Inside I'm Dying

Dearest Papi,

It’s been three weeks, two days and thirteen hours since you left us without even saying goodbye. My life has changed since then. Mami cries when she woke up in the morning. I try to be strong, Papi, I swear I tried, except suddenly your memory flooded me and instantly, I am lost. I can’t imagine a world without you but now I am in it. And then I cry, like the last Sunday, flashes of our Sundays running rampantly, achingly sweet.

I’ve been your daughter all my life and I don’t know any other way. You spoiled me rotten. You adored me endless. Where can I find another man doing the same thing like you do? Guys only love me for who I seem to be but not who I really am. No one can replace you in my life. Twenty three years is too short a time to be father, Papi, and your death lasted for my lifetime.

I am now sitting in your office, swirling with your bulky boss chair and typing on this huge teak table you’ve been using. Trying to be you. Be strong, they say. You have your Mami and Lil’ Bro to think of, they tell. I try hard, Papi. I’m trying not to cry all the time and lock myself inside my room to mourn; instead I put on a smile and a dress. Must make you proud, I said to myself. Charade is all I am doing these days. Inside I’m dying…

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Remembering Heath Ledger

Million of girls swooned when you first appeared,

a Knight in shining armour.

A son of American Mel Gibson,

then shocked the world,

by shagging with Jake inside a tent.

A talent so great,

a life cut short,

a tragedy.

You'll be terribly missed.

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There were four of us everywhere I go…

There, in the corner of Sanur Beach where you took us
playing between salty waves and grainy sands
while you watched with glee,
fishing and chatting away

There, in the restaurant with the giant bratwurst
where you used to fight for your right to eat pork
and enjoy a bulky glass of beer

There, near that book rack in the bookshop
where you gladly paid for any books I desired
almost never complain

There, resting on that Estee Lauder counter

pampering Mami with foundation with extra whitening protection
while your children standing, restless

There, along Hayam Wuruk Street

where you drove your children every single morning

to school, despite the yawning

There, between vegetables and food-to-go counter
where we tease you endlessly on your weakness
of gassy grilled cassava and your shameless hobby
of trying free samples
“We’re going to buy it anyway, “was your defenses

There, in that hotel three hours drive away,
a long journey with Harry Belafonte singing
where we just sleep, eat, swim and read
being free from responsibility
summer break in this never-ending hot season

This Island in the Sun belongs to the four of us,
planted with trunks of memory
rained with fatherly love
fertilized with rich soiled care
who left us to soon
too fast
and would be missed
infinitely

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Cheap Bali: How to Spend Only 50,000 Rupiahs For One Glorious Day

Forget Kuta. Forget the glam bule spot in dowtown Seminyak. Go to Sanur instead. As a Balinese, I truly feel Sanur is underrated. Too quiet, some of my ‘Down Under’ friends told me when I took them to window shopping along Tamblingan Street. It is true that most of tourists coming to Sanur are already retired with bulging lifetime saving and even bulgier belly but it shouldn’t put you off (consider you don’t have tanned-flat stomached-Billabong clad-surfer in mind).

Sanur, now is to me, is what was left from The Real Bali and even that bits of Bali is fading rapidly in exchange for luxurious villas and shops. So with my kindred spirit friend, I try to spend a glorious day, cheaply. First, we went to Bali Beach Hotel. The tallest hotel in Bali was quiet and I have to lie if I say that the former grandeur is still there. It sorely needs to reinvent itself. It has potential with the history and “fire-resistant room of Nyi Roro Kidul" as selling point. Anyway, the reason why we went there is to safely park our car considering the street was mobbed by Balinese families picnic-ing on Sanur beach (Balinese are going all out on the day after Galungan)

An hour after lazy lay on the white sand, we decided to walk along the pavement. The pavement is the best thing ever happened to Sanur on the last ten years. It covers the long beach, facilitating bikers and joggers alike. Apart from the screaming naked kids running rampantly, it was a nice walk. No holed-cracked-your-neck pavement resembling Kuta’s. A quick stop in franchised Circle K (24-hours shop scattered around tourist area) to buy a bottle of Aqua costed us 2000 rupiahs (1 U$ is around 9,000 rupiahs).

The kind of tourists in Sanur tend to come as individuals. Tanning lady with paperback book, a jogging bare-chested guy in Oakley glasses, family of four dining in one of the beach front café. No loud Taiwanese groups or recent increased visit of Russian bunch yelling nyet in sight. Those who are looking for solitude or those who is a regular visitor of Bali, I suppose.

Our next splurge is a cup of coffee in one of the oldest hotel in Sanur, Griya Santrian. A glass of ice latte cost around 14,000 rupiahs (after happy hour discounts). The sun started to hide and our internal alarm device has begin its protest. Time to refuel. Following the claim of my friend, Miss C, we are heading into one of the restaurant on By Pass Ngurah Rai Road. The restaurant is called “La Pau’ and they serve Padang food (and you just can’t leave Indonesia without trying Padang food).

A mere 24,000 rupiahs gave you a plate full of amazingly delicious food (which you can pick by yourself) and a cold sweet ice tea (the sugar was melted in pandan leaves to create a fragrant tea). The beef stew called ‘rendang’ is to die for. To add the already perfect culinary experience, La Pau is also famous for the Saturday Night Jazz Performance which feature mysterious jazz musician from all around the globe, starting from 12pm until dawn (or the rendang all gone). The building was a typical Javanese pendopo with three small gazebo for the romantics. Jazz and rendang, one just can’t think of a better fushion.

And so our glorious day was ended with a cost of just 40,000 rupiahs. Fresh mind, healthy lungs and satisfied belly. A fine day indeed.

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Cendana Saga: The Divorce Battle of Bambang vs Halimah

The top news on Indonesia newspapers are about the critical condition of the former Indonesian president, Soeharto. One day it says he is getting better and the next says his lungs filled with liquid. Despite all his past deeds, I feel sorry for him. He’s practically alive because of all the beeping machines. When the first news of his failing appeared, my initial reaction is: well, there’s going to be another court call for him. No wonder he is getting “ill”. But looking at him bounded by all of those tubes, I remember my recently deceased aunt. She was ill for a long time and the suffering must be unbearable, although to her credit, she hardly showed any sign of pain. Poor old man.

His presidential was one of the strongest in the world. He crafted a dynasty of his own, notoriously christened as ‘Cendana’ (from the street where he and his whole family lives). Not unlike The Borgia or Medici story who deserved to be made into HBO mini-series, it has its own fair share of scandal from illegitimate children, affaire de coeur and all unimaginable monetary misdeed and crimes ever existed in civilization. However, recent press craze (other than the ill Soeharto) is about the chaotic divorce process between Soeharto oldest son, Bambang Trihatmodjo from his wife of twenty seven years, Halimah. Unlike the quick and relatively quite divorce of Bambang’s sibling, Tommy Soeharto with his wife; this one is being monitored closely by every angry housewives all over Indonesia archipelago.

The ‘angry housewives’ situation emerges because of the third party, the Camilla of Cendana, is a relatively famous singer named Mayangsari. A fair skinned ‘younger’ Javanese woman, forever trying to climb into music stardom. Apparently she doesn’t have to work very hard for stardom. It came to her lap from the immense publicity of her intimate pictures with the Prince of Cendana. The avalanche from that moment on has been unstoppable. The next thing we know is that she has successfully “married” (married under the law of religion or ‘kawin siri’) and was pregnant with baby girl before public could even say ‘slut singer’.

May became the month when you couldn’t click the local channel without seeing Mayangsari brimmingly proud face. Much like the public addiction to news about Sarkozy snogging his latest smoldering flame in France, this scandalous affair becomes even hotter when Halimah and two of her children came to Mayangsari’s ill-gotten fancy mansion and rammed their car into the gate. The son reportedly punched Bambang on his face when he came out from the mansion to calmed his other family down. Mayangsari was said to hid behind a fridge (must be quite a fridge) while according to an eye (ear?) witness, various thesaurus version of ‘slut’ was shrieked to her direction. The press went mad. And so was the public.

The divorce is a fierce battle of Mordor and stealing as many headlines as Soeharto’s critical condition. I guess if the wealth comes from the Forbes’s 33rd richest man in Indonesia, both side just want to win plenty. I am a bit concern, tou’, about how much of Bambang’s wealth actually still subsist after one Jaguar, one BMW, one Mercedes-Benz, three manors in Jakarta and another one rumored to be in Mayangsari’s hometown; each worthed about few million dollars. I mean, if you think about it, 200 million dollars is not much if you have to spend it building manors all over Java island plus the divorce settlement. No wonder the old man got ill.

Oh well, just so you know.

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Suckling Pig Holiday

It is G-day minus one here in Bali. ‘G’ as in Galungan, the day ‘when Dharma is winning’ or the day where the Gods visit the Earth. G-day minus one is a busy day day for all of us here. Preparing the offerings for tomorrow, cooking all kind of food and erecting the gracefully decorated pole, penjor. However I rather enjoy today than tomorrow because the food fiesta is today! Hip hip hooray.

All the heavenly delicious lawar and satay are made from the body of ill-fated pigs, butchered by the men since they are responsible for the food. Blood, kidney, meat, fat, nose, ear and even intestines of Wilbur. God rest it soul. To defend ourselves from sounding like a blood-ridden Incas, all the animals sacrificed for the purpose of prayers are going to get a higher priority in reincarnation queue up above. They don’t have to face any bouncer and can go straight into the club of VIPs. Very Important Pigs. Who knows perhaps in this divine cycle of life, the person sitting next to you in the wi-fi café, was used to be a delicious suckling pig.

The joie de vivre of living in Bali is the abundance of holy-days available here, minus the national one. Galungan holy-day means two weeks holiday and it occurs twice a year. Silent Day (Nyepi) means three days holy-day. I haven’t included the single holy-day like Sarasvati (the day when you pray on your Goddess Sarasvati and books as the source of knowledge). Imagine how happy I was while I was in school. “All class to be dismissed for tomorrow’s praying to Sarasvati”. WooHoo!

The abundance of holy-days also create a problem at workplaces. Expat wives having a headache and complain continously about their pembantu ( house helper) who keep asking for a short leave once a month, to go back to her or his village for ceremony. Oh well. Religion and belief comes first in the personal life of a Balinese. Second, is the family. Third, a crunchy skin suckling pig and perfectly made tuak. Cheers!

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It's Snowing in Bali

...not. It is just a hall filled with ice sculpture and fake snow. To think of all the 'bules' running away from winter in their homeland to Bali for the sun while us, the Balinese, run to search for snow.

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