A Trip to the Wilderness

Here comes Day 2:

Where we went I had already forgotten. Anyway though on the 2nd day I had the company of my brother as my tour guide. Basically, we went to an area that is an hour's drive away from the residential areas. As secluded as it is, its the perfect place to grow fruits. Yes we were actually visiting farms. Just a pity that the current winter season is not the time for harvesting. As shown in the pictures, the trees are stripped bare. No trace of leaves at all. The usual harvesting season is between March or April till the end of June. What do they grow? Quite a number of fruits. Persimmons, pears, apples etc..







The visit though, was just an additional stop to the true destination. After the brief visit, we continued further to the Wungong suburb to see the Wungong reservoir.

If you look at the pictures, well, its a picture of our lunch. We had a fantastic lunch outing out in the open by the reservoir amid the freezing gale. I have tried BBQ in Hong Kong, Singapore and now Perth. I must say though this is by far the most special one of all. The pits here are free for all to use and what is better is that the grill is heated by LPG, so there is no need to build a fire using a mountain of charcoal pieces. In a few minutes, the food were getting heated and we kept close to the pit, which doubly acts as a pit and also as a heater. BBQ-ing out there in the afternoon in the middle of winter is cool really. Its not romantic, but hey couples out there, try BBQ-ing out on your own. Just the 2 of you. Its going to be special.

On with the story, we continued surveying the reservoir, with my brother giving me lessons on structural foundations. I had to recall the physics that I lost 8 months ago and it was unthinkable that what I had learned can be put to use so practically in the structure of the dam.

Now that I've sort of an additional knowledge, reservoir has become a cool place, a place of structural and natural wonder.

Anyone wondering what kind of apple I have in my hand? That is actually an ice cream. Peach flavoured to be exact, with a crusty layer and an inner chocolate core which seems so realistically true. Bon apetite~

Swan Bells Tower

Now that I am in my last phase of my holiday in Perth and that I am at least able to post some pictures, let me just share the delights of my travel for the past one week since I've arrived here.

The house has apparently undergone some serious dilapidation due to a lack of care. To put it simply, the house looks more like a storehouse. However lets not delay my story.

Ok, so the weather here is comfy cold. I am not too sure how cold it is but last I heard its something like 16 degrees celsius, pretty much like when I went to Hong Kong last December. Good thing is, you'll never sweat, but its very dry around here.

Day 1 :
Pretty much spend the whole time in the city. Nothing much has changed since I last came 3 years ago. Shops still close early, and people are going about with their stuff in a semi-serious attitude.

With my sis as the tour guide, we made a visit to the Swan Bells Tower.
Why it got its name is pretty apparent I guess. I don't know about you people, but that brown coloured covering looks like the swan's wings to me and that light blue tower is the neck.

What is inside? A lesson about Perth's history and bells, a whole range of them and hence its name Swan Bells Tower.

Its only 6 storeys high actually, but once on top, believe me your head will be swimming. What got me when I stepped out of the lift wasn't the height but rather, the metal girdles that pave the floor which have spaces wide enough for a mobile phone to slip through. So, the rather 'holey' girdles you stand on six floors up is really a daunting sight, especially when you don't know how strong it is. The platform with the girdles is supported only by thick wires. Scary.

Nonetheless, once atop the platform, you command a breathtaking sight of the Swan River, the city, and the residential suburbs across the river. Its quite a scenery really, a city that is leisurely yet orderly on one side juxtaposed with the greeneries of lawns and trees of houses at the other end of the bank.

A nice place really, a good place to spend your time looking blankly around while letting your mind relax.

---> Me squinting against the bright afternoon sun atop the tower.

If anyone noticed at all, the picture on top is actually a reflection of the 2 of us and not a picture of real physical bodies. See, we had to zoom out so that we can take a picture of something other than our faces (like the pic to the left) and my arm is too short to provide for the distance. Thus the mirror gives a good image. =)

The Bridge to Childhood Innocence

It was early dawn. A boy put on his sneakers, watched calmly as his father drove off before he embarked on a jog. Along the trees he jogged, the road he past, before finally returning to his house drenched in sweat. He took off his torn sneakers and threw them aside and entered the house for breakfast. At first glance, this boy looks like any other normal boy but a lot can be drawn from the way he ignored his sisters working up a fuss over his sweaty body, from the way he stared intently on the ant crawling across the table, from the way he wore his old and worn sneakers with relish about his life.

That is the start of the movie I watched 3 days ago. The Bridge to Terabithia. Having seen the trailer only once, I actually had no idea what the movie was about and was pretty much inclined to dismiss the movie as boring and a waste of time after having watched the first ten minutes of the show. As the story progresses though, I grew to like how the characters were being developed how lying dormant behind the simple lives of 2 young kids are the wondrous and creative imagination of adolescents. Sitting down in that comfortable seat of the theatre, I watched the show as an 18-year old but with every passing second I grew younger, shrinking in size becoming a 10 or 11 year old kid constantly drawing parallels between what is going on on the screen and my own childish thoughts and adventures talking to imaginary friends and fighting imginary foes or monsters a decade ago.

Yes the theme of the movie is the same as Pan's Labyrinth, about the fantasy of an imagined realm by growing kids but that is about all the similarities that the 2 movies share. The Bridge to Terabithia is certainly not as mature nor realistically cruel as Pan's Labyrinth in the portrayal of the characters and the plot of the former is definitely more cheery and light than the solemn and dark atmosphere that the latter provides. The former is more suited as a movie for children, encouraging them to engage in creativity, creating worlds or creatures of their own in which they can find solace, a safe haven where they are free to express themselves without restraint and indulge in fantasies without being confronted with the pains of learning how to cope with the harsh realities and responsibilities of life. The latter though, seems more like a message to adults, reminding them that in every child lies an innocent soul who must be treated with care lest the fragile nature of it be broken.

The Bridge to Terabithia is a family show, one with a lot of different meanings to those who are watching it. For the children, it may simply be fun, for the parents, this movie allows them to travel through time back into their own childhood, reminiscing the past with joy.

For the kids who are about to watch the show, just relax and enjoy the carefreeness with which the protagonists express themselves when together in their own realm. For the adults who think you are too serious for a kid's show, remember that you were once a kid as well and kept locked somewhere within you is a pure youthful soul who wants to be let out. Keep an open mind, take a deep breath and relax. This is one of those rare movies which soothes your confused minds. Allow yourself to fall into the embrace of The Bridge to Terabithia, and feel its magic for it will help you erect the bridge to your very own innocent childhood memories.

Measuring progress

Looking back on the previous post, there is that one thing that I had written which got me thinking. Thinking in the usual abstract manner that my incomprehensible mind works.

Previously I had written '....setting the barrier that separates the developed and the developing.' There is nothing wrong with the phrase itself but I realise that in writing that comment I've made an assumption - that developed are neat and tidy while the developing are dirty and messy. Me being the usual bull-headed me, I asked, 'why does being developed have to be chained to the orderly structure that cities often take?'

Personally, I've always had an inclination towards leaving things in their natural state. Thus, it is not surprising that I view development with disdain.

Why do we have to judge development by the turning of fertile soil into an arid land? Or by the metamorphosis of greeny foliage into the dull lifeless colour of concrete and steel making up the skyscrapers? Or, the most confounding and fundamental question of all, why do we associate development with money?

Perhaps, just perhaps greed made us forget that humans are sentient creatures. I thought that the world would be much better off if we measure development in terms of happiness. Sure, feelings are relative to occasions and to people themselves, but this is the one thing that definitely makes more sense as a development-meter than the destruction of our surroundings for money.

I have a vision(chose to neglect dream because it sounds too cliche. =) *bow down in respect to Martin Luther King Jr.*). I have a vision of a world where people are free by their own choices to lead lives as farmers, fishermen or lawyers or white collared professionals, whatever it is that they want. Sounds pretty much like what we have now? Continue reading. But I also envision countries that are unique in their own characteristics without having to bow down to the threats of development. How about imagining one country say America, which is filled by tall skyscrapers living beside another country, Venezuela which is covered by trees without a hint, trace or touch of technology on it? They need not be neighbours, neither must they take the appearance of the 2 extremes of development and under-development, but the point is they do not need to follow the current standards for development.

Alternatively, how about setting aside a section of the land in every country to be labelled as a 'haven' or 'sanctuary' for people who wish to be free of the mess and stress of living in a developed world. Given such a choice, I honestly prefer living in a jungle with tigers and snakes as companions than living in the skull-cracking chaos of the city.

I envision a developed world. A world dotted with different shades and hues of soothing green and dull gray on it. This world is developed not because the gray overshadows the green, but because the 2 colours hang in balance and the progress marker for development is happiness not avarice.

The ensemble of honking cars and clattering pans

I've been eating a lot lately, either voluntarily or involuntarily.

Why, just yesterday I chased an abang(Singapore's equivalent of uncle used in that informal tone when calling to peddlers) for 100 metres or so from the shop just to buy some food. What food? This abang sells gorengan, otherwise known as fried food. Fried bananas, fried tofus, fried tempes etc. Simply delicious~

In any case I was reminded of an article by an expat living in Jakarta criticising the peddlers for orchestrating traffic jams with their pans and bubbling boiling oil as instruments.

Although I have to agree that these roadside peddlers are a nuisance, I recognise their worth for setting the barrier that separates the developed and the developing. The sight of a road being choked by peddlers settling down with small bottles of oil lamps can never be found elsewhere and in fact the only other place where I've seen a similar scenery is in Bangkok. I am not supportive of their actions, especially when I am the one getting caught in a traffic jam(literally every few seconds) but considering their importance as progress markers, I am pleased to be part of the mess and raucousness created by the ensemble of honking cars and clattering pans.

Here in the still-developing Jakarta, people are ignorant and in their ignorance they find bliss. My childhood was spent consuming junk food of all sizes and shapes by the road side(small wonder I was overweight when I first set foot on Singapore) and I would have continued indulging myself with the oily food had I not known the words 'trans-fats', 'stroke', 'myocardiac infarction', or any other words that describes fats as evil substances for that matter. Me aside though, tell the general populace that they should cut down on fats and they would look at you as if you had two antennas hanging from your head. Tell the abang that recycling used oil is carcinogenic and you will hear him complain about the rising oil prices.

I am not inclined to become a junk-food addict yet again, but since its the way of life here, there is no point in me resisting it. I indulge in the road-side food as much as anyone else does but very much more in moderation in terms of frequency. Despite appearance, and of course health concerns, some of my favourite dishes find their roots by the road side behind the cart of some peddler. The juicy gorengan is definitely in the list. The spicy gado-gado. Then there is es campur(Singapore's equivalent of ice kacang although they are not in any way similar other than the ice shavings)and a number of other desserts for those with sweet tooth, cakes and martabaks(totally different from the Indian version) for the flour lovers and not to miss out my all-time favourite - the piquant barbecued corns dipped in chili(I often promise myself to try out making my own corn-with-chili whenever there is a barbecue session. But I am still waiting for the day it happens)! With the myriad varieties of food available for the hungry, these peddlers and the practice of binging are actually quite impressed and deep rooted in the Indonesian culture.

There are restaurants for the rich, but then again there are the peddlers who are always waiting for patrons by the road side for the poor. Their food may be cheap, ugly in appearance and unhealthy but in terms of taste, they are able to hold their own and are no less delicious than the restaurants.

Indonesians, you are special. Special not because you are developed but on the contrary, special because you are struggling to advance. Special not because you are 'cultured and well-bred' but because you are part of the ensemble of honking cars and clattering pans!

The Curious Incident Of A Lazy Sunday

Sundays have always been special. This is the one day that holds many different meanings to everyone. Kids sit on couches with eyes glued to the television waiting for their favourite action heroes to flash past the screen, teens spend the time panicking about how to finish their assignments on time (eventually logging on to the Internet to play), parents finally are able to breathe a sigh of relief as they are spared from the trouble of taking care of their kids even if its just for a day. Whatever it is, the bottom line is that Sundays are supposed to be a 'rest' day - a time to relax and de-stress just once every 7 days.

Yesterday was a special sunday to me.

To start off, we began the day with a trip to the saloon. Why the family has to get their hair cut at the same time has always been a mystery to me. Mom simply said, 'it saves the trouble of having to go there repeatedly.' I kept silent but deep down I went, 'huh? Trouble? What trouble? The 2 of you barely go out. A breath of fresh air even if its just a trip to the saloon will do you good.' Anyway there we were in the saloon. I had a hard time describing to mom's friend how I want my hair to be cut(small wonder. I have yet to see one who understands how I want my hair to be cut). Fortunately she showed me a book for reference and I thought I was lucky enough to be able to point out to her how I want my hair to be. I pointed to one of the pictures, she nodded her head and went about doing her job.

It did not take me long, from the way she was snipping of the lump that was my hair, to realise that she might just be misinterpreting what I want. I was sure I told her I want the sides trimmed and the front long, but when I look into the mirror, I pretty much see a round ball with eyes staring back at me. Cute. I was instantly reminded of an old acquaintance with a ball for a head and decided then that enough is enough. I had to salvage the situation. With a little manoeuvring from me, I barely escaped the potential disaster with a real cute tuft of hair on my head now. I would call it cute, the perfect example of something that is utterly ugly and distasteful but adorable. I have a vertically and shortly trimmed side with a medium length front. Cute nerd look, especially when the fringe is side-swept. Not so bad though after I got used to looking at it.

Moving on after the hair trip, we went home where dad told me to learn to ride the motorbike since I have spare time. 'Great idea'. A great start too to the second disaster of the day. As though I knew I was going to get myself into trouble, I took my mobile with me. There is a saying about how theory is very much easier than practical. Yesterday proved the statement true.

On with the story, here is how I got into an accident. I was riding the bike alone and slowly(within the complex surrounded by steel fences), still trying to adjust my speed with the discomfort of a first-timer. A few seconds on the bike and I realise the slightest rotation of my wrist is more than sufficient to cause a burst of speed and still juggling between turtle speed and break-neck speed, I came to the end of the length of the housing complex and started negotiating the bend. Just for illustrative purposes, I would describe it frame-by-frame. Just to capture the essence of the moment.=)

Frame 1(the introduction): I turned the wheel as I would a bicycle. Apparently my right hand twisted and the bike gained considerable speed. With the fence looming so menacingly close, I knew I was in deep, deep shit.

Frame 2(building the climax): I was bloody surprised and I am sure my face expression just that moment was equally priceless and worth remembering for life(wide-eyed, pale, blank look, teeth gritting). Too bad it was not captured. What was in my head then was this, 'Oh great, I am definitely fucked good.'

Frame 3(the scene immediately before the crash): I tried to do a last minute rescue, to steer the bike away. Futile. =)

Frame 4(the climax. The priceless moment. It really cannot be described): *#&$^!

Frame 5(the slope towards resolution): My left hand and the left handle was being dragged against the fence as I stuggled to control my direction.

Frame 6(the resolution): I heaved myself against the fence as a last resort and fell(I was damn desperate). For the guys who went night cycling the other time and especially CH, still remember that time you laughed over the little 'stunt' I did? You would be on the floor going mad if you had seen me skid off the bike.

Anyway that is the end of my 6-frames-worth of a movie. I got up, picked up the bike and dialled home for help because I spoilt the bike and it refuses to budge. Lucky I was within the complex and not on the road. I am sure I would be no more than a lump of squashed meat if there was a vehicle behind me.

The End.

Here I am now, with cuts and bruises on my leg and some peeled skin on my slightly sprained and still hurting left hand. Considering that my dad's employee got his hand stitched when he crashed while learning how to ride the bike, I really should consider myself lucky. The only thing I am uncomfortable about is my weak left fingers(middle and little fingers are hurt. 50% of 4 fingers?) that kind of sidelined me from playing the guitar. Ouch.

Thinking about what happened to me yesterday, I was reminded of the ten or eleven year old boy who was riding a bike when I was learning how to drive the car the other day. Tsktsktsk. I really have to bow down and salute to that kid. Bravo for him. It reminds me how we learn to be afraid to make mistakes as we grow up and that might just be what impedes us from learning new things.

Cheers~
=)

Busy with inactivity

I've been busy.

Unbelievably so.

This past week, my hands have been kept full with inactivity. Wait a minute, inactivity? Keeping me busy? Yup. You know, activities are not the only things that can keep you busy. While activities can clog your brain with the thousands of things waiting to be done, inactivity floods your brain with the million things that can be done.

Here is a brief summary of what happened this week:
1) I was 'grounded' at home with the task of watching over the car-repairman who was fixing the truck a few days ago.
2) Due to the inclement weather, dad and I have been staying at home instead of sweating it out in the pool.
3) I ended up staying at home in the company of the guitar and the television.

Not so bad, but this reminds me that I am actually still bored. By what really? I have no idea myself because honestly, even if I was busy here in Jakarta I would still be bored. Am I looking for a change? You bet! What kind of change though? No idea. Then I asked myself, would I be bored if I were elsewhere? Like in Singapore? Unexpectedly, the voice within me replied in a wavering but resolute tone. The answer was fraught with uncertainty but there is no doubt that the answer is a 'yes'. 'Yes I am going to be bored even if I had tonnes of things to do, even if I was in Singapore.'

I find the response kind of queer. Strange in the sense that initially, I thought I would be better off somewehre, anywhere as long as it is not Indonesia. Then, I have to admit that I can't fool myself for long. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I would still be bored. The only difference is just that I would be too busy to care about feeling bored if I have many things to do at hand.

What would dispel this boredom then?

Purpose.

Seven letters, a simple word, but complex and powerful.

Lets look back into my past, to learn something from old and forgotten stories.

When I first went to Singapore as an 8 year old twerp, I was thrilled, so thrilled in fact that I did not miss my parents, which is why I started crying only 1 year after, whenever the holidays came to an end and I had to return to Singapore. Back then it was my dream to study in Singapore in my brother's footsteps because to an 8 year old, studying abroad is cool, very.

Then, amid the thrill of being able to study in a foreign school as an Indonesian citizen, I learned of the 'messed-up-combination-of-letters-word' PSLE. That messed-up word gave me a goal - to study and pass the exam even if its just borderline results. It was the same for the next four years after I almost flunked PSLE, just that the nightmare is constructed with different letters. It was 'O-level'. Then, 2 years ago I learned of my next enemy - a twist to O that transforms it into an A.

To actually reflect on my past, I literally spent 10 years associating with education and am about to bind myself to another torturous contract for 4 years. All those time, the purpose had been education. After my defeating the latest enemy, I was suddenly left all alone without a purpose in life for almost three-quarters of a year. Devoid of a purpose, I start to feel bored.

Purposes keep you strong, but a lack of one thereof drains the life out of you.

Just to keep my impatience at bay for a little over a month now, I should set a purpose to drive and motivate my 'busy-with-inactivity' life. What is it? This one I have an answer to. My current purpose will be myself. Sounds strange? Or does it reek with the familiar sense of narcissism? =)