aftermath.

It came as a surprise
and I was surprised
that the game was just a game
the game was an actual game

I took my cup and drank
every little bitter drop
and afterwards I know I stank
to those who never saw the joke

But it was obviously there
and it's funny it happened to me
It's funny. Haha, it's funny.
and I don't want to care.

But in these witching hours (it's cold.)
I know that I've grown slightly old
I shift my gears and downgraded
I seriously played a funny game (I'm jaded.)

The moral of the story is now
to bravely stand my ground somehow
and say that it was just a game indeed
but we performed like stars. (We did.)

Java Jazz Fest 07

Jakarta deserves a big applause, finally, for having held the Java Jazz Festival successfully for the third time. No ifs or buts, I had an orgasmic time and am going to spend a lot of space ranting about it, so excuse me.

First show, Airto Moreira, which is the one who looks rather like the late Saddam Hussein, started with a difficult tribal number, followed with intense latin rythms, did a perfect mix of hip-hop rap and brazilian beats, and ended with a Brazilian carnival arrangement, and the audience literally left their seats and danced. As my bro puts it: it’s the closest we’ll ever get to Brasil for the time being. (it may be worth noting that going to Brasil is on my list of things-to-do-before-I-die)

I’d also like to pay special tribute to his guitarist, who managed what I once thought was impossible:
A curly mohawk.

John Scofield was of course, as brilliant as John Scofield, so I will spare the elaboration, but would like to highlight instead his backing guitarist + computerist. I didn’t know Jazz could be so high-tech. The result was a very progressive mix of sounds touching up a strong funk root. It was deliciously fresh.

Marcus Miller got the audience into a frenzy of cheers and bopping heads with his funky bass grinds, accompanied by trumpet, sax, and… harmonica! Very unique instrument to improvise with, and so added a dash of pleasant eccentricity. Must borrow/steal bf’s harmonica and try my luck.

Lisa Ono was… sweet. That’s pretty much it. No surprises there, but deserves mentioning nonetheless because her arrangements are extremely adorable, great for those peaceful rainy mornings.














A tribute to the only Indonesian jazz pianists I watched is a must, so here they are, master and student, Bubi Chen (left) and Andi Wiriantono (right) in motion.








Japanese players Kimiko Itoh, Yosuke Onuma, and Koji Goto, teamed up with Fourplay’s Harvey Mason and gave a very charming classical jazz performance.






San Fransisco Jazz Collective featuring Joshua Redman… pure genius. They did a tribute to Thelonius Monk as well as some of their own creations. With asymmetrically harmonious compositions, the brass players were perfectly synchronized with one another, yet made seemingly effortless and flexible improvisations that draws you in like a magnet. I rose and fell with them, I felt the achingly beautiful phrases take control of me and I surrendered. In teenage-like awe, I managed to take a picture with Joshua Redman and ask for his autograph. (he looks rather like Vin Diesel :) )

Very happy! :)

"I have read seven out of ten most-read books" I proclaimed proudly.
bf applauded politely and obligingly, his head tilted in a slight bow.
"I can see you're very impressed."
"Very.", he replied, quickly.
After several moments of silence, he finally asked, "so what are they?"

*grin*
So here it is, according to BBC.com:

1. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, which of course I have read at least three times, check.
2. Lord of the Rings trilogy by J.R.R Tolkien, check
3. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, this one I haven’t read
4. Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling, check
5. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee, check
6. The Bible, uh-oh… not into that
7. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, check
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell, haven’t read
9. His Dark Materials trilogy by Philip Pullman, check
10. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, check!

"That's amazing.", said my bored companion.

Mismatched.

Laughter from outside tingles my skin
Trapped in apathy and shivering from the cold
but disgusted

I count my days with scratches
On the wall, with my nails, months old
As predicted.
-------------------------------------------

I want to feel like I don’t belong and have the privilege not to care.

Such are the precious moments and minutes to pass, wielding fluxes of apathy, and then worry, and then nausea, and then dejection, and then disgust, and then awe, and then shit. Purity and insanity are not so different, did you know? But the drive won’t go away. It streams like a onewayhighway and pushes everything out of its path. What do they call it these days? Ambition. Competitiveness. Idealism. Whatever. Keepgoingkeepgoingkeepgoing. Like a mantra.
[I hear laughter outside this room. It is disturbingly noisy.]

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life trying to feel like I belong. There are moments for that and they should not prevail. There are moments to persevere and there are moments to quit.
[poor spoilt little girl… thought she’d always be okay no matter what]
Shutup shutup shutup.
I am so misunderstood.

For want of better words while I sort out what I can or cannot reveal, allow me to compensate with this instead. Made this one for my office, because of something the boss said which was quite inspiring, and because I would have dropped off to sleep on my desk if it weren't for Photoshop.
Good thing is the boss took a fancy to it, and wants it supersized and wall-mounted!

Who says we government people don't do much, eh?

Quality Time

tz: So do you wanna go out with me after I’m done on Saturday night, or maybe Sunday?

bf: Umm… I don’t know yet… I may have other things scheduled…

tz: Well just lemme know

bf: Sure.

And so I turn away and leave life behind. There’s this scene from The Devil Wears Prada where the girl comes home from an important business banquet, extremely pretty in a designer outfit, carrying a birthday cake and an apologetic look for being late. And her bf says, “you look very nice”, goes into his room and shuts the door.

07

New Years (in Singapore, again) for me was not the rave party mad loud fun that some people may gravitate to. I was rather tempted though, to attend the New Year’s rave party at the beach. But I was with parents, so you see. Instead it was quiet, and spent photographing. I’m sure Jakarta has cute angles. I just haven’t found them yet, nor do I dare take my camera for a walk down the alleys. Nor do I take a walk, for that matter. *sigh*

I also ate spicy food (not pictured, in case you were wondering), though I can proudly verify they taste like sugar compared to Jakarta’s spicy stuff. They do know how to display their kitchens though (pictured, in case you were wondering).

Hey, I think I found my new year’s resolution. Be less envious.
That, or travel more :)

spits and swallows.

My mother always taught me how to be sure that a guy really loves you. To put it briefly, the symptoms are the guy would do anything for you.

Back in her days, she would have numerous guys calling on her. They would write her poems, or bring her fruit baskets that are large enough to go around all 11 members of her family. She never lifted a finger, she said, never called them back, never asked them out, never gave them promises, but they kept coming nonetheless. And the most resilient, most persistent man became my dad. Because if you go soft on them, she warned in an energetic oratory, if you serve them and lull them with the convenience of your generosity and submissiveness, you will never know how far they would go for you. You would be trapped with a man that would not treat you the way a girl deserves to be treated. It is Woman’s Destiny, she says. We must be passive.

I always thought that I thought the advice was lame. You know those stories where teenage girls are determined not to end up like their mothers and suddenly sometime in their adult life find themselves acting exactly like mom? Well… there you go. I think as the questions become more complicated, you have only two choices: do as you were told its best to do, or invent your own untested formula. And that’s where all this storm inside is coming from.

Going Solo.

Oh today. Attended a ceremony the president was attending in Solo, the National Solidarity Day Event. It was at an open roofed football stadium at 11.00 noon, and the place was swamped with plump ladies from the Social Department all dressed up to the nines. I could not help but notice the one sitting next to me had extremely protruding front teeth, which her red-painted lips could never quite conceal. The air smelt of sweat as the onlookers watched the opening: an army of parachutes landing on the field, almost all of them missing the big yellow mark.

My boss still nowhere to be seen or heard, I hung out with the reporters instead. Their looks are to be doubted, these unkempt, lanky haired journalists, but the minute they ask you a question you know they can be deadly. But today I need not fear, for they were as bored as I was. The event bore no news, and some of them were only in it for the free trip home to Java.

Every trip has a reason for being, something you can bring home in your mind, and this time it was the reporters I made friends with. They’re probably the most knowledgeable people in the world on the merit of knowing what happens the minute it happens. And yet unlike the most knowledgeable people in the world, they’re extremely approachable. Ask them what they think of an issue and they can immediately give you a modest analysis based on their simple but intense observation. And they’re always honest about what they think. You can learn a lot from people like that.

So based on the above, I’m happy to report that my first solo trip to Solo proved fruitful!

I will be an excellent mother.

Female colleague is making ridiculous high-pitched gurgling noises at the boss's baby.
I fail to see the point.

Week Three.

So I go on my first business trip, and the destination is St. Petersburg. It’s winter, and our breath comes out misty white as we walk through the quaint lighted streets. Russian girls in black leather stiletto boots and fur coats walk briskly past. After work was completed, for a blissful hour I walked as the city closed down for the day. The next day was trapped with colleagues, sight-seeing beautiful St. Petersburg, on a tour bus.
I almost died of boredom.

And I would almost give up. Almost.
In a haze of confusion.

Neurotic

A ridiculously sickening paranoia of stepping on thin ice and losing everything.

Day Three.

“How’s the coffee? Need sugar?”
“No thanks. I don’t like my coffee sweet.”
“That’s right, you’re already sweet enough.”

Said a very old and lanky office boy. Ouch….

Day Two.

The palace is nice in the afternoons, for a stroll through the grounds as people bustle by after a leisurely lunch. The gardens are dappled and sunny, softening the classic colonial style buildings. Not lavish, but elegant buildings nonetheless. At night it would cast shadows and fall silent, softly spooky, and people say they feel things if not see things. But during the day I only feel the soft rustle of wind. I intercepted the flower carts coming out of the palace, loaded with the flowers of yesterday’s banquet, and picked some still pretty ones for my desk. I believe it would be, however, on very rare occasions that I would take this stroll, for my primary destination, the palace cafeteria, serves tasteless food. So there go my delusions of palace gourmet.

Hot Young Coconut Pudding.

Which was on the breakfast menu at the hotel where my colleagues stay, and later told me that they decided it was an "appropriate description for Teez, in a nutshell".

Now, I can't say that sounds too bad.

weathered.

Quietly the dust settles in the aftermath of a sandstorm.
Roughly piled and dry like dead twigs on a winter's day.
And you say you think I'm gone next stormy dusty winter.
And I say I think you're wrong.

notch down.

In the best of words: differentiate what you want and what you need.
Profound and surprisingly overlooked. It simplifies a life that wants so many things.
And cheerfully agrees with the fact that you "can't have it all".
I would think that the person who achieves this level would be a very peaceful person. Presuming he obtains what he needs. Think about it. It would be so easy to arrange life's priorities:
1. what you need and want
2. what you need
3. what you want
Of course, nothing is that simple. But once the frustation exhausts itself, once the turmoil dwindles, the options continue to escalate and the sadness still lingers, you need to arrange things in simple little boxes and make a straight beeline for one which makes you happiest.
Because in the long run, you only hit what you aim at.

to be young

It's as if my person is assumed. Life keeps moving, life keeps escalating. And soon I will reach the skies alone.

But see, that's an over-simplification. Mere plastic labels to explain complexities. Ambitious. Selfish. Competitive. Karma. There is no depth in such analysis. It does not take into account how souls mature like wine, and how faith and religion invisibly draws a straight unwavering line to follow. To come back to after you side-track. If you side-track. There are always echoes which balance the echoes in my head. And most importantly, it doesn't take into account that nobody can fight alone. And that I realise that.

constant vigilance

These are the days when I dream of where I will be precisely next year. Right now there are about a million feasible posibilities. Possibility number one being the most lucrative at the moment, which really consists of a combination of a certain this, this, this, and that.
But I keep having to remind myself, let's do this in small increments. Let's focus on goaling the balls one by one. Let's take a deep breath and realise that things do not happen without a struggle.
Let's focus on fighting for that dream-job first of all. And then focus on fighting for that dream-team. And then focus on fighting for the ultimate dream. And then, who knows?
There's plenty of battle yet to come. And sweet victories to be won.