Finally Woken

Before Hiatus

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sun, 27 Jul 2008 02:10:00 +0000

I've got to say that it has been a busy week for me. I had a promising lunch meeting to discuss the future of Indonesian Expatriates Forum last Friday at Cazbar. Tamara and Greg turned up after 5 and we had few drinks before decided to try our luck at Loewy.

Now, I had try to arrange a meet-up at Loewy but every time I was told that we must book the table at least two weeks in advance, a strange concept for Indonesian. But we felt quite adventurous that night and went anyway. We didn't get a table, obviously, but we secured a good spot at the bar. After several minutes spent to look around, my impression was: boring. I don't know why people are so into that place these days. It's just like another hang-out place, nothing spectacular about it. Except that everybody apparently goes there. No surprise then after 20 minutes, my friends alerted me that the guy who just walked in and ordered drinks next to me was someone I probably know. I turned around and saw my ex boss. Correction, my ex-CEO. We ended up talking, and thank God, it was nothing about work. At the end we left the place about 2.30 AM, right before the waiter kicked us out. Such a long day, considering I started drinking after lunch time.

The next day I had to go back to Cazbar for another lunch meeting. Honestly, the venue decision was not my idea. I have tried to be fair and propose other several places to Therry, but she chose Cazbar (woohoo!) and of course, I wouldn't say no: it's my favorite hang-out place where everybody knows my name! Therry said she and Elyani would arrive at 1.00 PM and I got there at quarter to 1, immediately secured a table and ordered my lunch. Ecky arrived not long after, but I received a call from Elyani telling us they were going to be a bit late and I asked a permission whether we could have our lunches first. Luckily she allowed us, perhaps she knows that hungry ladies equals bitchy feisty ones!

Finally they arrived. Not many people could carry themselves in white trousers, but Therry looked so gorgeous in her camel colour top and white trousers. I looked at her slim long legs with envy, trying to remember when was the last time I was able to wear white trousers without revealing my love handles, and sadly I couldn't tell when. Elyani was so calm and sweet, and just like her blog, she managed to chuckled me without warning. I remember Therry told me Elyani looks much younger than her actual age, and I can confirm that it's very true. They walked in, sat down, and we immediately just talked and talked like we are long time friends. There was no awkward silence, there was no head scratching trying to find a new topic, there was no looking around trying to divert attention (except for calling the waitress).

It's amazing for people who actually never meet, we could talk about practically everything. We didn't have boundaries up to the moment we were talking about blood and murder while Therry was still eating. Poor girl. Actually we were beyond embarrassing, well at least it was me, telling everybody who has ears that The Jakarta Post's weekender magazine (Friday, 25 July) mentioned me and my blogs in one of the articles. To be fair, the author only mentioned me in less than 5 paragraphs, and there were other people mentioned there like Merlyna, Tasa, and Andie Summerkiss, but of course it wouldn't stop me to tell Therry how lucky she was to have a celebrity blogbuddy-turn-friend. I didn't understand why she didn't vomit hearing me saying all that. I'm not sure how Elyani took this, but I hope she realises that although there is some truth behind my attention-whore attitude, I'm not that vain, although I was tempted for a few seconds to tear that particular page off, scan it and post it in my blog.

The conversation was flowing effortlessly until Elyani showed her new toy and proclaimed that the lens is borrowed from Toni. Of course we must test the camera, so we posed and after that, both Therry and Ecky took turn to pose alone. Guess I'm not that vain after all, eh. If you see how good the result is, it's because Elyani has had her magic hands working. I could use her camera to take pictures of the same objects and the result would be beyond sad.

Ecky didn't tell me that actually she must drag me out of the restaurant around three because we had another appointment. We left the place sometimes before 5.00PM, and Therry hadn't even had the chance to test the wifi because we were too busy talking. Maybe next time we should have a breakfast meeting instead because it's easy to pass 4 hours without even counting.

Saturday was finished after a drink in Burgundy at Hyatt, where the waiter knows how picky I am about my wine (the last time I was there I tried at least 5 different kinds before allowing him to pour me a glass). Some vague promise to go to Blowfish but we know ourselves better. I had kept yawning since 6. I know, I know, I'm an old woman.

This could be my last post for now. I will be busy for the next couple of weeks and wouldn't have a chance to post something worth reading. But I'll be back for sure. In the mean time, behave yourself. And if you don't, please e-mail me your embarrassing story, you know how much I luuvvv dirts.

If you miss me already, you could stare at our pictures at Therry's or Elyani's blog

Wrong! It's Hard To Say I'm Sorry

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 04:29:00 +0000

Why is it difficult for some people to admit they are wrong, let alone apologise, even though they know they are wrong, or proven wrong?

In my attempt of trying to understand this particular person who has caused a major headache for the past two days, because I couldn't put myself in her shoes, I went around in the virtual world trying to find some answers. And I guess I did.

We all have a hard time admitting that we're wrong, it's not entirely our fault. Social psychologist Elliot Aronson says our brains work hard to make us think we are doing the right thing, even in the face of sometimes overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

The engine that drives self-justification, the energy that produces the need to justify our actions and decisions — especially the wrong ones — is an unpleasant feeling that called "cognitive dissonance." Cognitive dissonance is a state of tension that occurs whenever a person holds two cognitions (ideas, attitudes, beliefs, opinions) that are psychologically inconsistent, such as "Smoking is a dumb thing to do because it could kill me" and "I smoke two packs a day."

Dissonance is disquieting because to hold two ideas that contradict each other is to flirt with absurdity and, as Albert Camus observed, we humans are creatures who spend our lives trying to convince ourselves that our existence is not absurd. At the heart of it, Festinger's theory is about how people strive to make sense out of contradictory ideas and lead lives that are, at least in their own minds, consistent and meaningful.

Harold J. Duarte-Bernhardt says there are several reasons why people don't want to admit why they are wrong.

Pure ego, pride, and selfishness.
Some would rather lose plausibility than to lose face. Never “appearing to be wrong or found to be wrong,” is the equivalent of “always being right.” Never being wrong gives them power and moral superiority, or at least the illusion of it!

Dodging the consequences of their conducts.
That’s why we lie. That’s why we are outright dishonest. We know our behavior and conduct would be subject to criticism, questioning, disapproval or, worst of all, civil and criminal liability. Cheating on your spouse, cheating on your taxes, cheating on a test, lying to your family and friends are all about the same: instant gratification without paying the price of being honest.

Perfectionism.
Why is it so hard to accept that being wrong is human? Because we have come to believe that others expect from us what we are not able to deliver. It’s called perfectionism. Our culture, ethical, religious and moral institutions make us believe that!

Well, here's the truth: we are human. And we are imperfect. Even though we have been right 1001, we will be wrong at least once in our lives. It can be from an easy thing like fail predicting the time to travel to a meeting place that makes us late, to something important like forgetting to send the wedding invitation and leave it for 19 days without realising that it is an urgent task to do.

But the truth will set you free, at least according to Duarte-Bernhardt, as he says there are benefits of admitting you are wrong:

Spiritual and emotional freedom
Health benefit - your immune system and your body experience the freedom of honesty versus the stress of lying.
Credibility - while being wrong is human, being wrong and lying or being dishonest about it makes you unethical and questionable in all other areas in your life. The only ones that don't understand this truism are the pathological liars. They live under the illusion that they can lie in one area and make the world believe that the are credible in all the other areas.
Character - is what you are in the inner core of our soul, the management of your imperfection and the world around. Character always comes at cost and the real test of character is admitting you are wrong when it's likely to cost more than what you want to pay.
Helping others - people feel better about themselves and get better at admitting their own wrongs when they hear of someone else opening up, especially if you are a role model to others. People will remember that and honor it. They will disrespect you for life as long as they know you have "explained" things away. Being honest is one way to make the world a better place regardless of your own personal consequences.
People are more willing to help you out when you admit you have been wrong.

But then, even though the person admits that s/he is wrong, most of us always think that this person owes them an apology.

Really? If you got an apology, how would you feel differently?

Most people would say that they would feel "right" or validated because the other person has admitted they are "wrong." Unfortunately, needing other people to be "wrong" to get what you want means you will rarely get what you want. I just found out that people who feel wrong are in no mood for giving anything! Whether you deserve an apology or not, you will rarely get one. Most people are just too certain that saying "I'm sorry" means they are bad.

In my case, I got a good suggestion to skip the part where I expected others to admit they are wrong and go straight for saying what I want. For instance, I could say that, "When I ask you to help me, please do it as soon as possible, or just say that you don't have time and let others do it, rather than leaving the task unfinished for a long time".

This makes me realise that we don't need the rest of the world to give us an apology as much as we need them to give us what we want. After reading all of those I feel so much lighter. I get back to my main intention and my main task, and only focus on them.

So let's party!

Yesteryear Revisit (Age That I Wish To Get Back To)

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 01:49:00 +0000

I once tagged about this by Fida, asking what age I wish to get back to, and I have briefly mentioned about it in this post because at that moment people from the past suddenly reappeared in my life at the same time, a long overdue project was back in full speed, and of course, Indy was back after 19 years hiatus.

But then Woelank and Ecky also tagged me recently, and this time, I let myself think a bit harder, and I realised there is one particular moment in my life I wish I could get back to, not because it was full of loving memories, but because of that I had to bear a consequence for a long time, and if I could turn back the time, I'd certainly do the other way around.

I was probably 23 or 24 and letting the society and a guy who claimed a title 'the boyfriend' to dictate what's best for me. Mum has asked if this was what I wanted, what I really, really wanted. But the pressure from every corner made me feel like there was a huge stone pressuring my chest, and I surrendered. I thought I was doing my best to keep everyone happy. I thought I was doing what people were supposed to do after being in a monogamous relationship for 5 years. From where I stood, there was no way out. When the time came, and I was faced with a piece of paper that would change my life forever, I paused. But the whole room was watching, so I gave in. I became the other-half.

Since the beginning I realised this was a mistake. We had nothing in common except our interest in architecture. But aside from it, I was a prisoner in my own body. I tried to fit in, adjust, adapt, even change myself, just to make this thing worked. But then I got tired. Especially when all these efforts weren't enough. Especially because I wasn't being myself. I had all possibilities in front of me, I was ready to run to achieve my goals, I was drunk with work responsibilities, all theories applied in real life and I couldn't get enough of it. But he wasn't ready. He couldn't accept that my life wasn't merely about him. That life, in fact, is full of compromises. Insecurity turned to more rules, more don'ts. I was in a difficult place. I was suffocated.

So I decided to quit. I have tried. I failed. And I have to admit that I couldn't fix it. Moreover, I couldn't fix him. I couldn't say I have wasted 10 long years. We had some good times but more bad times. In the end, people change, priorities shift, and once in a while I have to admit that I am not perfect.

I regret that we end this badly. I was hurt, he was devastated. It was a long battle, a tough struggle. But I have got what I wanted since years a go. I have got my freedom back. My life, literally, begins only 5 years a go.

So if I could turn back the time, I want to go back to the age of 18, and to be as free as bird, rather than stick to one man. Or when I was 23, and had more courage to say no.

But if I could have one wish, I wish I meet my dear hubbie much much earlier, not four years a go. We would have so much fun and drive each other crazy!

There it is. I've done my part, now it's time to pass this 'assignment' to another 5 bloggers and this time the victims are: Diny, Katadia, Andie, Ivy, and Rishardana.

The rules are:
Title: Age That I Wish To Go Back To# Requirement: Write about the one age that you wish to go back to and why?
Tag Mode: 5 bloggers
1st - You list 5 bloggers you want to tag and link their blogs
2nd - Let the blogger you want to tag know they been tagged by comment in their blog or etc.

Belated Apology from The Ass-Pincher

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 03:00:00 +0000

About four years a go, Stuart and Huib celebrated their joined birthday by throwing a BBQ party at Bugil's bar. I think it was either Saturday or Sunday afternoon, and there were about 50 people turned up to stuff their faces with sausages, burgers and beers. Most of them were people we hung out with, the usual suspects. Some I didn't recognise, and I guessed they were either party crashers or Huib's friends.

By late afternoon, it became too hot and people gradually moved inside to get some cool air from the bar, and before long the bar was packed with people buying beers and other cold drinks. I stayed outside for most of the time, close to the food supply. Sometime before dark I went inside to go to the loo. It was absolutely crowded, and I had to push myself in between people just to pass. On that moment, I felt that someone had pinched my bum. I stopped, looked around, but there was no indication who did it. I really had to pee so I continued my journey.

After I finished, I had to pass the same crowd just to get outside. In between my attempt of pushing myself out, suddenly I heard someone whispering in my ear, "Nice bum."

That was the guy who pinched my bump! I turned around and saw him smirking and smiling at me. And I lost it. I screamed at the top of my lung. That he can't do that to me. That he was out of the line. That I was going to kill him. I can't remember exactly what I said, I found it hard to express my anger because I was so mad and turned out, saying what I felt in English when I was mad was difficult! But he got the message. His face turned white, and he kept saying he was sorry. He didn't mean anything.

Huib was standing next to the guy and saw the whole thing. Later he told me that the guy was his acquaintance, someone he worked with, and the guy was really sorry. He didn't realise that he targeted the wrong girl (heh, like a girl who could speak English? A girl who would not accept being treated like a piece of meat?). He was even more embarrassed when he found out I was Stuart's girlfriend. He even went to Stuart and apologised, and as Stuart said, he looked like he really meant it, he felt really bad, but of course, seeing me in that state, he wouldn't dare to come up and apologise (what, risking himself being kicked by a tiny Indonesian girl? FYI the guy is nearly 2 meter tall). I think more than one occasion both Nonie and Huib were trying to talk to me about the incident, but I kept telling them that what he did was disgraceful, disrespectful and disgusting, and he only could get away with it in Indonesia, where the girls and society are so permissive. If he tries to do that in his own country, he'll be thrown out of the bar in no time. In short, I found what the guy did to me was unforgivable.

About a year a go Nonie sent me text saying that they were in Thailand for a short break. When I was asking who she was with, she giggled and asked if I still remember that guy, who, at that moment, was sitting next to Nonie and Huib. And I nonchalantly asked if it's the ass-pincher she was talking about. And before long I was ranting and saying cynical stuff about him, like whether he has developed a new technique to pinch people's bums, or whether he knows whether it's a girl or a ladyboy's bum he pinches. I was still upset, but not as mad as I used to be.

And then when I said yes to Lena and Mick's wedding invitation early this month in Bali, Nonie warned me that the guy will be there too. I just shrugged, so what. I wasn't going to throw some fit in the wedding, I couldn't care less whether he's there or not anyway. All I wanted to do is celebrating Lena's happiest day.

We gathered at the hotel lobby, and I was only standing a few feet away from him. I asked Nonie whether he was the ass-pincher and Nonie nodded.

But then it struck me. I couldn't even remember his face! It was 4 years a go. And last time I checked, I didn't feel a single thing, not anymore. Even though now I saw him standing not far from me. Maybe time has healed me. Or maybe because I have known he had apologised - although not to me. Although I still never agree with what he did, as to me it's a reflection of his behaviour towards women in general, what he did to me personally maybe doesn't affect me as much as it used to be. Nevertheless, I kept my distance.

The ceremony went well. The groom looked incredibly handsome and Lena looked so gorgeous and fresh. The minister is hilarious, he sounded more Jamaican in some words. Everybody cried. And when the whole thing finished, we went to the open bar.

That was when he approached me. Shook my hand and said he was terribly sorry and he apologised for what he did four years a go. I almost choked. I mean, considering that this guy must be a top guy in his company, and at least 20 years older than me, here he was, humbly apologising for what he did, four years a go! The guy could choose not to do anything, and he was risking himself by approaching me and asking me to forgive him.

I put my cake down and shook his hand and we both exchanged cheek-to-cheek kisses. I did forgive him. Maybe I have forgiven him a long time a go. And I really appreciated what he did. It took a lot of courage to do what he did as I could have thrown this tiffany-color cake at him. But life is too short to hold a grudge, and he has apologised. What more could I want?

Although, of course, when my friend went to me, I introduced him as my ass-pincher. He was shocked in the beginning. But when he saw the way Nonie, Huib and I were joking (well, most of the time, Huib's way of joking, which is too rude to be exposed here), he got the idea.

So at the end we were really enjoying the wedding. And I felt so much lighter. It could be because the wine was working, or because I have let it go completely.

Me and Them; A(n Almost) Lesbian Love Story

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 01:21:00 +0000

Note: I realize that some of my readers, especially my aunt-in-law Alison and her colleague(s), as well as several other friends who read my blog every time I post something new, would be surprised to read the title and wonder what this is all about. But please continue, you would find out the reason behind it. Or not.

Inspired by Rima and Therry's posts about how some people just click and become so close after only several months, as well as being insanely jealous because they don't include me in their (lesbian) combo, and seeing that their posts drove more traffic to their blogs respectively (hence, more jealousy), I decide that rather than begging (waiting for) them to love me, in the spirit of virtual competition, I have to brag that I actually have that sort of relationship they're having now.

Those who read my blog regularly might know that Ecky isn't just my blogbuddy. She is my buddy. Well, more than a buddy, actually. She is one of my best friends in real life. Flesh and blood and all. Considering that we met only a couple of years ago, we have been developing a very strong bond between us. Even back then I sometimes wondered how we could fit so perfectly and understand each other so much sometimes we're so alike it's scary. She is one of my (real) friends who blog, and last year we were trying to learn HTML language, we spent a lot of time in front of computers (me in Aberdeen and her in Jakarta) and discussed how to put widgets, or how to change the header, or what is technorati. Both of us have had zero knowledge of HTML language so we were learning by doing. When I was back for holiday, we and other friends met up for a coffee and before we realized we talked about blog and bloggers, and I was helping her to fix her expandable post mode, up until our other friends started to feel annoyed because they were left out of the conversation and couldn't understand a single word we were talking. My passion of writing (or to some, it's more ranting but what the heck, others love my rants!) was infectious, and Ecky (as well as another best friend Melly) started to write more regularly on her blog.

We are really close we practically tell each other everything, sometimes we forget that we are busy texting each other and neglecting our partners. Even after I move to Aberdeen and 6 hours and 12,000km apart, nothing has changed. Many occasions Ecky was sitting in front of telly, sending me texts about the show she was watching, and then we were texting each other for hours she completely forgot that poor Sam was siting next to her, and I forgot that Stuart was there. Or Stuart and I were driving out of town for a romantic weekend gateway, and I was busy sending texts to her rather than talking to him.

Our bond is so strong we even want the same thing at the same time. There was one time she was in Bali, walking around a bookshop, thinking about buying this particular chick lit but decided to wait until she got back to Jakarta. Later that afternoon she checked on her Facebook and found out I just posted that same book she wanted to read as my new reading list. We also know how to not push each other button (I hate when people are being late and Ecky is pretty much always on time), although of course, just like in every relationship, sometimes we argue. But her easy going character compliments me who is more than once a pain in the butt, being everything-always-have-to-be-perfect-and-according-to-schedule. And since we are being honest to each other, although it hurts, it solves the problem much quicker.

To me, I know someone is a good friend when s/he is willing to be with you when you're in trouble and need a help. I have lots of friends but I know for a fact that there is only a few of them want to share my pain and sorrow, and vice versa. Just throw a BBQ party by the pool and 50 people will turn up. Say that you're sad and only several are willing to listen to you. Say that you need someone to help you to find a place to stay for your in-laws in Jakarta, and only a few will make an effort to search and look for the information you need. Announce that you are offered a good job which you can't take because it's in London or Dubai, and a good friend will show a genuine interest and ask if there are other possibilities to work it out, while others will ask if I could pass that job to them instead.

Ecky is definitely my good friend, so good that she postponed her trip to Australia for a few days just to spend the weekend with me (of course, Sam was ignored, again. But what could he do?). So good that on that particular Friday night to celebrate Nonie's birthday, Ecky (and Lindsay, second girl from the left, in the picture) had to carry me home and put me to bed (please don't ask whether we shared the bed or not).

Back to Therry and Rima combo. I have met Therry in person and was (secretly) glad that she is a sweet, pretty, smart, normal girl, not some weird nerd with inflated ego who's thinking she's smarter than everybody else and invents jargons that no one understands just to show how important she is. At the beginning I was wondering how on earth we should start the conversation, but after she patiently waited for me greeting everybody in Cazbar in a manner of a celebrity has arrived (you see that I'm an attention seeker in real life as well as traffic seeker in blogosphere), and spent minutes reading the menu, we started to chat and before we knew it, we had spent 2 hours talking non-stop. It was an instant bonding, something that can't be made up. I haven't met Rima in person but she is so 'what you see what you get', I feel like I already know her, and of course, a meet-up is in the next agenda.

Those three girls are real. They have accomplished many things in life, they have overcome so many problems. But they are very humble without loosing their ability to speak up, they can be opinionated without loosing temper, manner, and ethics. They are mature and secure with themselves so they receive critics, arguments, and differences as part of their writing processes. If their blogs are very busy with comments and visitors at the moment, it's because people can see all of those quality they posses, as well as the quality of their posts respectively.

I'm learning many things from this wonderful girls. I'm sure you would too.

Oh, and the lesbian thingy? It's just a trick to increase the traffic....

Read Ecky's post with the same title here.
Read Therrys post about our meet-up here.

PS: the trick works! I checked my stat counter the next day and my visitors were up to 55% after I published the article. I should've done this a long time a go before Rima and Therry become (more) famous. LOL!!

Let's Get This Party Started

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 07 Jul 2008 16:09:00 +0000

Bigger is better. More glamorous is better. More people to attend is better. Longer train, heavier make-up, and higher hair, are better. The more expensive is better. The more famous people, from caterer, hairstylist, until the list of guests, are definitely better. Anything that screams 'I'm rich, I'm fabulous', is typical Indonesian wedding. Even though the bride might look like Krisdayanti rather than herself on her wedding day.

But we are going to have something small, intimate, low-key, party. We had tied the knot last year, and this time is the celebration as well as the first anniversary party. We only invite a bunch of close friends and family and after a long consideration we changed from 50 to 100 guests, well, less than 100. It's considered very, very, very small in Indonesia, but that's what we want.

It's funny when the news travels around some people think that they are supposed to be invited. Those who don't have my mobile number. Those who don't even in my Facebook or Friendster's list. People I only bump into at social gatherings or bars ocassionaly and exchange air-kisses. People who hear about us from the third parties but think they know us. People who never drop e-mails (or return mine) to maintain a contact, let alone a friendship. How could they immediately assume that since we have partied and clubhopped together a year ago hence they're automatically my best friends? I seriously doubt they know my last name so how could they think they are entitled to share our joy?

And then there are things I don't consider important which turn out to be judging points for others. Our simple invitation gets the tounges wagged, because when compares to others, it is not outstanding. Apparently there is a growing trend in Indonesia that to represents the couple's (or in most cases, their parents') wealth, prestige, image, you name it, the wedding invitation should look expensive and made of expensive materials. Last year when visited one of the high-profile wedding invitation vendors, I was shown several of their best collections. One practically is not an invite, it's a jewelry box complete with tiny drawers, mirrors, and compartments to store our rings and bracelets, and the picture of the bride and the groom forever stare back at us when we open the lid (creepy isn't it). One is printed on leather. Many are crafted with complicated techniques and joined with unusual materials like lace. Some is put in a glamorous box with soft fabric surrounded the invite like it is a fragile china. Some use swarovski crystal on its bow. And all use the thickest, heaviest, material possible. And of course everytime we ask, they will give us quotation for minimum 200 invites, or 500 invites. I was rejected immediately by this snob vendor when I mentioned I only wanted to print 50 invites since my guests are only 100 people. And people wouldn't understand our decision having a simple invitation until I told them that most of them will be sent overseas, and I wouldn't want to spend so much money just for distributing them. These people who have the biggest and heaviest invitation probably only invite their colleagues and family so they don't have to fedex them. Plus I don't see the point of spending so much money for it. What are you going to do with the invitation afterwards? Put it in a scrapebook filled with other wedding invitations as a collection?

Favours, or souvenirs in Indonesian term, is another case. Souvenirs in Indonesia are not what other weddings in other countries have. If the holy Martha Stewart suggests some local sweets, from saltwater taffy (New Jersey) to bags of roasted peanuts (Virginia), or even fresh fruits like berry basket (see picture on the right), in Indonesia, handmade soap or bookmark is probably the cheapest souvenir you would get. Nowadays people give oil burner made of porcelain with a shape of a couple of angels holding the tea light together, to champagne crystal glass. Since most parties are held in big venues, there is a big possibility they will have wedding crashers, hence Indonesians invent the voucher system. Only those who get the invitation (real invitees), where the voucher is inserted, will get these expensive souvenirs by exchanging the voucher in a specific counter at the wedding venue. Just like exchanging our gift voucher at the shop. Really.

I personally never take any souvenirs from the wedding I attend to. First, because I always only carry a pouch which practically only fits for my phone, some money, and keys, and nothing else. Second, because all Indonesian weddings are standing party mode, I wouldn't be able to eat with one hand holding a pouch and another hand holding a souvenir (usually given when we sign the guest book). Third, because I don't know what to do with it afterwards. Throw it? Give it to my mother's maid? Keep it (for what? for how long? I don't even have a room to store them)? I suspect many people have the same way of thinking, although it's probably buried so deep in their mind. When I suggested boxes of favours filled with cookies or chocolates, people think I was joking. They suggested things like tissue box (male guests wouldn't want it), wooden jewelry box with silver engravement (ditto plus it's heavy for people who will have to carry it in their luggage back to Jakarta, Singapore, Malaysia, Australia, and Scotland, who, of course, would love to do some shopping by themselves!), soap, candle, fan (all for female), porcelain vase (breakable), photoframe (ditto). All I don't even think to keep to myself, so I am sure my guests, especially male guests, wouldn't even consider to take it home. But of course thinking about others (a.k.a the guests) are not common for Indonesian weddings.

Then it just hit me. Indonesians are all about surface. It's their image they think about. They try so hard to show that their invitations cost hundred of thousand per piece but they don't put any personal touch in it. Never expect to receive a thank you note, written by the couple, thanking us for attending their wedding because they will have the thank you note mass printed and everybody gets the same, regardless whether you are their best friend or their acquaitance. Indonesians try so hard to show their prestige by giving expensive souvenirs, without thinking twice whether their guest like it or not, whether it can be used or not, or whether it means something to either themselves or their guest. No wonder they put so much emphasis on such things even though I'm sure they know people wouldn't keep these items long. As long as their shockingly expensive invitations or their souvenirs can be the topic of afternoon high tea events, they'd dare to spend a fortune for them.

I, on the other hand, although far from perfect, try to at least pay attention to each guest individually. Like I have asked them to mention their dietary requirements, so I can be sure everybody can enjoy the meal, since I know there are people who are vegetarian, who don't eat beef, who don't eat seafood, and who don't eat pork. Do Indonesians think about this on their wedding? Halal food, maybe. But do they think that some people are allergic to nuts or some couldn't stand spicy food, so they have to separate their dressing or put a note on the menu? Doubt it.

Some people choose strange theme for their big day, like winter theme, complete with fake snow. It is their (supposedly) biggest day on earth, and they are willing to pay something fake, which is strange to me. Oh, some seven-tier wedding cakes displayed on the venue are also fake. Yup, so don't expect the couple, who pose with a samurai to cut the cake, will really cut it and distribute it to the guests.

To me, everything has to has a meaning either to me, my dear hubbie, or both of us. A small detail like ribbon on the napkin is a representation of my dear hubbie's clan. People might or might not notice but it means a lot to me. We want everybody to have a good time together because that's what is important for us. We don't care if the flowers are imported or locals because as long as they look good, we're happy. We want people to remember us as a loving couple. not a couple who pays so and so for this and that. I know that to some people this is probably unusual and not according to Indonesian standard. But again, who determines what's normal and what is not?

So after a couple of days boiling inside receiving sniggering comments from left to right, I know I'm doing this right. We're doing this right. Nothing else matters unless it matters to us because we're doing it for us and not to please anyone else.

When Things Gone Sour

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 11:52:00 +0000

This particular woman drove me mad almost two years ago. Her twisted mind and even more twisted words were really upsetting, and I had to remind myself that she is married to someone I care about, to calm myself down.

That argument is never settled. I kept insisting that she was involved in a matter that was totally unrelated to her and she didn't show a respect to me and my family. I told her to mind her own business and stop messing with people's life, especially those whom she doesn't know. She doesn't even have my mobile number for God's sake, she hadn't seen me for years before this issue came up, so how could she think she could preach me about things she didn't even understand? But when her replies came, they became more bizarre every time. She is not a type of person who has structured braincells and since I was too busy even to get some descent sleep, after replying 3 or 5 crazy text messages I decided to quit arguing. It was useless. I didn't have time and energy, and I didn't want to jump into her labyrinth of mind, where I couldn't decipher where the reality ended and where the fantasy began.

But as far as I concern, my case with her was with her and to her only. What I didn't expect was that the other two couldn't see it as clearly as I did.

We were close back then, especially the first months when I was just back from Sydney and started working in Jakarta. The first one taught me how to ride a city bus and ojek, and I brought her a bottle of her favorite perfume when I landed. I sometimes took them for a meal (always settled the bills, something they never returned and thought it was normal and my 'duty'). The second one begged me to help her when she was about to finish her study and needed a place for internship. I asked my boss and because it was me asking, he said yes, and she became an intern for several months. She got her first job through my colleague, and for a while I was proud of her.

But we have grown apart, which I think is normal. I am older then them, we lived miles apart, we circulated in totally different crowds and totally different social circles, so we hardly bumped into another. Everybody has their own life, so when we lost touch, I didn't particularly pay attention to it. I have tried, but it was difficult since it was always a one-sided attempt. Since my last job sent me all over Asia, I didn't have much spare time; and because they didn't try to keep in touch either, they're easy to be slipped out of my mind. Last contact was made when I was already in Scotland, when the first buzzed me through Yahoo! messenger and told me she was expecting a baby. I congratulated her, felt really happy for her because she told me beforehand that she really wanted to have one. Then a strange thing happened a while later. She wrote about her pregnancy experience in our communal blog, and I commented there, where I also told her that I just experienced a miscarriage, so I hoped she took a good care of herself and the baby. She never replied my comment, and although I wondered why (and kinda hoped she showed some attention), I decided that it wasn't a big deal. Her posting strangely was her first and last.

There were other several small things which annoyed me, even before the argument arose (like when one of them left a comment on my Friendster blog and preached about how to be better - which was odd considering (without bragging) that I am much more than her in every aspect, and her comment was so annoying I decided to delete it), but I have managed to ignored them so far. Now I start wondering whether they decide not to like me anymore because I had an outdated argument with their family member, or because the whole family issue between her and the rest of everybody. It annoys me more because whatever issue I had with her, was between us. The other two were not involved. I never expected smart ladies like them let themselves dragged into this stupid issue. I never expected brilliant women like them cannot separate themselves apart and logically tell her that this is not their business. My patience is thinning fast.

The last issue really pissed me off, because I did it with a good intention, that no matter what they're still my family, that I show my respect to them. I tried to show that my issue with her doesn't bother my relationship with the rest of them. Alas, I found out that one of them made a fuss over nothing, that she didn't look at beyond my good intention, that she didn't realize how busy I am (she didn't even care to say hi, let alone offers a help. Come to think about it, I don't think she knows whether I'm in Scotland or Indonesia, that's how attentive she is), that she only looked at herself. So I decided that this is the time to end it.

I wish I could be wiser and more patience. But life is complicated and I have other more important things and people to think about.

The book is closed. Enough.

Keeping It Private

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 16:55:00 +0000

Is this a growing trend among Indonesian bloggers?

I have found out that at least three of my blogbuddies have decided to restrict their blogs, which means only invited users can read them. They're quite popular and one of them has been listed consistently on the top 100 in IndonesiaMatters. I asked two of them, and they gave me similar answers: taking a break, reflecting, attending new important thing(s) in life which need full support or concentration, etc. I found them decided to do this almost on the same week.

I have been their avid, loyal reader for months and although I rarely left comments, I visited their blogs almost everyday, literally. I am a very visual person, so I don't subscribe to their feeds - I'd rather directly visit each blog, which I know, is rather silly and takes so much time, but I can't help it.

Whatever their reasons to keep their blogs private, I certainly will miss them. I've learned a lot from them.

Talking about keeping it private, I once received an e-mail regarding the government's decision to block Youtube and several other websites. I couldn't remember who sent the email first, but I was delighted to be part of a more intensed discussion. Naively, I thought we have formed a bond, so when I found out about webscraper, I sent the email to them to find out what they think. I believe I have found sensitive and important issues to discuss, especially because it covers two biggest thing in blogosphere: copyright and privacy. However, several of the recipients asked to be removed from the mailing list or at least not to put their emails on the Cc, because it has security and privacy implications. Ouch!

Mind you this posting is written past midnight and I have to wake up in three hours to catch an earliest flight, and just like two weeks a go when I was about to go back to Indonesia, I haven't packed a single thing. So I wouldn't deliver a brilliant analysis on this issue.

I just present this and would love to see what you think: Why blog but then keep it private? Don't you need readers? Don't you get a satisfaction knowing that your piece is read and loved by many (isn't it one of the reasons you went blogging in the first place?)

The Long And Winding Working Hours

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 00:52:00 +0000

I have quit my job and left Indonesia a year ago, but still receive job offers from time to time, although no one dares to relocate me back to Jakarta as en expat (*wink). But when I was visiting my ex boss in his fancy office after having dinner with my ex-colleagues, seeing the whole department was still complete and on full force even after 9PM (and received a request if I could help them out since I'd be here for 2 months), I blurted that I would not want to go back to this working habit. And I mean it. I have been there and done that. And I have no intention of doing it all over again, because I have the chance to choose a better life.

Just like most people with so-called important jobs in Jakarta, my days started before six and finished around midnight. I was lucky I lived (still do, actually) in the city so I didn't have to leave home before 5AM like others, but I still spent 45 minutes to 1 hour to reach my office. Normal days would be getting in the office at 8.30 and finished around 9PM, then it was either having late dinner with colleagues and friends, or attending social gatherings somewhere, or simply going to gym for a couple of hours. I used to work at weekends as well, and if the project was about to complete, I and everybody else would be awake 24 hours and stayed at the project until 3AM. When I was handling the projects outside Jakarta, my days would start even earlier and finish much later. When I moved to a different industry, long working hours remained (I once stopped over in Singapore after 13 hours flight and went straight to the conference room, jet-lagged and all), except that I could at least enjoyed some weekends off.

And just like any other Jakartans, I thought it was normal. It is normal. Some offices have overtime habits so much if we went home earlier we would be teased and end up feeling guilty.

But let's see.

Many of us turned up late, then after signing in we sneaked out for quick breakfast and were only ready to work after 9 AM. Half of our days were spent for traveling between meeting places and we left at 11.30 for lunch and were back after 2PM. Some of us were online all day with instant messaging and quietly chatting with others rather than trying to finish our jobs quickly. Meetings (if I didn't run it) usually started late, and the first hour was spent to wait for others to turn up. There were more than one occasion where our workers were just sitting around doing nothing because the material hadn't arrived on site yet, or the toolkits were lost somewhere and must be delivered again. No wonder it was difficult to finish one simple task, and even if we tried to commit to ourselves, the job was usually linked to someone else who would set it aside and went for breakfast/lunch/meeting and didn't do it until the last minute.

However, there are people who have no choice but working late, even though they don't spend their time messing about with unimportant stuff, and try to do five to ten jobs at the same time. My friends are a perfect example. Dinar spends 20 hours a day in the office everyday. I used to be busier than Prila and Debora, but now these two ladies go home later and later each day. And remember my ex-boss and the entire department who were still working when I turned up at the office at 9PM? These people might not remember the last time they went home on time. But again, half of their overtime are due to other factors. With acute traffic jams and our own (and other) inefficiency, we don't have much choice except spending time longer in the office to be able to finish our tasks.

Working long hours were not only normal in Indonesia, but also in any other Asian countries, although for totally different reasons, like fierce competition. I used to be harassed by my regional client in Singapore who seemed to never sleep at all. When I replied his email at 9PM, he would reply back at 1AM and expect me to be ready with an answer by first thing in the morning - by reminding me regarding his previous email at 7AM. I went for a conference in Shanghai and after we finished at 10PM people still gathered outside the conference room and continued the discussions (I was ready to drag myself to bed but how could I if everyone else was not?).

But then in Scotland, I realize that the pace is totally different. Normal time means we go home around 5PM. Overtime means staying at the office until 7PM. No traffic jam means people can reach their offices between 10 minutes to 30 minutes. Some choose to ride bikes or even walk. It was strange at the beginning to see Stuart at home in the afternoon, because normally we saw each other after 10PM in Jakarta (it took him three hours to reach home from his office!).

And nobody is expected to work overtime if it is not absolutely necessary.

Back in Jakarta since last week and noticing my friends' long working hours, I cringe, remembering that I used to be like that. I am aware that being in the position where they are right now, climbing the career ladder, trying to finish the project on time, be the best and exceed the target, there is not much choice except doing it. I just wish they realize that this is not healthy in the long run. I hope they remember that there's life outside their jobs.

It's just job, after all. Not a matter of life and death. The company wouldn't collapse if we go home on time. And the task will still be there, everyday, waiting for us to finish. We finish one today, a new one will come the next day. We are just employees, after all, and the office is still running with or without us. And despite what we think, our bosses know that we are not irreplaceable.

** Happy birthday, Dinar. This posting is for you. We have danced for you on your birthday. Now it's time for you to enjoy your special day. Go home! **

I'm Not An Indonesian, Not Yet A Scottish Lady

noreply@blogger.com (Finally Woken) — Tue, 24 Jun 2008 17:54:00 +0000

I think the combination of being in a holiday mood, having too many things to do/people to meet/parties to attend, and having crap internet connection at home, makes me abandoning my blog. It has been over a week and I haven't been bothered to update it.

So I arranged to meet up with Therry at Cazbar yesterday. I thought I would be motivated to write something once I sat down on its wooden chair, had the lamb chop with a non-stop wine supply on the side. But Cazbar's internet connection was down right after we finished my lunch today, and only bounced back before six, right before the cheese night started, and right before Nonie came to pick me up. So I couldn't even check my emails, let alone updating my blog there, and must do everything when I got back home. Darn.

Anyway, It is good to be back. Summer has been cold in Aberdeen, and Jakarta is at least 20 degrees warmer, and I enjoy every minute of the heat. I have been pampering myself in the past week, and have been to lunches, dinners and parties I had to force myself to have some quiet nights in to recharge and have some decent sleep in my own bed rather than crashing at Ecky and Sam's before dawn...

But it’s funny that after only a week I start missing Scotland. I miss the cold (yes, I do!), I miss its quietness and peaceful surrounding, I miss the city's predictability, I miss its certainty, and I miss its routines.

I went to see my ex-colleagues at Pacific Place because it’s the closest to my ex-office, and the place apparently is very during lunch time, receiving citizens of SCBD. I was going up on escalator to the first floor, walked away from the crowd and found the much less busy one, surrounded by unopened shops, reached the second floor, before I realized what I just did. I avoided the crowd.

I went to Senayan City with my mum and heard the commotion on the main lobby. There was some promotion event in front of the elevator, with only one or two lost toddlers watching the sad guy saying something nobody cared or could hear. Something ticked me off and I felt really mad. I sent text to my friend who knows the owner of the mall, asking why Senayan City becomes a traditional market, with a master ceremony screaming on top of his lung and an ugly echo from bad sound system and speakers. He phoned immediately, asking what was wrong. And then I realized what drove me mad. It was the noise that I couldn’t stand it.

I was in Plaza Senayan last Friday, killing time before going to meet the girls for Nonie’s birthday, and I only managed to keep my composure up to the 9th sales person who offered me an HSCB credit card. The poor 10th guy was shrinking in shock because I barked at him even before he opened his mouth. I felt sorry right afterwards, because I know he worked by commission and tried to gain a new customer. But I couldn’t help it, I wanted to look around without having people in black chasing after me. The sales lady who touched my shoulder and called me “sayang” (darling) also received my icy look and harsh comments. I wasn’t proud of what I did, but I hate being touched by a stranger, especially the one who shoved a stinky tester under my nose even though I kept saying no.

I arrived at Tabac right at 7 PM and nobody was there. I realized I was back in Indonesia where being late is socially acceptable, so I ordered some lychee martini. It tasted good and I made a mental note to tell this to Tamara, the martini fan. But when Nonie and Ecky arrived we decided to open up a bottle of wine, and we chose something simple, Jacob’s Creek Carbenet Sauvignon. I shrieked in horror when the guy said it’s Rp 500,000. Astagadragon, the same wine only costs Rp 120,000 in Scotland!

Have I become Scottish?

Oh God. Oh God...