Time Crisis

Saya punya mid  30s crisis.

Rasanya seperti menjadi Atta Hallintar dan Sandiaga Uno sekaligus. Alay tapi terkenal, fake tapi kaya.

Sebelum Atta mulai message mesum atau Sandi memakai pete di kepala, saya sudah berkeliaran di gym berisi anak-anak kuliahan untuk memperluas network.

Manusia terkadang memang melakukan hal yang tidak sesuai kebiasaan ketika hidupnya sedang datar hanya demi merasakan sensasi lagi.

Jika Atta dan Sandi dihujat habis-habisan, saya paling diomongin. Sama 5 orang teman dekat pula.

Namun, saya pikir netijen sedang menjentikan jarinya mengetik komentar nyinyir tiada henti diakhiri #ABGTuaPedofil.

Tentu suatu kehormatan diperhatikan begitu banyak jempol nonstop sampai netijen mengalihkan intensitas perhatian ke orang kepeleset tingkah lainnya 24 jam kemudian.

People’s memory are short.

Anda diingat selalu dalam titik ekstrim. 

Bodoh dan lemah atau pintar dan berkuasa.

Jadi remaja yang ngasih amer ke rusa di taman safari terus tutup account dan dipecat dari kerjaan atau memenangkan pitch dengan VC besar dan memberikan fee yang mencekik bagi partner bisnis anda.

Biasanya untuk hal yang kedua orang cenderung lupa sisi buruknya.

Hitting the Ceiling

Run for office? No. I've slept with too many women, I've done too many drugs, and I've been to too many parties." - George Clooney, 50 years old 



During those younger years, everybody has that hallucinogenic nights (or day).
On or off those wilfull substance, both college era junkies and hungry over achievers think alike on the notion of success.
Some high on meth-laced ecstasy delude themselves as future entrepreneurs while others fuelled by constant medal of honors project their self on the highest podium of power.

Then time comes directing the course of fate.
The wind abruptly blows randomly putting fragile pieces of opportunity on either lap.
Claws and fangs start to rattle against each other, breaking humanity and sowing insanity.


That pond has turned into an ocean.
Familiar bright coloured starry eyed fishes are replaced by obscure scary looking fish bombers.
Darwinian natural selection at its finest, indiscrimiantely producing beings akin to the oppressed Jew's that groomed Uncle Sam.
Ruthless, tactical and brilliant creatures born not out of systematic planning nor coincidental sequences but rather due to the cyclical nature of resource competition.

Wise man said: "It's a consequence of reality. It's for the betterment of progress. It's for the promise of hope."
The fool nodded. Went out the woods. Burned the forest. And went for the dying elephants prized ivory.
His next of kin followed suit. Gained respect. Dupe the masses. Owned the village.

Now we all want to achieve conquest.
Julius Cesar, Leonidas of 300, even (d'oh) Prabowo are our generations reference point.
We never had dreams of invading cities, putting crowns on our head or slaving millions under one point of the finger.
It's simply the grandeur posturing, the iceberg sized unconsciousness, the irrational societal measures.

That roof on top of our head.
We want it to be a two story pristine building with couple of helpers, three built-up car and two 24/7 chauffeurs.
That objects on our body.
We demand the latest Airmax for our newborn, classy artsy attire for our ladies and watches we never own but could only pass on for ourself.
That nutrients for the mouth.
We consume unpronounceable items with price tags we flauntingly pronounce.
The perks of entertainment.
We strive for far feetched exotic places, first class airport waiting lounge, topped with luxurious hotels to sleep in.

Then, we self-masturbate in the domain of social media.
Being jerked off by Instagram likes, getting blow jobs for heart icons on Path, and creampie-ing on envious Facebook comments.
PS: Don't forget to bring your close knitted happy looking wife and kids, caption hashtag family hashtag holiday hashtag [insert city or place of interest], put them in one picture frame. Works every single time to add the social media frenzy.


"Here we are now", a common man said, "the ruse of reality, the pain of progress, the herpes of hope."

Note: George Clooney was quoted in 2011. In 2014, he married a women who share his values and life goals. I assume he left the sex rampaged drug fuelled parties that hindered his life-long passion to change things he deemed important to be addressed. There has been rumours that he will run for political office, although the denies the report. Well, dr.  Doug Ross like any other politician, denying the truth and leading people to believe you is a great first step.

Motorcycle Emptiness

"Shoot, coward, you're only going to kill a man"

Ernesto Guevarra, seconds before he was executed
(October 9, 1967. La Higuera, Bolivia)


The asphalt felt soggy.
The air smelt like crystallized water vapour. It was raining for about 20 minutes and the only shelter was a helmet and some pair of wheels below. An overcrowded bridge, 100 meter in front, didn't seemed exactly what Mirra Ginsburg had in mind about the mushroom. But, it was the closest thing available in today's Jakarta on sharing and solidarity.

Time after time, the roads are the same. The same old potholes, the same old crowded intersection, the same old traffic light which switch red way to early. But the medium was different this time. Ubiquitous (and annoying) as they may appear when you're behind the wheel, you feel joy when you feel first hand the thing you hate the most. Back peddling the carriage on your bear foot rather than shifting to reverse gear, finding the tiniest alleyway between cars in congestion, making sudden turns to avoid the pool of water. You don't know (or don't care) your every move causing another person's coronary surgery to happen faster. You say to yourself, you only got these two hands and these two feet to survive. So, bare with me because this how I get ends to meet.

And here I am being apart of the anti-establishment, causing another curse from that car driver because I just made a left turn without signalling. Well, driver I only got these two hand and these two feet. So, you might as well stay put and lay back on your retractable cushioned chair while I do all the hard work.

Ngeeeenggggg.

Hopes and Dreams: Capital City of Whatever

Jakarta, Indonesia.

13 million inhabitant at day and 9 million at night. On Sunday, apparently there are only 2 million left of us. If you take traffic conditions on the main roads as a valid indicator.
A city where most broken valors take place for the majority of rent seekers trying to grasp the Indonesian dream.

The road stalls during rush hours (read: 7 am to 7 pm), the endless stockpiles of social climbers, the strings of motorcades from top notch bureaucracy to pious vigilante Islamic extremist, the CO2 (if you regularly take public transport for approximately 3 years, you would have the lungs of a 10 years chain smoker), freak weather where intense heat is followed by excessive rain then the flood comes.

Probably, our grandparents or parents transmigrated to this city because they were stationed by a government body or company. They experienced the 70s and 80s chanted as the capital's great development period where roads, bridges, and building were relentlessly build. Probably, they also had to face repeated envy from their friends and relatives outside of the capital. The centralistic character of the New Order regime back then must also help our city dwelling predecessors, both economically and socially. Ah, to live in the big city. The Merdeka Palace, Monas, Hotel Indonesia, Patung Selamat Datang. Prestige, oh prestige. First class all the way.

Then comes us the third generation of Jakartans in this world. Born in the 80's. Indonesia's new rising upper-middle class family.We experienced the 90's when Western ways was the plethora of events in the Big Durian. Jakartan fled to Singapore for their weekend shopping. Still in our elementary or junior high years, every July when the holiday season has ended was another agenda. If American students had "Show and Tell" time in their curriculum, we Indonesians have the unofficial "Show-off" time.

"Hey, I just got this cool red Baby-Shock watch from Japan. Where did you go for holiday?"

"Errrr. I went to Carita Beach. Mmm, look I got this great looking shell!"

*silence* "Oh." *turning to another kid* "Hey John look at my watch, where did you go this holiday."

Then the unthinkable happened. First economic crisis. Second riot. Most likely political, but framed to be racially incited. Third, the stabilizing currency of this city (and country) resigned from presidency.

KABOOM!

The upper-middle class started to struggle. Anecdotal evidence suggests that almost 70% of Indonesian studying abroad had come back to Indonesia leaving their studies because the 500% rupiah devaluation. The upper class, those who amassed their wealth primarily due to their "close connections" to power, were wary that this social unrest would turn into a witchhunt for the rich and powerful. Foreign analyst, which previously predicted Indonesia as the next Asian Dragon, prompted that Balkanization is in progress. Then Jakarta was tested once again. A myriad of political turmoil taking place in central Jakarta, terrorism attracts in posh hotels and business districts, and religious group sweepings of "unholy places" in Kemang took place but again normalcy was restored.

Then the unthinkable happened once more. The third generation grew up. The common upper-middle class who grew up in privilege driven by chauffeur, wearing the latest Nike sneakers to school, and fancy restaurants dine in with the family every weekend back in the 90's were to face the hyperreality. Unable to distinguish the fantasy, courtesy to their lavish childhood upbringing, to the current reality where money is a scarce product essential to maintain such lifestyle.

Now, they have to find the right job. Not just a job.
"Show-off" has reached a new colloquial meaning. The gap between the upper-middle and the upper class has been stretch so far during the last 10 years. Causing prevalent anxiety because the third generation only has the uber rich for social mobility benchmarking.

Now, we need management trainee jobs.
We need great company insurance.
We need double digit (in millions) monthly salaries.
We need to go to places to be seen.
We need Gold plated credit cards from at least 3 major banks.
We need Gucci handbags and Tag Heuer wristwatch.
We need periodical overseas holidays.
We need our own car.
We need our private condo.
We need our exclusive referral only club membership.
We need our wedding held in the latest brand new hotel.

We need to get our instant gratification fed.
Now.

We need it before we become like the thousands who fled their hometown when Ramadhan holiday is over to Jakarta. To reach the Indonesian dream they saw on sinetron last night only to fail. Living below a dollar a day.

We need it now.

Before our valor shatters in line with our dreams. Living below the upper class for the rest of our lives.

Lamteuba

Today was an exclamation point to the precise details. Post date of birth rememberance, refreshing midweek holiday, and a small celebration  with the ring one inner circles. 

Moment are precise. Transandence evaporate the masses.

Adam's Apple

And I know I said I needed some time alone 
And I know I never seem to pick up the phone 
And though you will see me with someone else 
You were always the one

-The Cribs, You Were Always The One (The Cribs, 2004)

-Start scene-

He was always my best friend, my brotha, my hommie, mi ese, but we were never counterparts. A relationship was his life’s longing for the past few years. The search began from 24 hours discotheque (usually past 3 am), overcrowded bars (and an open bottle of tequila the perfect one night rape aphrodisiac), hip posh lounges (with fancy fashion line ensemble), and cool eclectic cafes (while sitting around for a full 6 hours). 

170 cm
65 kilos

and

a slight defect (wide satellite shaped ears, that is)

I told him not sit too close.
I said not to look in her eye motionlessly.
I warned him to avoid all touchy* physical contact.
I even stepped on his shoes when they started to talk about the virtues of true companionship.

black hair
pencil line eyebrows

and

a gigantic defect (stubbornness, in this case)  

They sat side by side. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt; he was wearing a slim fit leather jacket. He made the initial move, closing down the gaps between chairs, rubbing her jeans with his skinny khakis. In shock and awe, I tried to peek what was happening under the table. If her jeans were tits, then they would be definitely flashing, teasing the unprepared khakis for this jolting move. Her hand started to tingle. She had to put her hand on his arm for the sake of more attention. My bastard friend tried to look cool and cocky, as his basic trait would surface. He tilted his head towards her, inches to her face, which made my prone tendency to heart attacks something you could bet on. Then he made a subtle turn in the direction of her ear, letting me to gasp some air as if I was drowning. 

She smiled.
Not a happy smirk.
Not a polite lip muscle.
Not even a genuine laugh.

It wasn’t a hint, certainly not a friendly gesture. It was the key to the doors of open barriers and continuing alleys of possibilities. Flirtatious submission may not be the right word. But it was what came to mind first.

I made eye contact with the idiot in charge, a man must be guided by logic and natural will, not by in the moment feelings and uncontested fate. He politely asked her to be excused, I thought to myself why doesn’t he start making print ads on his real intention, rather than showing blunt behavior with the crowd still around. 

“She’s messing around with you.”
“So?”
“DON’T!!”
“Don’t make a blunder out of it?”
“DON’T PLAY WITH FIRE”
“Yeah, play with fire then get burnt. I’m playing with something else, this is a completely different creature. It’s like I’m a Russian genius scientist playing catch with uranium in order to solve matters as world peace. A big risk, mankind would greatly benefit from.”
“Have you been taking prescription drugs?”
“Yeah, just some anti-depressant but without the doctor orders.”
“Then preach to the fucking sidewalk!!”

*touchy:  (1.) slowly caressing one’s inner arm, female                  

                   (2.) rubbing one’s hand in a purposed motion on one’s back, male 

-end of scene-

(next season)  

Debauchery

I’m in need of something raw. A piece of magnet pertaining to the unpolluted flesh eating animal who is blind to the vague lines between tame and wild. My own table shaped wax, solely mine to animate, to destroy, then bury the hatchet. No questions ask, just silent mediums of disagreement breaking the exercised fury beyond doubt. 

Lend a hand anybody?