Seven days

Today


Yesterday


Saturday


Friday


Thursday


Wednesday

Three things

Purple, gold, blue, gray, yellow, red, turquoise. Mmmmmm... I tried shielding my eyes from the buildings beneath it and just stood there. My favorite spot. And I'm transported back to Balinese coast at Uluwatu, and King's Canyon during the sunset. This is the only place I could see the big patch of sky and the hues of twilight. Sometimes when it's really dark I could see the faint stars during cloudless nights.

The father was riding a bicycle. The daughter sits quietly behind. He pushed a little more energy into his pedal, on the small slope up. Then they continue, towards their destination. I remembered the times when I was behind my father in his old big Honda motorcycle. He is small, but he has the strength the push and ride that beautiful old machine for 20 years every single day.

Ants Marching, playing repeatedly. The sound of the music reaches my eardrum. My fingers moved, to the melody of the guitar and drums. Brilliant composition. Beautiful song, one of the best.

Three things that touch me tonight, on a simple narrow path.

When technology marries luxury

A friend showed me this today (not mine). The question was: If the other half drops off (the bling bling part), what happens? Why don't Philips and Swarovski put the bling on the other half? Either way, one wouldn't be complete without the other. Say it! One, two, three: "Awwwwwwww!"

Fight outta you

I was listening to Ben Harper & The Innocent Criminals' song "Fight outta you".

There's always someone younger, someone with more hunger, don't let them take the fight outta you
They'll say you're the one and only
Then straight up leave you lonely, don't let them take the fight outta you
Like a transplant-patient waiting for a donor, don't let them take the fight outta you
Like a half empty balloon after a party in the corner, don't let them take the fight outta you

Be strong, friend.

Today

















Yesterday













Friday

Falling back to old routine

I ruined it!

Now I can't quite figure out how to assemble it back.

Shamrock or Holy Trinity?

Today is the day I finished the Harry Potter series. Extremely late, I know, even by the standard of casual Harry readers. I can see these books being the Roald Dahl's books of 21st century. I can see the books being reprinted and read for many generations to come. Books are being spun out of it during this moment. Merchandises produced, movie rights secured. It's all a snowball which will provide for JK Rowling and family for a long long time!!

Anyway, imagine yourself as a struggling mom, envisioning these characters, and actually finishing the book after years, getting a publisher, til today, when you are the richest woman in the country, and one of the most successful writers of the world. How satisfying it must be! Well done, Ms. Rowling.

In the name of the thing that flies

The bad good vs. the good good

What merits a person to deem one thing bad when the person has never grown up to see bad all their life? That statement is a contradiction in itself. In the plane of existence, good and bad don't exist. It's polarizing, created by humans with our idealistic notions and our needs to hold on to something we call faith. Faith created good, and faith also created bad. Back to the real world, I always had the argument with myself about the good good and the bad good. You see, the bad good is the good that emerged out of bad. The good good is the one that has never seen bad. Okay, so far, this is all gobbledygook. Let's take an example. What I meant is, take a person who has ventured to be what our society deemed bad, taking drugs, running away, petty theft, and doing countless other 'bad' things you can think of. Later in life, this person changed. Something snapped, and then they turn to be good. Now that they are good, they are more in tune with the bad deeds in their past. They realized how dangerous it was, how hurtful their conducts were. They strive harder to be good, they strive harder for their children to not to grow up being their replicas. On the other side, there's another person who was raised in a good environment all their life, had great education, worked a decent job, provided for their children well. This person has not so much seen real violence as only in televisions, has not smoked once in their life, has not ventured anywhere past the shady dark alleyway at night. Is this a dangerous to live life too? Unequipped with knowledge and workings of the 'other' side of the world, the person would never be prepared to deal with it. It's not all black and white, of course. What would be the middle way, I ask?

A journal, part deux

21:59. I'm in the soul of Indonesia, the ancient city of Yogyakarta. Hm. Yogyakarta that I have seen so far is a quiet small town in Central Java where people are more relaxed and friendlier than where I came from. The streets are dead quiet after 7. So I got to town after 2.30 and headed straight to Prambanan temple compounds on a taxi whose driver keep badgering me into paying an expensive fare for the ride back. I figured I'd take my chances and figure something out. And word of caution to Indonesians: bring your ID. Yours truly was silly enough to fork out USD10 for entry fee when local Indonesians could get in for less than USD1. Lucky for me, a guide noticed and helped me save that 9 bucks. Naturally, I bought his service.

So we took a walk around the beautiful Hindu monuments, majestic candi that stood there for almost 12 centuries now. The ruins, the temples resemble those of Angkor Wat in Cambodia, typical in its tall and pointed architecture. The compound is home to many Candis; there's Candi Shiva the Destroyer, Candi Vishu the Keeper, Candi Brahma the Creator, Candi Nandi the Bull, Candi Garuda (undergoing reconstructed due to the very damaging 2006 Java earthquake), and Candi Sewu 1 km from the main temples. Some say the temples are even more beautiful than that of its Buddhist neighbor, Borobudur. I think these two are not comparable, beautiful in their own rights. The skies were not forgiving during this period, it soon looked like a heavy storm was going to hit anytime. So I quickly took some pictures and tried in vain to protect my camera when it finally hit. I was soaked by the time I got to Candi Sewu. The tourists all went back but I didn't see a lot of them anyway. I pretty much had the temples to myself that afternoon. The damage I've done to the camera? Oh well, let's just say it's still working. However, as the guide's story goes, the villages around Yogyakarta were all destroyed, people were left homeless as the result of the quake.
After two years, they were just beginning to rebuild their lives again. We were allowed to go and touch the temples before during my first trip, but today, I was circling and admiring the temples outside a wired fence. Things are just too fragile. Perhaps they should do this in Angkor Wat too before the overwhelming tourists do any further damages.

I began to ask the guide how I was supposed to go back to town as the complex is 18 km east of the city. I got the details, buses I should change to, the guide to walk me to the bus stop when he spotted his friend who works as a driver for a local tour agent. Finally, things work out just fine! As I waited for his passengers, I sat on one of the many roadside stalls catering to the returning passengers having a cup of hot tea that is just out of this world and watching the rain. It was just lovely. On the way back, I got to know two Indonesians living in the US, and a French-Canadian who's in the middle of his 6-month-long Asian trips. We arranged for a dinner meet-up at ViaVia Cafe, a hip local cafe south of Kraton and had a blast talking through the evening.

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It felt so good to enjoy a cup of the wonderful fragrant hot tea and your breakfast reading your newspapers. That's how I started the morning, then I was off to walk along the famous Malioboro street. It's still very early, the street sellers were still setting up their stalls, the becak drivers parking their vehicles and waiting for passengers. As I walked, the stuff they sell were repeatedly the same: Dagadu T-shirts with funny words that made them famous, beads, wayangs, paintings, wooden ornaments. If you bargain hard enough, you'll get plenty of stuff for close to nothing here. On one flanking one side of Kraton, you can see the imposing and well-preserved Bank Indonesia building, the reminder of colonial times that is perhaps lost of many locals and myself included, of the legacy the Dutch has left us, simply because it has always been there all these years when my generation were growing up. There was apparently a pasar malam, complete with bianglala (ferris wheel) and toy stalls set up on the lawn in front of Kraton Yogyakarta. It was not the most prettiest sight to be greeted with when you were intending to lavish in the grandeur of the sultan's palace. Speaking of which, the Kraton wasn't what I imagined it to be. Instead of tall majestic whitewashed buildings you see in other parts of the world, the Kraton is comprised of small structures scattered within a compound, complete with ceremonial halls, performance halls, sultan's residence, museums.

The guide showed me the various colorful costumes royal family and the royal soldiers don in ceremonies. To this date, the many Abdi Dalem or the palace servants who work voluntarily without pay out of loyalty to the sultan still live in in the palace compounds and the surrounding. They are elderly Javanese who are able to tell autobiographical stories and, as I stood close to one giving a lengthy explanation on the emblem of the kraton to a group of foreign tourists in a hall, who still speak what I guessed was Dutch language. The abdi dalem wears aviator sunglasses which I now realize is a favorite of many men(including Soeharto)! We walked past ceremonial halls where kings, princes, and princesses were crowned, where annual ceremonies are held. The kraton is old, no doubt, and it emits a kind of quietness that resembles a kampung (village), albeit one of royal stature. A walk just outside the kraton walls found me stopping at the Museum Kereta (Royal vehicle museum). The collection of sultan's horse carriages is staggering. It started from Sultan Hamengkubuwono IV to the IX, the most revered of all and the current sultan's father, most of the carriages were made-to-order in Holland and carried the part manufacturer's symbols still. Some were even so lavish they were made with plated gold! All carriages have their own names and are used til this date in certain ceremonies. The condition of the museum and its unused horse stables are in need of touch-up, but then one might say that would take away its old grandeur and what had once been there.

I followed the sound of music to the other side of kraton, to the performance hall where the gamelan ensemble performers practice every Tuesday. They are made up of almost all elderly people.The sound of gamelan and the many accompanying instruments are very soothing, very old, very...Javanese. As I watched the visitors come and go, the music pieces changed, I believe the Javanese is a peaceful society, as reflected by their love of music, their artistry, their culture, their boundless creativity. It's part of their life, art is not distinguished as "art" to them, it's simply part of who they are. Just directly outside the performance hall, I found an arca, the exact replica of the ones I saw in Candi Sewu! Maybe these arca served the same purpose as the lion statues guarding the palaces and office buildings in Chinese cities.

When it's time to go, a becak driver kept walking alongside me to offer his service at reduced rate so he could bring me to places that would give him commission. I rejected his offer but asked him to take me to alun-alun kidul (the south square) where the twin banyan trees stand amidst a patch of green. Legend has it that if you could walk blindfolded past the banyan trees, good luck will come your way. I decided I could use a little luck and it wouldn't hurt to try. The becak driver gave me his intructions. He would follow me and make sure I was out of harm's way but he was not allowed to speak or direct me in any way. Okay, ready. So I closed my eyes, concentrated, and started walking. After about a minute or so, he told me to stop, and there I was, standing in between the banyan trees. I've made it!! He later told me he has tried hundreds of times and never succeeded. And to know that I did it on my first try felt really good! He asked me to try three times. So I did. But clouded by my excitement or greediness perhaps, I made a half-moon diversion to the left and to the right the second and third time. Total failure. Haha!

After a tremendously satisfying lunch of nasi goreng and jasmine tea, I departed for Candi Borobudur. As it's rainy season, I was hard-pressed to find a tour agent that was willing to take one passenger to the monument. So I waited what seemed like hours but only a good 25 minutes under the scorching sun for a public bus to Terminal Jombor, then changed bus to Borobudur. This was perhaps the first time I took a public bus in Indonesia for many many years! Squeezed in a seat half the width of those inside public bus here, I sat next to an old lady who was on her way to one of the small towns along the way. The ride took a good 1.5 hours because they kept stopping anywhere to pick up passengers. I forgot how the public bus ride in the country was until that day. It was a good reminder. Anyway, the wind was strong as we closed in on Borobudur's entrance and the sky was greyish blue. Please, don't rain. I said to myself. I was about to enter the place I have been wanting to visit for the past few years. The greatest Buddhist monument in the world. I clearly didn't want rain to start pouring.

I walked a few minutes before I finally caught glimpse of the familiar pyramid-like structure. Happiness! The Borobudur of my childhood and the Borobudur of my adult-life feels different. It was smaller, I thought, than the last time I saw it. I circled the monument for a while, then slowly made my way up to the empty main stupa. Along the walls on the different levels encircling the Candi to the main stupa, the bas reliefs tell the story from the birth of Buddha and his journey to enlightenment. On that day, a group of students from Jakarta were visiting as well. I squirmed at the way they sat and put their feet up the stupas while laughing at each other's jokes. Some tourists from Japan were climbing down inside of a exposed stupa until a speaker announcement kept them away. I remember when I was 5, I was told that if my hand could reach the navel of the Buddha statues seated inside the stupas, I will have good luck in my life (again - these stories of luck are everywhere!). I still had that picture of the five-year-old me trying vainlessly to reach the navel by extending my hand inside the stupa's diamond-shaped holes. The more realistic me today didn't even try, the navel was pretty far in from the hole. I met the two ladies again, which I had hoped for. They were on their way back from a hike to Pegunungan Dieng and stopped for a tour of Borobudur in sunset. I hitched a ride with them back to the city. We left before the sun set, and as we drove away from the place, the golden hues of the sun were reflected on the side of the temple facing the west. It was such a beautiful sight and would have made a great capture had I stayed. Nonetheless, I count myself lucky to be able to catch that sight in the afternoon without rain.

The evening was spent watching Ramayana ballet. The reason they termed it ballet was confusing, since there was no actual ballet performed. The Hindu epic tells the story of Rama, trying to save his devoted wife Sita, who was abducted by the demon king Ravana, that culminated in the battle of Lanka. The dancers executed their movements flawlessly, every twist and turn of the wrist and leg is carefully choreographed. The movements of the eye, the fight scene, the jumps, the actual fire, are all very well-executed, leaving a long applause at the end of the show. I was the only Indonesian that night, doing the tourist thing in my own country, and even the usher was surprised, as there were virtually no locals attending the shows. But who would miss a performance like this, under the starry rainless night?

Yogyakarta that I saw embodies the spirit of the old Indonesia, the new Indonesia, the spiritual Indonesia, the peaceful Indonesia, and the creative Indonesia. The smiles of the becak driver, the kindness of the usher, the laid-back atmosphere of the city, the strength of their faith, all bear their marks on my memory of the city that is Yogyakarta.

More pictures here.

Another perfect day

Specks of white

I remember my mom's pics in the 1970s. They are grainy, washed out, some stained beyond repair because they are stacked together throughout the years. But they never are boring. My mind are remembering the images as I write. Imagining how they looked like, I am filled with nostalgy. Though I didn't exist then, I was transported back to that era. How it might look like, how it might feel like, how people of that time dressed, how my parents lived. What was cool then? What would I do if I lived then? How would I see my parents, in their adult life, but decades younger?

I am not even sure those images are in the 1970s, or earlier, or later. All I remembered now was the picture of my mom in her younger self, staring at me, posing for the camera. Still. No smiles were seen. People don't really smile in those old pictures. I wondered.

The silent way

Imagine the day, where no one steps out of the house, when all lights are off, no computer, no TV, no radio, no sound of motorcycles, buses, taxis, when shops are all closed, airport is halted and beaches are deserted. All daily activities you can think of, stop. Silence. Almost total silence surrounds you. All that's left is nature's voices, the sounds of dogs barking, birds chirping, water running in the stream, mechanical clock ticking. Oh no, this is not doomsday, no I am Legend, or Resident Evil scenarios here. This is 21st century Bali, this is Nyepi. Day of Silence. A day to contemplate and reflect on yourself. To stop, and think.


Picture yourself living this day in your city. Hoards of people and vehicles overpowering the streets are gone. Apartments stand as if their residents abandoned them. The polluting sound produced when your subway train streaks across the city, stops. Constant chatter in your local neighborhood cafe turns into silence. All electrical plugs in your house are off. Picture ourselves living this day, in our cities. From the morning, since you wake up, stop, and contemplate. It's almost like meditation on the outside, only we got to find a way to switch off our brain chatter.

Balinese have observed Nyepi for centuries and the tradition is still going strong today. All I can say is: Is this Heaven?!

Floaters

Stacks

It represents an idea. The thing we cling on. The very thing that makes people excited. More often than not, if "most of the time" is too much, people fell in love with an "idea" more than actual execution. You are excited about the month-long trip you have been planning for a year. You imagine how wonderful it would be to quit something you've been stuck on and be free, free to roam the world, free to do whatever you want, whenever you want. You fell in love with the idea of being in love more than the person. You keep buying books you think you will read sometime in the future and let it gather dust. You never throw your old stuff, thinking it might come useful still somehow. We cling to our ideas. Ideas become our goals, our measurement for achievement. We become attached to it. So attached, in other words, we came to have such a high expectation that when we are actually "living" our ideas or achieve what we set out to do, it does not taste as sweet as when you stumbled upon it.

Ideas. Without them we have no hope, with them we are miserable. Sound familiar?

Wither

Mr. Bell was on

Remember that brilliant scrawny kid on Billy Elliot? He's all grown up! First there was King Kong, then there's Jumper. It reminds me of how years have passed without me noticing...and I had to watch child stars grow up. Painful!

Afternoon light and love of travel

I love afternoon light. It's always shining the brightest before the sun finally disappears into darkness, and the intensity of the heat lends a very different feel, almost otherworldly. It makes me think about life. It makes me realize I should be grateful of the life I have. There's a saying in Chinese, 夕陽無限好，只是近黃昏。Although the sun's beauty is limitless, it's nearing dusk. The more optimistic version and the one I like is 雖然近黃昏，夕陽無限好。Although the sun's nearing dusk and disappearing, its beauty is still limitless. Tomorrow, the sun will rise again, ever more beautiful, ever more bright.

I went to the movies yesterday. I came back more impressed with an ad I saw while waiting for it to start than by the movie. It's almost perfect until I see that it's from Louis Vuitton. Well, nothing against the brand, I just didn't expect that. I love the images, I especially love the music! So here:

1950s

I am starting to have some fun

This is the part of a place where I pretty much walk by most of the days and yet I never see it. The guys look very busy indeed. Singapore is raining pretty much every day. Storm, grey, blue, cloud, fog, blind. I feel the ground is vibrating with each heartbeat.

Steely determination is a quality for all ages

I achieved a new milestone today! It feels good to get rid of your shadow sometimes.

When it turns red

Selflessness

Is it really possible?

Sometimes when I think of people who are selfless and what they would do for me or for the others, I cringe. I cringe because I would always come to my own self-reflection. Other people's actions reflect on our own inactions. I don't know how to live a life that is selfless.

Different times

First structure of its kind.

A journal, the first three days

I dreaded it. But I was looking forward to it. I haven't had much luck with transportation for the past few trips overseas. And so when the text message came telling me the airport was closed, I just wished I could make it after all. Jakarta is one humongous city, and the pace of development just so far exceeded the available infrastructure over the years. Highways were flooded. People's houses were flooded during the Lunar New Year season. I arrived in the capital in the dead of the early morning, relieved I actually made it there. A few hours later, I had my first great meal, a simple Indonesian breakfast of rice and a few dishes I grew up with. It was a great feeling to be tasting your old memories and still find the experience is as good as your memories. You know the times when you had the chance to relive your greatest memories and find them not as good as the original? This isn't one of those times. It's not quite the same, but it's enough to make a happy morning.

Killing my time in a mall, I made the spontaneous decision to have a haircut then. Customer service here in the country is as great as I had always expected. It is way better than any other place I have been. You feel the sincerity. Now I may be biased, but I think people are friendly, courteous, generous with their smiles and they don't give the customers any 'looks'. Take the lady at the reception, she got up, smiled, said "Selamat pagi" as soon as she saw me, gave good answers to my questions and showed me to my seat. It's very simple, and it only lasted a couple minutes. But here I am, writing a paragraph out of this. Not many in the customer service business get this simple thing right. Getting the basics right is what we overlook the most in pursuit of a fancy finish.

Tired as hell, I took the 2-hour car ride to the city of Bandung. I had my share of fortunate and unfortunate transportation-related experiences during this trip, but the car ride was my first fortunate one. Locals know what to expect of the notorious traffic in and out of Jakarta. Yet my ride was smooth and I was pretty grateful for that. So, there I was, in Bandung. The city is the most artistic city in the country. You can feel the creative vibe almost everywhere and the cafe scene simply tops the list. From durian ice cream, wickedly delicious Sundanese food enjoyed within a "kampung"-like (village) stretch of land, to the ubiquitous factory outlets and elite education institute, Bandung is the city that almost had it all, had it not its high-altitude mountain-locked location and for its giant neighbor Jakarta. Jakartans show up here during weekends, pack the streets and the very nice cafes and restaurants. Maybe people think if they are going to spend two hours being held up in the traffic in Jakarta, they might as well spend that time in Bandung.

The city used to be nicknamed Parijs van Java for its European style hotels, boutiques, restaurants, and buildings. Well, I didn't see much of these structures but this time around, I actually visited 'Paris van Java', a much talked-about compound of hip cafes, boutiques, and stores. True enough, I can see why the young likes to frequent this place. It's hip, alright. In just 5 minutes, I walked past about 10 cafes that made me want to go inside and order something each time. Good thing I resisted, I still had some shopping to do.

Factory outlet is a huge business here as Bandung is the center of the garment import-export business in Indonesia. Certain streets in the city such as Jalan Riau, Jalan Dago or Jalan Setiabudi are lined with factory outlets of different shapes and structures (some museum-like, some with a huge A-shaped entrance) to lure you in. The stuff weren't actually very cheap or particularly nice, but if you look long enough, you might find some good quality bargains.

The next day found me on the top of Mount Tangkuban Perahu, almost blown away and into the crater with exposed belly by the massive wind. It wasn't a good sight! But it was fun. I learned about how the mountain was formed back in school a long time ago, so when you actually visited a place you've heard or known in the back of your mind so many times, it's sort of a good moment. Legend has it that the "Upturned Boat" mountain was the product of Sangkuriang's wrath after finding out he missed the deadline to build a large boat before sunrise so he could marry his own mother, Dayang Sumbi. Of course, one would think this tale of almost-incest disaster could be prevented with Dayang Sumbi telling her son that he is not supposed to marry his own mother. One can also argue how good a story will be if truth comes out so easily?

From Tangkuban Perahu, you have a panoramic view of the city and the valleys surrounding you. The fog hangs atop the crater all the while we were there, so the only option left is for us to seek out a seemingly Thai-influenced (seemingly, because I can't be sure) vihara on the way down Lembang. Next stop is The Peak, a restaurant among a complex of villas overlooking the valleys and mountains surrounding Bandung. I imagined myself waking up in the morning and looking out vast greeneries and villages when we drove past one of the beautiful villas. The view is almost worth the price! Food-wise, we decided the Peak may be too plain and so headed down to "Sapu Lidi" (broom of split coconut midrib)! The restaurant has a slogan: "Makan di tengah sawah" (Eat in the middle of paddy field). Truth is, there's no paddy fields. Instead, I sat down in a thatched roof hut, cross-legged on the floor, ate like a peasant and had the best meal! This concept of restaurant "tables" that are actually a compound of huts has now caught up, and it's working out pretty well.

Oh, I had a real good time in Bandung!

More pictures: