Aside from being a know-it-all and stubborn, it is said that the most common disease among journalist is gastritis, thanks to long and random working hours, irregular meal time and questionable nutrients contained in the food often bought on the streets.

A couple of months after I took up the job as journalist in 2000, I already had the taste of gastritis, with nausea, flatulence and occasional vomiting. But with antacid and trying to eat regularly, as well as staying away from stress, the problem disappeared. It occasionally reappeared from time to time, but mostly manageable.

About six or seven months ago, however, gastritis suddenly returned with new symptom: irregular heartbeat. Worried that something was wrong with my heart, I checked into a doctor who said I got gastritis.

“Your gastric acid is pushed upward and disturb the rhythm of your heart. The heart itself is OK. You’re paranoid, aren’t you?” she said, smiling. The smile faded as I told her that my eldest sister died because of heart problem, despite an inborn one. She suggested me to take EKG test, and thankfully the result was normal and she gave me, once again, antacid.

I was fine for a month until I did low-carb Southbeach diet, which turned out to affect my sensitive digestive system. At the end of the first phase of the diet scheme, I ate some spicy food and bam! did I not just get gastritis, but also paratyphoid fever.

Ever since then, even when the fever had gone, my stomach kept giving me a problem. It was the start of the medical whirlwind that was exhausting and causing holes in my pocket.

Given the countless experience (mine and other people) how shitty the health care service in the country is, I went to this international-standard clinic, whose GP gave me another type of antacid and asthma medicine. I have asthma since I was a kid and I didn’t know why the gastritis was suddenly accompanied by asthma.

I was fine for a while, but the too familiar symptoms returned, complete with a bit of asthma. I went to this more sophisticated international clinic famous among expatriates, hoping to get better service and treatment. I did, the GP was very attentive and thorough. He concluded that I was suffering from Gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD), hence the extra breathing problem. The exact cause is unknown, could be physiological (whatever that means), age (ouch), or weight gain (double ouch). He added that was also a wound on my larynx, which caused by the acid reflux.

His explanation scared me a bit. An image of corroded underwater metal pipe popped up in my mind, and that would probably happened to my esophagus if this Gerd continued. I took his advice to stay away from spicy and sour food, as well as coffee and chocolate. Seeing my paratyphoid history, he asked me to do a stool test, but the result turned out to be fine. The doctor said that if the problem still existed, I had to see a gastroenterologist.

A month went by and yes, the bloody Gerd came back again. I looked up on the Internet and asked my friends about good specialist, and I picked this professor with a good reputation on healing digestive problems.

Turned out this elderly professor was feudal and made me anxious. He repeatedly corrected my grammar and asked me to sit up straight (hey, am I in the classroom?) and snapped at me.

“Let me tell you something. Gastric problems range from the lightest to the most dangerous one. And yours, is the former,” he said with a condescending smirk, which made me questioned myself and wondered if I was actually hypochondriac.

“You’re short of breath? Try holding it, now. Come on, I’ll count to 10. See? You survived,” he said. He then went on to teach me some tiptoe movements that he said could ease my stomach problem.

“So, there’s no big problem. Although, if it continues, it can damage your esophagus,” he said (Gee, thanks, doc!). “Here’s some medicines. Go ahead, eat everything, no prohibition. Come back next week if you want,” he said.

The statement “eat anything” lulled me, and guess what, the bloody gastritic/gerd was back in no time. The nausea or flatulence I can take, but the repeated short of breath worried me and I’m sure it was not an unreasonable fear.

I didn’t want to go back to Dr. Jekyll so another survey brought me to another gastroenterologist. Nice that he is, he’s the type who examines you real quick due to the long line of awaiting patients and stuffs you with a bunch of medication (five different types in my case that cost nearly Rp 1 million). He said it was necessary, and I was exhausted from the seemingly endless ride so I obeyed him. I took the medicine for 20 days, and then the doctor asked to wait for a few days before he would decide whether to give me another medicine or not.

At that time I was tired, worried about my liver condition because of drugs consumption, and not too mention broke. Hubby’s office paid for the medical expenses, but there was a limit to doctor’s fee, and since specialists are expensive, so it quite burned my pocket.

A friend suggested acupuncture, and desperate that I was, I did. The acupuncturist is also a GP so that made me quite content. The diagnosis is the same, Gerd/dyspepsia, and he, aside from sticking needles through my body, also said I should drink a mixture of water and apple vinegar during meal — not before or after. Apple vinegar, he said, would restore the acid needed but missing in my stomach due to the acid reflux. He also asked me to do diet. Fine.

It felt that the acupuncture helps, but the apple vinegar caused heat in my stomach after a few weeks and caused my poop hard. Last week, I suddenly got the not so old familiar symptoms — flatulence, asthma, heartburn — and felt shaky. I ended up at a hospital ER. But I remember that hospital had a renowned gastroenterologist so I made an appointment with him.

He did a USG and Gastroscopy as I’ve had this condition on and off for a few months now. Both examinations showed that I have blister in my stomach. I’m still waiting for the results of my test lab at the moment, finger crossed, before going to the doctor again. I still do the acupuncture, although the acupuncturist/GP seemed upset that I went to hospital and got some medicine. He said he just did not agree with the way ‘Western medication’ handled my situation, saying it could conflict with his method. Oh, just get along, will you?

I know situation my partly my fault as I can be self destructive when it comes to losing weight. Now, I gained weight as my metabolism is ruined and I don’t have enough energy to work out (nearly passed out in yoga class a few months back). I just wish this roller coaster ends, happily of course, and I don’t have to take a medication again. Wish me luck!

P.S. I’m thinking of forming a band called Gastrobabe. Choice of drug? Antacid.

Published in Jakarta Globe, 12 Oct. 2009

Three years ago, Nadine Chandrawinata, Miss Indonesia 2006, became a joke when she said “Indonesia is a beautiful city” in an interview at the Miss Universe pageant.

It was a good laugh, especially for regular people like myself who find it satisfying when beautiful people reveal their “dumb blonde” side and to prove that life can, after all, be fair.

But some people were seriously upset with Nadine, accusing her of blowing an opportunity to promote Indonesian tourism and tarnishing the image of the country.

Nadine’s predecessor turned House of Representatives legislator, Angelina Sondakh, also an avid campaigner of the “Beauty-Brain-Behavior” criteria, was among the critics, saying Nadine should have been better prepared.

I didn’t really pay attention to Miss Indonesia competitions afterward. But last weekend, through the magic of Twitter, I was exposed to the furor against this year’s beauty pageant contestants.

A local celebrity said he felt like throwing up after listening to the fake, superficial answers from the contestants. Another tweep commented how beauty queen criteria should be prioritized in the sequence of Brain-Behavior-Beauty to avoid embarrassing statements.

And then all hell broke loose when Acehnese Qory Sandioriva was crowned and said it was worth it to not wear the jilbab like other contestants from Aceh, the north Sumatran province that abides by Islamic Sharia law.

I have always been indifferent to beauty pageants. I’m not a fan, but am not against them either. The criticism of the contestants is baffling for me. People seem to forget that it is a beauty pageant, after all. It’s good if the contestants are smart, but if they give less than intelligent answers, let them be. It’s not the science Olympics.

What is it with the attempt to intellectualize beauty pageants? To break the stereotype that beautiful people are not necessarily dumb? I think people know that already. Or for the contestants to be able to promote their countries’ tourism if they make it to the international competition? Venezuelans have been crowned as Miss Universe several of time, but are tourists from all over the world flocking to Venezuela? I don’t think so.

Would a country’s image be tarnished by what beauty queens do? Looking back, Pamela Bordes, a Miss Universe contestant from India, turned out to be a call girl. Did it make anyone think less of India? Did it stop the country from becoming one of the global economic powerhouses? No.

Or perhaps because beauty pageants objectify women? I think feminism is about choice. There is a place for everyone, or every women in this case. If some women want to be models, beauty queens or Playboy bunnies (go Marge Simpson!), or have any other profession or take part in any activities that emphasize physical appearance, it is their right.

If human rights violations were occurring in beauty pageants — which is often in the case in the porn industry — then that would be a problem. But that really doesn’t seem to be the case.

It is rather hypocritical to intellectualize pageants. Sandioriva made a point about why the contestants wearing head coverings never won.

If people want to emphasize intelligence, put the pressure on our legislators so that only those with proven academic and activism merit can be our representatives in the House. Celebrities, former beauty queens included, who are only used as vote-getters, can stay away from House seats.

In the meantime, just sit back and enjoy another rerun of Miss Congeniality. It is funny, entertaining, and it shows exactly how a beauty pageant should be seen: With tongue firmly in cheek. And don’t forget, what do you all wish for? Yes, “World Peace.”

Like many other Jakartans, I’m also appalled by the mushrooming of department stores in the city and Greater Jakarta. I, too, wish for more open green space, libraries, playground, bicycle lane and pedestrian, rather than see another gigantic air conditioned box in which any activity can’t be done without wasting money.

But if I have to choose one favorite shopping mall in Jakarta – the lesser than two (or in this case 53) evils — I would choose Mal Kelapa Gading (MKG) in North Jakarta. Which Mal Kelapa Gading, you asked, 1, 2, 3..oops there’s no 4, or 5? All of them!

Sure, the presence of MKG and its friends — Sports Mall, Mall of Indonesia (MoI), Artha Gading, etc, as well as a bunch of apartment buildings — have worsened the incidence of flood in the area. But let’s discuss it another time.

First of all, I like MKG because it doesn’t have an intimidating or pompous facade. The building is not high, or flashy with windows displaying luxurious branded items. The outer look is blending with the environment and the neighborhood, which is mostly houses and shophouses.

The access is also easy; there are public tranportations that can stop right in front of the entrance without being shooed by the security officer. Inside the mall, the most interesting section is the array of restaurants and food courts with a diversity of scrumptious foods. Compared that to other malls that mostly provide junk food, overpriced Indonesian food or fancy restaurants.

The stores and supermarkets are also within different ranges of price and goods, catering to middle to upper and middle to lower classes. A number of stores cannot be found in other malls, although the anchor tenants are the same old foreign brands. Another attraction is the bazaar on the halls, which sell everything from clothes to furniture, from toys to pillows, but it manages not to turn the interior into a chaos.

It’s no wonder that every weekend, the mall is swarmed with visitors, not only from North Jakarta, but also from East Jakarta and Bekasi. Other malls in Kelapa Gading area are not that crowded, some are even deserted and waiting for their destinies to be shut down. The key words I think are ‘egalitarian’ and ‘local taste’.

Say, if someone with modest or worn out clothes and footwear, or a flock of children from the lower bracket of economy, enter the likes of Pacific Place or Grand Indonesia, it would create pity look or a pinch in the stomach, or disgust. But MKG can invite without abruptly separating visitors with the ‘outside world’ or creating social gaps, that visitors from different economic classes will mix.

In terms of the stuff sold, the mall knows the taste of visitors in the area. Give it up, already, Indonesians love to eat Indonesian food. Each area in the capital also has distinctive taste in clothes, for example. But mall owners tend to uniform them, which can be seen from installing the same anchor tenant. In nearby Emporium Pluit, for example, SOGO department store is deserted, and similar thing happened in other malls in Kelapa Gading. (A little note, mall managements in Jakarta have been complaining about the decrease in the number of visitors. Analysts said that aside from crisis, the market is saturated already and those who shop are the same people over and over).

As with shopping mall with local taste, it is interesting to note the rise of new ‘modern market’. It is simply a more modern and clean traditional market where people can buy raw (and cooked) food and other stuff (cooking utensil, glassware, etc), without having to worry about the dirty place and the smell.

The number is still very few, but it is so fun to visit the place as it revives the childhood memory of going to the market with my mom. It is also an alternative place to eat out and hang out without wasting too much money or having the feeling that we have to dress up.

There have to be more places like this instead of cold and arrogant malls, which can only create obese kids, consumtive and materialistic people, and widening gap in society that will lead to social envy.

With a flashlight in hand and yoga mat on my shoulder, I walked by myself on a small path leading to Borobudur Temple in Magelang, Central Java. It was 5.10 a.m., and the area was still dark and eeriely quiet, which made me wonder whether it was a good idea after all to visit the temple this early in the morning.

Two security guards who checked my pass were indifferent when I asked them about the spot where people usually do yoga. “In the back,” one of them said, deadpan.

I then climbed the stairs to the very top of the temple, only to find several tourists were already there, waiting to document the sunrise. It was indeed a long weekend holiday last May.

Grumbled and sweaty already, I detoured and looking for a quieter spot. After a quick check around, I found the spot one level down from the top. It was a sort of balcony on the side of the temple, facing the East and on the right of me was a small forest. Lovely. A few rounds of sun salutation later, all the doubts and worry disappeared and I was dissolved into the blissful surrounding of the temple.

An article at an inflight magazine about doing yoga at Borobudur Temple brought me there. Having been a yoga practitioner for over a year, the article somehow excited me immensely. I could already imagine how cool and exotic it was to do the ancient tradition in an equally ancient and magnificent place.

My yoga teacher, Devi Asmarani, said that doing yoga outdoor — provided that the air is clean, the scenery is nice and there is not much distraction — will give a different kind of feel and energy.

“You’ll feel a lot more refreshed because the air has not been recirculated. You’ll also feel a lot freer, because there is no walls surround you. But remember to check the weather and the situation first,” she said.

Yoga is basically a discipline of going into ourselves, she added, of getting in touch with the divinity – whether it is inner divinity or outer, whether it is a metaphorical thing, or a personification entity that you believe.

“So, when you do it in a place known to be sacred or revered to have some kind of spiritual presence or history, it is inevitable that you’ll pick some sort of spiritual energy or at least experience from that moment,” Devi said.

Places like Borobudur are considered sacred for a reason, she added, not just because they were built massively and gloriously, but also because it is a site where people ahd gone for meditative purposes or for worshipping.

“It is a site where people basically come in a state of submission, so that alone should keep the presence of spiritual energy,” Devi said.

The 9th-century Buddhist monument is still used as a place for people to seek spiritual experience, including pilgrimage. Once a year, Buddhists in the country celebrate Vesak at the magnificent complex. Overlooking the top of Mount Merapi volcano, the temple is also Indonesia’s single most visited tourist attraction.

The official opening hour is 6 a.m., but you can get the Borobudur Sunrise pass from the Manohara Hotel (I know ) located inside the temple complex. A hotel staff would show you the path to the temple, only several hundreds meter away from the hotel, and give you a a small flashlight.

Make sure to bring a thick enough and non-slippery mat, as the contour of the temple floor is uneven and the dawn dew created a layer of moisture on the mat. I did a round of Ashtanga. Standing poses were fine and smooth, but it was difficult to do ones like shoulder stand and fish pose, so I skipped them.

Doing yoga outdoor with such a natural and lush surrounding really made a difference, as Devi pointed. The air was clear and refreshing, making me fresh and energized from the start to the end. I could literally see my body heat and sweat evaporated, creating a natural sensation somehow.

In between poses, I witnessed the change of the sky from dark blue into lighter ones with splashes of yellow hue. On the right of me was lush, green forest enveloped in light fog, while on the left and behind me were splendid work of arts that have stood the test of time.

The only downside was the tourists. Perhaps it was better to come not during public holiday or weekend, or come earlier, when there are less or no tourist at all. Midway through the end of my yoga practice there, as the official opening hour arrived, a few tourists passed by and looked flummoxed by my sight. During one pose, there was a scream of a little girl who then stopped right next to me and yelled, “I wanna go home!”.

It was the cue to end the practice. I folded my mat and take a meditative stroll around the temple, soaking up more energy of it and admiring the magnificent temple (of course, after finding a quiet spot to quickly change my wet tshirt).

The level of content, peace and energy that I felt afterward was incredible – hundreds of times better than the usual yoga practice back at home. Endorphin was rushing through, creating a feeling of happiness and excitement all day and throughout the weekend.

Photo courtesy of The Jakarta Post.

I lay down on the yoga mat on the floor, panting and sweating profusely. An hour earlier, I thought I would faint, or — in my most drama queen mode – out of breath, fall flat and die, following a series of rigorous yoga poses.

The suspicion that I cannot make it through one yoga class often emerged, being a non-athletic, non-flexible, asthmatic couch potato. Fortunately, not once that the suspicion has ever been close to come true.

It has been a year since I took up yoga class regularly, which is the longest period I have ever voluntarily committed myself to a form of exercise.
I had tried yoga a couple of times about four years ago on reporting assignments, and I liked it. Mostly because it does not require running or jumping, but still you feel like you burn a lot of calories because it makes you sweat a lot. However, finding a good and affordable yoga studio that can match my schedule as reporter was not easy. So, after a while, I then became my old sedentary self.

A little over a year ago, I found out that two of my friends have given up their well-paying journalism job to be full-time yoga teachers. It was really intriguing, and not to mention the perfect timing as I had grown ridiculously out of shape and sickly. I immediately signed up for one of their classes.

It was Vinyasa, which is a more dynamic kind of yoga. I thought the flow of movements was really graceful and beautiful. That time, I was re-reminded of how stiff my body was. I have a good motoric coordination, but when I bent over, I could not even touch the tip of my toes. Regardless, I really had fun and feel so refreshed.

The next day, however, my body got really, really sore. For two days, I was also sweating buckets, which was new as I didn’t sweat easily. My friend, or my teacher, said that after being sedentary for so long, apparently, my metabolism was getting the kick it needed.
After the sore had gone, I came back to class the next week, and the week after, and got really drawn into it. It just makes me feel really fresh and energized. The teachers (Hi Devi dan Sisi ) are also very supportive and gentle. I was then introduced to several forms of yoga other than Vinyasa: Ashtanga, Yin Yoga and Iyengar, all of which I enjoy. But somehow I find the more dynamic flow of yoga suits me the best.

Slowly but surely, like the methodical principles of the discipline itself, I began to feel the benefits of doing yoga. First of all, I get more flexible and stronger. I can finally touch my toes; the sole of my feet can be flat on the ground while doing the downward facing dog; I can do push up (not 100 times, though), and I can fold my feet and pull myself off the floor, like a scale.

I don’t get thinner for doing yoga, as much as I want it to, but I love how it makes my body more toned. I have a better posture, no longer hunching, which started when puberty hit and I felt uncomfortable with my relatively big boobs (speaking of which, yoga amazingly can defy gravity. Awesome). I feel more energized and healthy, and no longer have to deal with menstrual sickness.

But I think the most important progress is how my perception toward my body changes. I have been struggling with my weight since I was a teenager. While I’m not obese, I have always been overweight. During high school, it was especially difficult as you know how teenagers can be so mean and I was the butt of the joke daily for being fat.
Genetically, nobody in my family is thin and we tend to gain weight easily, which is something that can be fought with a lot of exercise and diet, but I just don’t have will power or vanity for it. I had been taking my body for granted by not eating well, and was in and out of exercise.

But since I do yoga, I become more aware of my whole body, even the smallest part of it, and appreciate it more. This is the first time in my life that I do exercise not merely because I want to be thin, but because I want to be fit. For the first time in my whole life, I don’t hate my body that much.

Sure, it still hurts when some friends asked, “Are you still doing yoga?” and when I said yes, they looked at me from head to toe as if saying “how come you’re not thin yet?”. But I’ve learned to shake it off. I no longer get frustrated and throws the efforts all away and goes back to overeating and being couch potato.

There was also a time when I had a really high expectation on yoga and perceived it as the panacea for everything. I later learned that you still need good nutrition and enough rest to stay well. Self-destructive behavior – skipping meal, staying out late, drinking – will cause health problem no matter how many yoga classes you attend a week. I also learned that while yoga can solve my period problem, I have to find another way to overcome mood swing.

I may still have many kilos to shed, and it will probably take five years for me to master Ashtanga series I, if at all. But hey, man, at least I can pull myself together. Literally.

Tatut and I are socially handicapped when it comes to dealing with neighbors. Well, actually in dealing with strangers in general. We’re bad at small talk. We prefer to read or listening to our iPods when we travel, or at hair salon (or in family gathering, ha!). At parties, we like to observe first before having the courage to talk to other people. No wonder we needed our friends to be our matchmaker haha.

Back to dealing with neighbors, we had that job done for us all our lives. Before getting married, Tatut lived with her mother and sister in the same house since he was a kid. While I, even after moving out of my parents’ house, always lived in a rented room that did not require me to get in touch with the neighbors, especially with my weird working hours as a reporter.

When we moved into our own house three years ago, we didn’t really know what to do with the neighbors. But we knew we had to introduce ourselves to them. A few houses next to and across ours were still vacant, so there left the house on our right and across, on the right. Instead of knocking to the houses, however, we waited til we bumped into them to have a brief introduction.

We felt that we had to mingle with the neighbors, but we never did. In our defense, there’s no good time to do it. We leave early in the morning and go back late at night, and on weekend, we just want stay home and get some rest, or go out. Many of our neighbors are going away on weekend too. So, the most social thing we do so far is saying hi and bye, smile our best, wave to the kids (“Oh, what’s his name?” “Hiiii Theo! What’cha you doin?” “Hiiiii, Phoebe. Byeeee, Phoebe”), and giving collective contribution for the security once a year. During hari raya, everybody leaves for their hometown, and by the time we get back, we would dwell into the same routine that keep us from getting close to the neighbors.

Up until now, we still forget the name of our neighbors. Except for the kids, Theo and Phoebe, who live in the house to our right. We feel bad from time to time for not knowing our neighbors well, and we wish we had been better neighbor, but never do anything about it. We feel bad especially because our neighbors are so nice, friendly, never been nosy or loud or do anything annoying. They’re very understanding toward this socially awkward young couple.

Yesterday afternoon, when we got back home from buying groceries, the bapak2 who live across us came over. He said he and his wife were going to have a small ceremony today to celebrate their going to Hajj pilgrimage next month, so he invited us to come around lunch time.

We were really anxious about it because Tatut had to go somewhere today and only got back late afternoon, which meant I had to go by myself. Without the other, any of us is doubly awkward. I could just not going, but we vowed to be the better neighbor when the opportunity presents itself. And now that the opportunity came, we’d better not ruin it! We planned to go there in the morning together, but then decided that I would be the sole representative of our socially-disabled household.

Then came lunch time, and anxiety heightened. I took a peek from my window and saw a lot of chairs outside of the bapak2 house, but only few people around. Took a peek 15 minutes later, and saw people start coming, and they all wore the so-called Islamic clothes. That made me even more nervous.

I then changed my clothes into loose pants and long-sleeve tunic, and waited. Watched from my window again, but didn’t have the courage to go. I called Tatut up and asked whether to go or not, which of course annoyed him and told me to just go. But I bet he would be as chicken as me if it’s the other way around.

I decided to wait a little longer, and watched TV. I started to feel hot in the outfit, and thinking to just go and get it over with. Suddenly, there was a loud sound from the bapak2’s speaker. Wow, they had sound system and all. Apparently, they had some Koran reciting, preach, and chanting. I was glad I hadn’t gone. I then decided to wait for Tatut so that we could go together. I changed into shorts.

An hour later, the speaker announced that it was time to congratulate the couple going to pilgrimage and then had lunch. I stood up quickly and changed, thinking it was the perfect time. Finally, I went there, waited in line with other people and wish the couple the best, and headed home.

I felt so relieved, like a huge burden had been lifted from my shoulder. What a loser.

One of the things I like about our neighborhood in the suburb is that it only has one shopping mall. There are no hideous shop-houses (only cute ones) and so-called trade centers, only trendy outdoor cafes and bookstore. The whole area is still lush and green.

Visiting the mall on weekends, however, is a suicidal attempt. Aside from residents of the housing area, the mall also serves people from Tangerang and other cities nearby, or even Lampung, which is some two hours away including the ferry trip. So, on weekends, the mall will be insanely crowded.

On several occasions when I’m crazy enough to browse the mall on weekend, though, something often bothers me as I observe those mallgoers. Judging from their attire, jewelry and shopping bags, I assume that they are of the middle class people, maybe a bit lower, but definitely not poor.

Their children, however, are showing signs of poor nutrition. They’re a bit skinny, their skin dry, the hair thin, lanky and redish instead of pitch black, and the eyes..dull and protruding. These kids also seem to be irritable. Many of the parents, meanwhile, look like they’re gonna drop because of clogged artery or heart attack soon, judging from their huge belly.

I sometimes watch what these children eat, and it’s mostly junk food, or else sweets. McDonald’s is a big hit. I can guess what these kids have at home. I bet they start the day with fried rice, with abundant rice but small side dish (egg if they’re lucky, or perhaps dinner leftover). If not fried rice, it would be instant noodle. Lunch and dinner would be pretty much similar: big on rice, low on vegetable or other fiber. Snack? Crackers, gorengan (fried snack), or other snacks that are high on MSG or artificial sugar.

I know for sure cause some of my relatives and old neighbors are like that. The philosophy of feeding their children is that it should be easy and make the children stuffed. I often warned my relatives about this, what it would do to the kids’ brain, but to no avail.

Meanwhile, there is also the other side of parents’ ignorance, which is apparent in the malls downtown, where middle upper class families come. Obese children would roam around the place, high on sugar and carbs, gobbling fried chicken and gulping soda, before taking dessert.

This thing often makes me angry. It bugs me how parents are so lazy and take their children’s well being for granted. If the families are poor, I can still understand, but in this case, they’re not.

Malnourished or over nutrition… man, this country leads toward a gloomier future.

Dear Bono,

I’m a fan. Not the kind of huge fans who collect all of U2 CDs and memorabilia, and know all U2 songs by heart and make it their life soundtrack. But it’s safe to say that I’ve been a huge admirer of U2, and you, since junior high.

I thought you’re the most charismatic frontman next to Robert Plant. One was among the first songs I taught myself to play on guitar back in college (still not good at playing guitar, though). I wore with pride the oversize Rattle and Hum t-shirt my sister bought me (Btw sis, I’m not that fat! Stop buying me oversize clothes!!). I became more aware of world politics thanks to U2 lyrics and the dedication you guys wrote in every album for political prisoners like Suu Kyii.

I also watched your activism with high admiration. Although I think lately you delved too much in it, instead of being what you really are first and foremost: a musician and a rock star. It’s great to care for a cause or two, but as one of my journalism mentors said, you can care about any cause as a journalist, but if you’re asked to cover an environmental rally, for example, you have to stay neutral instead of joining the protesters and chain yourself on the tree.

But you’re Bono, of course, you’re entitled to do anything. You’re, like, a messiah, as Gwen Stefani said.

I no longer obsess with music the way I used to, but I still wish to see my favorite musicians perform live in concert. U2, of course, is among the top of my list.

I was then really ecstatic when my brother in law, who works for a concert promoter, told me that U2 is going to have a concert in Bali on Nov. 15. I was really thrilled, feeling that it would be the best birthday celebration ever for me. I spread the news to my close friends, who were also very ecstatic, and we began to survey plane ticket fare to Bali.

One of my friends, though, blasted the news, saying that she has lost some respect for you and U2 ever since there was the news about U2 refusing to hold a concert in Indonesia due to the human rights violation in East Timor.

According to my friend, you have become too political, making music no longer universal. “So there’s a human right violation. What about the U.S.? It has a long list of human rights violation cases. There’s no country in the world that’s free from human rights violation. But does it stop U2 from having concerts there? Nooo,” she said.

I agree with what she said. You reminded me of those developed countries leaders who refuse to give aid to poor countries for fear of the aid being embezzled, but at the end the move made poor people more miserable while corruption is still rampant. But I defended you. After all, you’re Bono, you’re entitled to do anything.

Until my brother in law informed me about the price of the upcoming concert ticket, which would be Rp 3 million (around US$320) and Rp 8 million. WTF?? I don’t know if it’s because U2’s performance fee is too high or the promoter simply want to capitalize the event to the max. Still, Bono, it’s so goddamn expensive.

You’re pal with Jeffrey Sachs and you even wrote an introduction for Sachs’ book The End of Poverty, so you’re probably familiar with the fact that most Indonesians don’t even earn that much in a month. Heck, millions are still living under $1 a day! Or perhaps you’re too busy dealing with poverty in Africa that you’re not aware that millions of Asians are poor too.

Perhaps you can take the cue from Pearl Jam who fought with Ticketmaster as the latter charged concertgoers with too high ticket price. I forgot who won the case but the bottom line is, the band cared about their fans and they made sure they have access to watch the band’s performance. Cause it’s indeed the fans who have brought Pearl Jam or any other band, including U2, to the present stature.

You’re Bono, but this time, you can’t just get away with it.

I think it’s time you call U2 a day. But people say you’re only as good as your last game/last deed. In that case, you need to make one last great album. Because How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb sucks. Big time.

Regards,
Hera

PS. I’m not going to the concert. I’d rather save up for Madonna’s.

From early on, Indonesians are taught to be inferior in terms of their country’s presence and significance in the global community despite the size of the archipelago. Statements implying that Bali is far more famous than Indonesia, the country’s status as a poor developing country, or how ‘westerners’ still perceive us as primitive people who live in the jungles are readily available.

Therefore, we tend to get excited, amazed and proud of the mention of Indonesia no matter how trivial it is, as long as it’s not negative. Like when Mick Jagger got married in Bali, or Missy Elliott mentioned Indonesia when she raps (although it was just an attempt to find words that rhyme), or that Michelle Branch’s grandmother/grandfather is half Indonesian (remember Michelle Branch? No? Exactly).

And oh my god, what can be bigger than now, as a U.S. presidential candidate is someone who once lived in Indonesia? It’s something to celebrate about, people!!!

I am excited with the U.S. presidential race, and observe it on a daily basis. It is indeed exhilarating to see someone so young and so brilliant and inspiring to emerge amid all the chaos. It is also an escapism from watching the disgusting local political scene where the same old scumbags still reign supreme.

But with all due respect, I think the excitement over Obama because of the fact that he once lived for four years in Indonesia and had an Indonesian stepfather is just too much. Or as a much more cynical friend put it it’s like a fake orgasm.

Come on. Beyond the small connection with Indonesia, if he makes it to become president, Obama won’t do much for Indonesia beyond diplomatic handshake and photo op in his former school building. This country will remain a cash cow for the U.S. like it’s always been. Obama has yet to have political baggage, but will he be against corporations and their evil deeds? After all the money they gave to him during the campaign, I don’t think so.

*Image is taken from Enda’s blog. Sorry, nda, gak maksud. Peace!

A few months ago, a friend offered me a consultation job for a research firm in New York City. I said yes, and someone from the firm then called me up, explaining about the job.

What I had to do basically was filling in some forms, explaining a thing or two about Indonesian youth figures. It would probably take half an hour or so. The guy from the firm then said, “As for the compensation for this project, we’d be happy to offer you $250. Does that sound fair? Or do you have a higher rate?”.

This might affect my rate in the future but fair?? Hell, yeah!

That was the second time I realized that the rest of the world treated a freelance writer like me better than my home country. The first time when I got an offer to write articles for this website, which pays US$20/100 words. Not bad.

Here, local media only pays around Rp 300,000-Rp 500,000 (around $30-$50) for a 600-800 words article. Only very few that are willing to pay Rp 800,000-Rp 1 million an article, or Rp 1,000/word. But some are for writing advertorials, which is not exciting.

I love writing but I feel that it’s not worth the effort to write for local media. Hey, I have to pay bills too and there are several other mouths to feed (OK, I exaggerate). So, I choose to do other writing-related jobs that pay more, like editing, translating, copywriting and few absurd jobs but with good compensation The money is not bad at all, more than enough to live for a month and save up. The downside is when your clients pay you very late, if they pay at all Perhaps, I should start to think about hiring debt collector.

Recently, though, I found that I’m among the lucky ones as many other freelance writer/editor/translator out there are really underpaid. A friend, for example, only receives Rp 12,000-Rp 35,000 a page for doing translation! Oh man.
Even worse, another friend said that her friend was paid Rp 200 a page for proofreading a book. That’s like, only two cents!

It’s very disheartening. People are still unaware that writing/translating/editing requires talent, skill and craft, and therefore should be given proper compensation. A friend said that translating is not exactly an intellectual work. I personally prefer writing to translating but I disagree with her. It takes language flair and knowledge to be able to translate something. Doing translation has helped me improve both my English and Indonesian and I gain a thing or two about different issues.

Perhaps there should be a union or association of some sort to help improve this situation? It’s not just about money. Well, it is. But for me, it’s more about showing appreciation to a profession, to skill and experience.