A DAY BEFORE THE D DAY

I spent days in the library. I woke up in the middle of the night and jumped out of my bed and held my books. I read for a while... and searched for an escape. did not understand what I have written, and I got frustrated. Dear God... are you there?

THURSDAY, THE 13TH

Thursday the 13th will be the day. May the Lord bless me with courage and clear mind as not to turn the day into Friday the 13th. Lord....

THE NEVERLAND: THE LAND OF ORGANIC CASHEW

I browsed through my blurted thoughts and landed in the year of 2006. The piece was about a land that I visited called Ile Padung. Ile means village and Padung is the name. Ile padung is the gateway to organic cashewnut. A place where ignorance is a bliss, a place that could melt one's heart. 

It was a long trip, almost 3 to 4 hours from Maumere. The winding roads covering the hill were excellent and we were entertained by the traditional houses and ways of life on both sides of the streets. Once a while a bus loaded with heavy luggage on the top, tried to pass our car. The dust filled the air, drifting slowly before they landed back on the roads and trees, leaving a dusty trails on the side of the roads. 

As we enter the village most of the land were covered by cashew trees. We were welcomed by the cashew fruits that dangled like christmast ornaments. Green when young but turns orangish as it grows ripe. The ripe ones were scattered all over the dried leaves underneath the trees. A group of cows were consuming the meat of the ripe cashew fruit beneath the shadow of the trees.

We went straight to a place where they assemble the cashew nuts called UPH (Unit Pengumpul Hasil). Pak Kris and Pak Gabriel, the informal leaders,  were there to welcome us. The UPH is a well managed compartment. Ripe cashew, the seed and the inedible hard shell is called gelondong. The gelondongs are placed on the dry hot sun on the cement for 4 days. The process of drying up the gelondongs occurs in other 4 parts of the village. The UPH is a place where all gelondongs are stockpiled and  the process of peeling the hard shell is done . The edible part of the nut covered by the thin skin is then dried again for another 1 or 2 hours under the sun to make the next phase not too demanding. The thin skin can now be easier peeled off. The raw cashew nut has now turned into the shape that we are familiar with. The final step, they need to be dried again for 15 minutes before they are ready to be packed in a vacuumed plastic wrap. 

The traditional way of growing cashews hinders their ability to export them. The process of drying up the cashews could not be done other way since at that time electricity had not been distributed to that part of the world. Another reason why exporting is hard to do because people fail to meet the required amount of cashews requested by the exporters. Whenever they are in heavy need of money which occur most of the time, they sell their gelondongs to middleman who are always waiting with their hungry mouth wide open.
The people who live in the village are warm hearted. Dark shiny skin exposed under the sun and curly hair are typical people who inhabits the village. They are by nature most polite with a great deal of outward humily and seem willing to agree to anything rather than upset strangers. Don't expect to get the truth out of their mouth merely because most people will only be trying to show good manners. They respect others especially strangers.  

I really wish I could go back to that place once again, the neverland where sweet organic cashew grows and people live

WOBBLY ME

Two weeks ago I was appointed as member of a commission in my church. I did not know what’s coming ahead, but I take it with a belief that any good deeds is never lost. Being in charge of communication and organization, my part is to coordinate the organization side. I have never had any experience with the church, although once in a while the synod asks me to give a hand on their strategic planning. But dealing with it at the grass root level is a different case.

One thing I am ready to swallow is the fact that they do not show full commitment. It is understandable because contributing time to church is listed as at the bottom of one’s priority list. There are many other priorities listed on the top of the list: work, family, friends and me are of course are on the top. So I’m trying to be ready for it.

Another reason is we belong to totally different groups of people. Adapting to their mind is quite a problem for me. I am not trying to say that I know better, but my experience in an organization had brought me far to understand strategic management. It is not easy to drag people to think from an activity level to a strategic level. You might end up in a delusional state where people make faces when they heard you talk of the strategic level. As with the later I have encountered people saying: be more practical!!!.  They expect to see the practical side rather than the strategic side, while in fact both are two sides of the same coin. The biggest problem that I have to encounter is the fact that most people live in the practical side and are used to doing it for so many years.

New things bring uncertainty in life.  It must be age that made me feel wobbly

CURFEW

Curfew is my best buddy.  Only the owl and silence dwell...
Keep the night younger... stay here longer

TOOTH FAIRY

Tooth fairy
come and visit me
It's not money
my tooth is my theme

Take your friends for me
spread hope in my heart
I dont need your money
Pull my teeth away

I dont need my teeth
I need my peace
Take all those symbols
Let me rest

EXPIRY DATE

What do you do when a product is expired? Throw it away... That's a logical answer. Expiry date is a previously determined date after which something should no longer be used, either by operation of law or by exceeding the anticipated shelf life for perishable goods. So do not wait until the expiry good contaminates any member of your family. 

Expiry date also applies to human being. Young age means your expiry date is still long. People puts so much hope on you and you are well looked after. You are placed in a safe dwelling in which the temperature and the cleanliness are of significant issue.  The philosophy behind it is simple, be ready when the time needs you. 

At your productive age, people adore  and kneel down as you pass them. That is the time when they are in need of you, so, consider yourself the king or the queen of the universe, no matter how small the universe is. People are dependent on you. They put their breath of life in your hand. It all depends on you whether you are going to support them or deny their existence. 

Most people, spend this phase of their life, supporting people around them. In return they adore and worship you. They laugh at your stupid jokes. They vote for you even if you don't expect them to do so. They even call you a genie. 

Things turns blue and gray when the expiry date is over. That's the time when those who used to support you have developed their own strength and are able to stand on their own. This is the time when you  turn into nuisance and suffering. You are poisonous. This is the time to get rid of you before you become contaminated. 

CAN I ASK YOU GOD?

Can I ask you God.... what does doing good mean? If it is the things that I have heard from the Bible, enlighten me God, why do I have to pay for doing things written in the Bible. Is that what being crucified mean?  Please God enlighten me.... I am begging you Lord... I want to remain your child until the last breath is taken from me. But I need your support to remain strong and be your child until the day arrives.

I AM ME

I have acquainted myself with the truth ever since I was a child. My parents brought the concept to my awareness when I began to understand that I am part of the reality. Those are the black and white of truth. My mom was the source of truth. She told me what is right and wrong. I perceived the right ones as the truth. That was the simple logic of a child. At that time the definition of truth was so simple.

As I grow up I began to know other sources of truth. The Sunday School, my friends at school or my friends in the neighborhood  were  among them. I began to realize that life is not as simple as I thought it was. Some concept of truth are conflicting. As to overcome my confusion I began to classify the source of truth and at the same time develop my own concept of truth. My interaction with the reality have brought new perspectives and they are my subjective perspectives. Today it is the truth, but tomorrow heaven knows what.

When I began to work I had conflicts with many people, for I have seen that what I believe as the truth are not considered as the truth to others. People began to try to shape my concept of truth. I nodded not because I believe in what they say. I nodded because that was the way to survive at work. I hate myself for being a hypocrite, but I am tired of entering the battle of life. So I let them have their way as long as they did not bother me. I was happy to some extent when I quit working. I could be the real me and believing in my own truth. However I also noticed that my own believe in truth had been exchanged the comfort financial life that I gained from my work.  

Now that I don't work I can put a distance between me and all the stuff of truth. I decide what truth is and I don't have to worry about being accused of making mistakes. So the truth does not live in my consciousness anymore. The truth is now me. 

SLEEPY HEAD, IT'S TIME TO GET UP

I have never experienced a person as diligent as her. She works very hard yet she managed to divide her time between work and study well. She is very, extremely quiet. She works, and works, she studies, and studies. She helps me and I do not see any point of which I need to complain. 
She was thin with curly black hair. She has straighten her hair to make her look like all the girls living in the city. I personally prefer to see her curly hair growing  upward and made her head looks bigger. I like to see her with an identity of her own. Well, it's her hair, not mine, so I have to burried my preference deep down inside my heart and head.

She is from a small vilage in NTT. Through my discussion with her I notice that she hardly ever been raised by her parents. She had to work in a relative's house just to get the opportunity to continue her studies in the high school. It did not sound like a beautiful life to me, but I noticed that she is very thankful of what life has to offer her and loves her family deeply as mentioned in her status in the social media. Every month I have to help her support her family financially.
I compare her to my children and see a big hollow in the way I raise my children.  My children have the opportunity to focus in their studies without worrying about the rest of their life. I call their life an Abracadabra Life. All they have to do is study and the room get cleaned, the food is available on the dining table, and everything what a growing up girl longs to have is there. Despite of being thankful to they always forget to count their blessings and complain. They do not know what struggle really is. Any threat to their comfort life is called problem.
Comparing her to my children is not fair. However it is not a sin that I finally arrived to a conclusion that struggle is healthy to help children growing up. It is a bit too late to put my children into the battle of life, but I really believe that they have to wake up. Sleepy head, it's time to get up. 

TIRED

She kept herself awake for thirty consecutive days. People said, it was the days when the battle between She and Her broke out. It was the battle between sanity and insanity. There were the times  when her assumption went wild. She assumed that She  had evaporated. She fell into the stage of delirium. One stories after another were told. They were actually not stories, they were just meaningless words rushing out of the dry lips. But there were also the days when rationality provoked Her thoughts.  For an instance, She was transformed into Her. Tranquility occupied Her heart and mind. Hope has managed to convince Her that comfort has dwelt back in the kingdom of Her heart.  But the latter did not remain long. She arrived back and landed right in the middle of Her heart. She was again torn and forlorn. Insanity took the reign. She was unreachable, floating, blown away by the strong breeze. Hoping that life has mercy on Her and kept her back in the place where comfort dwells.

HOW LONG?

I have a new laptop. My children bought them for me. I am so so proud of them. It's not the laptop that matters, but the fact that they begin to shunt  the me within sideways and begin to share with others.  Having a new laptop I had to move my files from my old laptop to the new one. I bumped into so many memories. Two of which are the most moving  ones to me were the memories of my sister and my mother. 

When I was a teenage, I could hardly imagine that I could live without my sister and my mom. The closest and loving persons they are that brought me to a comfort zone. I shared my problems with them, sometimes I put my problems in their shoulders for I know they will take care of it. 

As I grow up and had my own life, things had never stopped nor changed. My sister lives overseas. We talked once a week, almost every end of a week. We made joke and we shared our problems. The tie that bond us was even stronger than before. The picture of our vacation was in my old laptop. I transferred them one by one while my mind was exploring the past. The story that we shared reveals how you always find our home as a home. You wanted me to talk about the stupid things we did when we were teens. I noticed the happy look in your eyes flashing as I brought the old memory back. You must have missed your home so much sister and that made me feel sad. The life that you chose could not replace the concept of home. You came back home every week end. 

My mother lived with me within the last 7 years of her life. She died in April 2017 and that was the second blow to me. All the pains that she had to go through to make us lead our own life was beyond words. A single mother, with four kids was not an easy homework for her. She could put herself as one of the most loved person to the entire extended family. I know her life was a bit empty once she got old, but the love has never ceased to exist. Even in her state of dementia, she had never forgotten to share her love. I found her picture, she was praying. I took that picture. God must love her so much for she had always lived with Him. 

Two of my children are grown up. They have their own jobs.  I might not be the best mother to my three children, but I know they love me and I love them.   I love them the way my mother and my sister had taught me about love. My son is only 13. I ask God to give me some more time to raise my son, to bring him to a stage where he becomes his own person, leading his own life. It is going to be His time, not my time. How long? 

SPS

I bumped into the phrase SPS that stands for Slow Processing Speed a couple of months ago. A friend mentioned it to me and I was triggered to search for further explanation. My old computer seemed to be the best metaphor for a child with SPS.  The pace at which it absorbs, processes, makes sense of information take longer than any other kids. It has nothing to do with being smart. A kid with SPS tends to perform tasks longer. SPS does not solely  live with learning and attention issues, but it can contribute to learning and attention issues like ADHD, Dyslexia, dyscalculia and auditory processing disorder. Worst of all, it impacts learning at all stages and executive functioning skills which is the thinking skills that help kids plan, set goals, respond to problems and persist on assignments, staying focused and monitoring how well they are doing.
I took a ride in a friend's car. Her husband is a qualified practitioner of medicine. I talked about SPS. Then he said that there is no such word as impossible. To get rid of the word impossible requires persistence, hard work and most of all one has to believe that one can do it. God has never created a person with problems that are too heavy for them. I was silent, even days after the conversation had occurred. Despite the blow,  I was a bit relief for now I know the question.
I have been trying for years to find the answers which question I do not know. From one expert to another, a seeker I had been, a seeker of something I do not know. Now that I know the question, I did not know how to start or what to do. I am still a seeker, but this time I know what I am looking for.
I love you be it SPS, or ADD or Dyslexia or whatever it is. I promise I will be with you as long as I can and spend my best efforts on adapting you to live with SPS. I talk to God about you every night and in every possible conversations I have with Him.

INCUBUS

My eldest brother perished before I was born. I did not feel any attachments to him. I only saw his picture lying in his coffin, while my mom and dad were sitting beside the coffin. I noticed the sadness was deeply carved on their faces.  The next image of my brother was his grave. My mom took us to the grave a couple of  times. I remember the marble on which there were my brother’s picture and name. My grandfather’s name was also carved on the marble. Apparently they shared the same graves. I also remember the granite gravel on both sides of the cemetery. The beautiful glittery tiny stones shone as the ray of the morning sun reached the cemetry.

Time goes by,  the memory of my brother was forgotten. My mom had a rough time after my dad left her. The pain  of being neglected by someone whom you wanted to share your life with was deep. I did not know which one was deeper but they definitely kept my mom occupied. The story of my brother was hardly mentioned. His existence has turned into ashes...as to his body. We have never  heard anyword about him anymore.

On a fine day, early in the morning, my mom passed away.  She had been lying in bed for more than a year, trapped in a box called silence. We were all sad, but deep down in my heart I was happy for her. She had recorded a long-standing  life. She was almost 95. After her burial I went through her cupboard and found a pile of documents. It was hidden at  the very bottom of her cupboard. I said hidden  because they were covered with multi layers of old newspaper and plastic bags. I had no comperehension whether  the documents were a treasure or torture  to my mom.

I opened the documents carefully for they were dull, discoloured and full of stains. I was affraid I might damage the papers.  At the very top there was a tainted envelope. I did not need to open it for the glue that kept the sides together had lost its power. A pile of cards fell out. They were condolences cards, sent for my brother in 1948. One card was from my parents, they wished him to have a safe journey. One card was from my sister and brother who called my brother Boeng, which means brother. Then one card was from my father. It was the shortest condolences card ever. “My King.” The cards were beautifully hand written. My mom also kept his  medical record, including  the handwritten graph of his health. A feeling of agony thrust my chest and my heart turned sore.

My mother must have tried very hard to burry her sorrows. Underneath the envelope I saw other documents. Those were the court documents. I opened the filthy documents with the tips of my finger and the smell of mold and mildew stroke my nose. The horror struck and I was repelled.  the content inside the documents were a real nightmare. They  ripped apart my heart. I cried silently for my mother, for all the pains that she had to go through. My father called her names and accused her of things  that even the devil would have abandoned them.   I needed fresh air... I needed to get out of this dreadful, traumatic, horrendous incubus.

As night fell my eyes were widely open. As the curfew fell I decided to talk to my mother and prayed. I wanted her to know how much I adore, worship, and love her.

Nb. My mother had always claimed that she had a beautiful life with her children. 

WAITING ROOM

We all sat there in rows. Silent with no word spoken. The waiting room was rather dark and chilly. I noticed the empty faces. One will never know what's inside our mind. We were there waiting for our turn to come.  The air was full of uncertainties.

A lady with two white wings appeared from the room next door. She called a name. My aunt stood and walked slowly. We followed her with our eyes. She walked and vanished into the upper room. I  noticed lines of sadness in everybody's faces. We knew that she would never come back to visit us. If we are lucky we may see her in  our dream. My mom, she wiped the gloomy tears from her eyes.

The clock was again ticking. So many seasons had gone by. My grey hair began to appear like the soft snow in winter. We were all still in the waiting  room. The squeaky doors were suddenly opened. We were all startled. Another name was announced. My sister! No...no....no.... she was still so young. I expressed my anger for an instant.... but went back to my seat as I saw her go. She turned her head and looked at me... me specifically... with her eyes full of love. My tears dropped. I could hear the sound of my tears smashed against the  hard floor.  Then silent.....as my sister has faded away....turned into nothingness.

The edgy  moments were again dangling  in the sky. Nobody had the patience. My uncle began to make movements. He called for the lady and told her...let it be my turn. But nothing happened. So he gave up and waited impatiently. Luck was on his side.... the door was suddenly opened. The lady appeared. She flapped her wings while calling my uncle's name. He jumped of his seat and went to the upper room. He looked as if he knew all the way there. He forgot the fact that he left his sister in the waiting room. His sister  which  is my mother watched him closely. He left a deep cut on her chest. The cut was so deep that her heart jumped out and fell on the floor, laying ... before it turned dry within seconds.

The room has turned so cold. I noticed my mom was shivering. I knew she cried out for the  lady. But her voice got stuck  in her throat. I spotted her weary eyed. She sat in thousands of  silence. No movements. Her pulse was louder than the sound of  the west wind. Her eyes have gradually weakened. Starring to a point until where there was only darkness, no light.  She beat the lady. She ran to the upper room before the lady called her name.

I.....am waiting......Everybody's waiting..... we are here in the waiting room.

ARE YOU THERE?

I talk to her while  she's asleep . She has been sleeping for almost a year. I wonder what is boggling in her mind . She's going to be 96 this year. She has missed her last birthday, because that was the time when she began to enter her long sleep. We all gathered together. A birthday cake with candles. We put it gently on her side. Hoping that the birthday cake would wake her up. We took turns to  wish her a happy birthday. On my turn I asked her:"Are you there?"

MOVE ON!

The election  to vote for the new governor  of Jakarta was conducted two  days ago. The quick count result has  indicated the winner. As a citizen I do vote, whoever I vote is not important to be discussed for it is my own personal choice. I am more interested to discuss the long term effect of the election. The election is over. There is a term that has been used on the net referring to those whose championed does not turn to be the winner: Move on!. “Everything is easier said than done. Wanting something is easy. Saying something is easy. The challenge and the reward are in the doing.”
The election is indeed over, but the hatred that has been spread around to support each  champion remained. Let  me take you back to  the Presidential election that occured in 2014. So much hatred were in the air. Those who claimed themselves to be the wisemen, the knowledgable person, the powerful people stood firmly to support their own champion. They threw irresponsible statements in the air, hoax and hatred speech.  The general public becomes the object. Those who have sufficient education and time selected the information they read, but those who did not have time  nor sufficient education relied heavily on the provided information around them, especially when they are readily served on your plate continously.
A philosopher claimed that the two group mentioned later are the object of power. The power is not the  ordinary power that has been  claimed so far. The power runs in  the relationships. The  injection  of power goes through discourse. The will to know brings the audience into truth of knowledge. In  simple language, their mind set is constructed by discourse, because deep down inside there is the will to know. Whatever served by the discourse will be considered as the truth.
Using race, religion, gender and discriminating people might be an excellent choice to win  the election. After the election  is over we claim that the situation is back  to normal. It is not as simple as that. The hatred that has been sown along the campaign remains in the public heart and mind. The Presidential election  is a proof. People never settles down and  remains boiling with hatred. Whatever the elected President does is always an object of  criticism of the opposing parties. Rumours spread around not less better than during the election. A rumor is a social cancer: it is difficult to contain and it rots the brains of the masses. However, the real danger is that so many people find rumors enjoyable. That part causes the infection. And in such cases when a rumor is only partially made of truth, it is difficult to pinpoint exactly where the information may have gone wrong. It is passed on and on. If one tries to go against the current, be ready to be called by any names that can amputate your hand and brain not  to mention your life.
The recent Governor election is another event that add to the process of creating new classifications among the public. We now face new classifications based on ethnic, religion, aside from the political parties, gender  issues and regional issues have prospered during the previously held Presidential campaigns. The next campaign will definitely be based again on those classifications and definitely new classifications will be added, a severe ones, the ones which will bring the public closer to the graveyeard. It is just a matter of time before the opposing views among groups will trigger the fire and burn the country. Move on.....easier said than done.

GOOD BYE TO THE PAST

I used to be a hunter. A hunter who hunts for money. I was so so afraid that my children would suffer. A hunter never gets home, not until he/she has managed to catch an animal. So I work from morning till late at nite. By the time I arrived home, the kids were all asleep and my husband as always sat in front  of the television set. We did not say much to  each other. I cleaned myself and say one or two words before I felt asleep. Sometimes I even slept in my son's bedroom.

Retirement has brought a new chapter into my life. The hunter instinct was still there, but it was not boiling as it used to. I began to carefully observe what I had achieved. We have all what we need, in fact sometimes more than what we need. However, those belongings have never taken me anywhere. The house felt  so cold and yet it felt so hot.

I sat quietly in the garden and let my mind wonder. I began to see the picture of my life turning into holes. So many holes that make it impossible for me to fix them one by one. Not when I'm alone. I began to search for my companionship. I found him sitting with another companion. Laughter and happiness were crafted on his face. Apparently that was how he spent the empty days. I looked in dismay but my heart was crying. I had to fight for my right.

I patted him on his shoulder. Both of them looked at me with surprise. His companion startled and tried to escape. I hold her hand and reminded her not to come back. Then I turned my face to my husband. I saw two hollow eyes were looking at me, craving for my touch. Thousands of guilts swiped over my mind. What have I done to him, to them, and most of all to myself. I held his hand and we walked to the  garden. The garden had been neglected for so long. The bushes were all over. We began to clean it although we know it's not easy. Some of  the trees have died and turned into a solid stone, some are nothing but a thorny bushes.

We sat together in the garden tonite. We watch the fire burn some of the waste, but we realize that heaps of waste were waiting for our hand to fix them. May God forgive us and bless us as we decided to continue our journey. The stop was a bit too long. It ends without us realizing that we have never moved an inch.

MY DEAREST SISTER

It was such an awful feeling. I was so restless yesterday. I went to my husband and told him. "I feel like crying for no reason. I want to get mad to I don't know whom."

Yesterday felt like the longest day ever. I cried and fought a lot. I heard the windchimes, but did not pay too much attention. The windchimes always play the music of the wind. That's what they are  there for.

I sat quietly again this  morning. On my own, facing the garden. The garden that me and my sister love to share. Somebody texted me. I opened the phone and read the message. I was stunt for a while and remember the sound of the windchimes. Yesterday was just like today. There was no wind. There was only silence. How could I hear the windchimes?

Were you talking to me Sis. It was just like the day you passed away. The windchimes were playing the  music of the night. I could not sleep. The following morning I received the news that you went away.  What message are you trying to tell me Sis?

This morning a mail came in. A postcard, my first postcard from your daughter. Is this your message Sis. Let me do my part, the part that a sister needs to do on behalf of her dearest sister. I know your language, the  language of love. Rest in Peace dearest sister. We all love you, no matter what.

 

STRANGER

So  close yet feel so strange. I have never known him, not until I land my feet in the year of 2015. He's always around, like all the objects around  me. He's like the window pane, the wooden  doors, the white ragged love seats. He's  not even close to the white lilies or yellow dandellions in my garden.
The magic of New year has brought a new perspective. I  saw the entire situation with a different perspective. I suddenly feel so lonely. The  object that has always been around me, is gone. He has turned into a real stranger. A person I have never known for 29 years.