each other. She returned with a cup of her own. After one sip, she asked me how I liked my coffee. Trying to sound casual, I told her that it was fine, except that it was a bit too bitter for my liking. "Oh," she said," you can get the sugar from that table over there", nudging to the far corner. Right.

Number 5 Union Street

"Did you enjoy the presentation?"
"Immenselly. It was thought-provoking. I'll be thinking about it for days"
"I have to say the presenters communicated effectively with the audience"
"And they managed to get the audience to participate too"
"Yes. They thoroughly engaged the audience and get the message accross, remarkably, with only few words"
"Very effective use of visual aids"
"They are the visual aids"
"Same time next week? We got to bring Eko along"
"He'll love it"

Barisan Hitam

oleh:
Romansa Kimiawiku

Sewaktu kecil ayahku mengajak aku ke kota untuk menonton marching band.
Beliau berkata," Nak, saat kau besar nanti
sanggupkah dirimu menjadi juru selamat bagi
kaum yang putus asa, tertindas dan yang terkucilkan?"

"Sanggupkah kau mengalahkan iblis dalam dirimu,
dan mereka yang meragukanmu, serta rencana busuk mereka.
Karena nanti akan kuwariskan padamu roh yang
akan menuntunmu pada musim panas
untuk bergabung dengan Barisan Hitam"

She Bites

Being awaken in the morning by a set of five mini-teeth firmly sunk in your nose is by far not a very pleasant experience, or normal, for that matter. People invented alarm-clocks for that very purpose. Yet, I find myself making quite generous exceptions these days. The little carnivore I am currently living with is growing her teeth and, consequently, has a bit of affinity with biting things, my nose included. On the good side, however, it does get me from a state of deep sleep into high battle-readiness in seconds; a feat comparable to Masai warriors of Africa.

The other parts of my anatomy are not exactly safe either. I was peacefully enjoying my dinner the other day when I felt a sharp pain on my left leg. Fighting off the impulse to violently shake my legs, I decided to look under the table. Sure enough, there she was, testing the consistency of my right calf-muscle with her fangs.

These random and unprovoked attacks are getting more frequent lately. I tried reasoning with her but I received some blank stares and intelligible mumblings for all my troubles. My effort to rigorously discipline her was met with eardrum-shattering cry and matching stamina. My comrade in arms, her mother, only shrugged and said something about it being a phase that she was going through.

My mind even refuses to contemplate what the next phase would be.

My Valentines

As my junior high school friend ever so subtly put it, February is the official 'Bulan Bercinta'--the month of loving. And it all culminates on February the 14th. The Valentine's day.

Yes, break that old piggy bank. Start shopping for that special someone, be it already acquired or at the courting stage. Get a box of chocolate, a dozen of roses. Get something fluffy and pink. Or heart-shaped. Be somebody. Better yet, be somebody's somebody special. Yes, stop flying under the radar. Make the control tower jolt. Go for it. You only live once.

And this year, all I want is to see them emerge from Sydney Airport's arrival gate. That is worth all the chocolates in the northern part of New South Wales.

Embrace

I wasn't a big ice cream fan. They're not thirst-quenching. Ice, of all variants, is supposed to quench thirst. For me it was more like a sweet cold meal. And most of them come in small quantities. A couple of years ago, a friend bought me an alarmingly small cup of strawberry ice cream at some fancy parlour. The reddish thing with bits of strawberries in it was tagged at thirty grands. Ridiculous. Of course, I didn't tell him that.

This afternoon, however, I developed an unusual craving for ice cream. So when the ice cream truck passed by I flagged it down and ask the man for 'a liter of something good'. In exchange for six dollars, he gave me a container of something called Embrace, which according to the label translated into 'choc coffee almond swirl'. The surface was so pretty with off-white ice cream and dark brown chocolate coating in a pattern that closely resembled a submarine propeller. Plus a liberal amount of chopped almond scattered here and there. I stared for a full minute before resolving to stab my spoon at it.

What followed was a phenomenon many culinary expert recognized as a flavour explosion. Not a kaboom-there-goes-your-limbs explosion. Rather, it was subtle and elegant. Like the burst of ink deployed by a scared squid. I swore I could feel the chocolate and coffee swirled hand in hand like a pair of champion ballroom dancers in my tongue, stepping on my every taste bud to make sure that I knew they were good. It's chocolatylicious, coffeelicious, almondylicious. Delifuckinglicious.

The first spoonful sent me into an ice cream frenzy. Initially, I planned to be civilized and ate out of small bowl. But when I felt that scooping the ice cream into the bowl took what seemed like aeons I just dug in straight from the container. I didn't know where I was. The whole world turned mute. All I felt was this sensation of sheer grandeur in my mouth. Teasing, flirting, and bewitching like 19th century French courtesan. When I came to, I was halfway down the container. There went my resolution to a healthier life. I knew there was little I could do but surrender in its embrace. And dug in some more.

O, Wounded Hearts, Trivialize Thy Pains..

Yeah..as if it's easy

What Cigarettes do to Your Lungs

It's all pretty hazy now. But I distinctly remember that there was a time when playing football was actually fun. Nonetheless, as I lay there, flat on my back, my chest felt like a furnace and and my head was throbbing agonizingly, I wished that I had liked chess instead.

I used to play a lot when I was a kid. Every afternoon, I would go down to the football pitch near my house and played until sundown. That's nearly two hours of football. Scurrying here and there. Everyday.

I remember feeling like Maradona everytime I scored a goal. Or like Hans Van Breukelen when I went into full-stretch dive to deny one. I could still recall what it was like to be hacked down while running or the clashing of shin-bones when I tackled. What I don't remember is that feeling of having my life sucked out of me every time I finished playing.

I don't get it. Where is that kid now? Has he really became this decrepit of a bloke who is lying on the grass gasping for air?

Reflection in the Dark

Remember when you went home on a night bus or train? It was pitch dark out there. You couldn't see a thing. Even so, you still tried to look. And mused. And mused. And mused. But then you realized that all you did was marveling at your own reflection on the window. And suddenly you felt guilty of being narcissistic.

t.A.T.u

Hmm..let's see..two teenage girls, Russian accent, wet school uniform. What's not to like?

Saat Pulang

Jadi teringat saat pulang. Menjenguk keluarga di Cilacap, bermalam bujang di Jogja, atau menjumpai kekasih di Semarang. Bersusah payah antri tiket di Pasar Senen jam tiga siang, tapi akhirnya mencari sela di balik bangku paling belakang. Gelar koran, rebahkan badan.

Hebat juga kalau dipikir-pikir. Betapa selembar tipis koran bisa membuat lantai kereta jadi sedikit beradab. Dan terkesan higinis. Lha, mau bagaimana lagi. Sampai sekarang belum bisa menguasai seni tidur sambil duduk.

Kompartemen tidur milik pribadi. Kepala tidak harus berjajar dengan kaki. Wajah tidak harus terlangkahi. Badan yang terguncang-guncang, lelap dalam buaian. Irama kereta jadi lagu pengantar tidur. Kaki terjulur di lorong, jadi sandungan bagi siapapun yang lewat. Tidak ada yang protes. Semua mafhum.

Lepas Cikampek. Lutut ditepuk oleh kondektur. Karcis! Diucapkan dengan lafal yang khas. Diiringi bunyi cekrak-cekrik pembolong kertas. Beberapa kali mencoba tidak beli karcis. Menyuap kondektur dua kali. Tapi hati tidak tenteram, tidur tidak tenang. Tidak sepadan. Kondektur lewat sambil dikawal polisi. Senjata laras panjang yang disandang di punggung. Konon tanpa peluru.

Bangun karena lantunan terhenti. Rupanya Cirebon. Saat makan malam. Belasan penjaja menawarkan nasi bungkus di kantong-kantong plastik berwarna-warni. Merah telur, hijau ayam, biru rendang ati sapi. Lengkap dengan seplastik air putih hangat untuk diminum atau mencuci tangan. Biasanya layak, tetapi terkadang basi. Tergantung hoki. Sajian malam ditutup dengan kopi di cangkir plastik. Nescafe, Tugu Luwak, atau Kapal Api

Cirebon adalah awal dari rangkaian pedagang asongan. Semua naik berganti-ganti. Pedagang Cirebon turun di Brebes. Pedagang Brebes turun di Tegal. Demikian seterusnya. Mainan, nasi bungkus, air mineral, minuman ringan, jagung rebus, mangga, berbagai jenis kacang dan keripik, dodol garut, wingko babat, kerupuk, rokok, dan terasi. Berpura-pura tidur untuk menghindari rayuan maut tahu sumedang dan cabai rawit hijau.

Empat jam lagi pagi akan menjelang. Dan kaki akan menapak Kroya, Tugu, atau Tawang. Pulang.