Effortlessly Content (at last)

If you happened to read the previous post, I just want to tell that I did go to Lombok and dive in The Gilis. I also visited Mount Merapi afterwards, although I'm too lazy to write the details. What confused me was that I didn't feel great at the end. I've done everything that I am excited about, yet I was restless to be back to Semarang.

Not that I was bored. I have my job and friends here, I am more than happy to be back. It was just because for almost a year in Semarang, I didn't really achieve or do anything meaningful. I was practically messing about. I was busy to make myself busy. The only occasion when I feel like doing or learning something useful was when I travel. It explains why my mind was always somewhere else.

I complained to friends over the internet that I couldn't have real conversations with my colleagues and friends. Most of them are busy, settled and responsible adults. Therefore we have almost no common interest. I was tired of listening about our mundane daily life (Was it because I always want to be entertained? Generation Y tendency?). I still hang out with them, of course, but I know I was missing something. And it wasn't a marriage, like is always suggested.

A conversation that I usually have over a cup of tea or a plateful of 'nasi goreng' is often about kids, husband/male species, colleagues, work or money. I also talk about similar topics, don't get me wrong, but once in while I want to talk about something else. Not necessarily important, but new (at least for me). Like, does Luke Skywalker really exist? or why Spongebob is yellow? why time flies and slips through our fingers? I want to talk about stuff that I am interested in. I also want to get a feedback, apart from a strange look. Only recently I've found a drain. It's called 'doing my job'.

I know I love teaching. I enjoy standing in front of people and explaining something that draws their attention. I always be the person who does the speech, since I was an elementary student (I was in tears at that time, though, because everybody else could do a peacock dance and I had to talk instead. Not happy tears). In the past I had talked in front of villagers, peers, teachers and children. Once I also tried to be an elementary English teacher. It was quite enjoyable for me, yet it didn't fully explore my passion to teach. People join an English course as a 'supplement' education, something they do in their spare time. Either their parents ask them to join or they volunteer in the class to have fun. That's why sometimes it's hard to keep their attention. It's pretty normal that some students did text messaging when I was teaching! Furthermore, it wasn't quite easy with English. My students demanded a conversation class, which means to teach off the book. Which means, I have to think of myself what to teach. If it's too easy or too difficult, the result will be same: I'm losing them. I have to find out which is the perfect level for these teenagers, who play nintendo wii on their holiday and can't live without Blackberry messenger.

Fortunately, it is different in the lecture theatre. These med students come to learn, or at least they have to, if they want to pass the exam and graduate. In general, they have more attention and obedience. They even listen to me sometimes!

Only recently I have my own class. I don't teach "Biomolecular markers of breast cancer" or anything remotely cool like that, but I found out that I can talk about 'interesting stuffs' to my students. In fact, I can talk about anything to them. The things that I contemplate. Medicine. Poems. Books. Scholarship application. Languages. Research. Travel. Experience. Friends. Different ways of living. Writing. Or simply about people and culture. Instead of looking nerd, I am usually considered as a responsible lecturer, who gives education (you bet). When we do something that we love doing and are passionate about, the atmosphere will follow. In short, I'm so happy to do my job.

The best part of this is that I need no excuse to do it!

Bali it is

I am on 5-weeks teacher training at Denpasar, Bali. When I tell/write friends this, somehow attention is drawn to the last word, which is "Bali" (Then followed by an urgently important message: bring me some souvenirs!). The truth is, "teacher training" takes most of the place and no, I'm not really on holiday. Still, I do my best to make it feel like one.

Apart from the religion, I don't think Bali is much different to Semarang (I'm living in a hotel with my colleagues from Semarang. That's explain a lot). I spend most of my time at IALF (Indonesia Australia Language Foundation), the institution who provides the training. It's quite a nice place apart from the fact that it's my work place. To be completely honest I kind of like this place, especially the library (they call it Resource Centre or something). There're lots of books and magazines, free internet, lockers, TV, videos, and a burning incense to add the Balinese atmosphere to the place. If only they have sofas, coffee maker, crisps, pillows and a massage service! There's also a pleasant cafetaria where I always have my delicious mango juice and feed the fish in the pond with my leftover food (don't do this at home!).

The training lesson is in general okay, but the most interesting part of it is -of course- the teacher. There is this teacher: a young, bariton-voiced, hunky English bloke who always put gel on his hair so it looks like porcupine. He also wears tight, fashionable T-shirt and delicately ironed trousers so he almost seems like an Armany guy who is in Bali for holiday but forget to bring his holiday outfits. Anyway, he makes an infinite source for our cruel jokes. In my spare time I will dip myself into a pint-sized swimming pool at the hotel where we stay until my skin gets wrinkled, or read 'Eat, Pray, Love' by  Elizabeth Gilbert. I know it's so last year but I like to read something that suits the theme (or in my case, that's the only option I have. I only bring this book). Once in a while I'll see my friend Dyta who works at Sanglah hospital. We went to Kuta beach festival on the other day, where we had one litre of Balimoon (Balinese cocktail) for two of us only! We could not walk straight afterwards although Dyta had to be on call in the morning. I just loved it.

Weekend is the best part of my staying at Bali. Last Saturday, me and my colleagues went on a tour in South Bali. We did water sports in Tanjung Benoa, we visited some excellent, white-sand turquoise-water beaches, saw Kecak dance at Uluwatu at dusk and later had roasted-fish dinner at Jimbaran. Ok, this sounds like I'm bragging about my weekend but actually the best part of it is just the fact that we travelled in a bunch and therefore we'd got to know each other better. After all, this is what matters when you are stuck with a group of people for a full month training!

A guy named "Liang"

I thought when I'm resting at home I will be absolutely free from cheap approaches, cheesy text messages, tacky flirts, silly questions as well as people trying to sell me second-class imported handbags, health insurances or credit cards. Little did I know!

One fine evening my Mom said that someone wanted to talk to me. I knew it must be quite important because she looked a bit hesitant. We have had a serious talk about matchmaking and we agree there will be no such a thing or my parents will have to pay for my round the world tickets =) So far, my parents were quite cool at turning down proposals for people asking their daughter's hand. I won't expect that this time will be different.

It was my Dad's business partner from Jakarta. His family visited my parents' house not long ago due to some business stuffs and my parents also visited them afterwards in order to sort these things out. Apparently there was also something else.

"I have a genteel nephew and it will be nice if you could meet him," he said casually. My Mom made a frantic gesture that it wasn't her idea at all. He sounded paternal and at the same time friendly so I wouldn't have any reason to pretend I suddenly had tummy ache or that I forgot to turn off an alarm. "I will held a wedding party for my daughter in September. Please come with your parents and I'll prepare a table for you,"

I really have no chance to say no. I completely understand that this man is an important person for my Dad's business and that he actually has a good intention, but I still think it's a bit unfair to match me with someone I have no idea whatsoever. I immediately missed door-to-door salesmen who sell fake perfumes, insurances or any cards (gym membership, DVD rental, greenpeace, bodyshop or perhaps Che Guevara fans club). They are surely easier to handle.

My Mom tried to calm me down by saying that this guy is a 187 cm hunky bloke named Liang. Despite having a name resembles a tea, he sounded very nice, polite, lovely and good-natured person; in my mother's opinion, in addition of being a hardworking young businessman and an owner of two storeys house. It was clear to me that he made a good impression on her (or perhaps he has handed her his CV?). She determined that it never crossed her mind to match me with anybody so RTW tickets is out of the question. I'm a bit dissapointed.
"So, do you know him?" I asked my Mom.
"He drove us around while we were visiting Jakarta. I've met his mother too. He talked a lot about his late father. He had to go back from US to take over his father's business,"
"I see," Yes. A very typical Chinese businessman.

I talked (read:complained) to my friend on dinner table about this since things turn out to be a bit too serious.
"I feel like I'm living in the19th century. I'm not in arranged marriage (yet), but I am pretty sure that marrying us is good for both parties in their business relationship. Otherwise, it's not. So, what's the difference?"
"You're over-reacted. Think of it as a blind date," she suggested, "Also, how if he turns out to be indeed good-looking? Your Mom's taste isn't so bad. Your Dad looked much better than any of your ex-boyfriends when he was young,"
"That's not helpful, thanks. Problem is, I don't know him at all. Moreover, he's Chinese. I'm not being racist but the Chinese are boring. They are stingy and only think about working, business, money and prosperity..."
My friend squinted at me, "But you ARE Chinese,"
"Yeah, but I'm a post-modern Chinese. Not pure-breed either. I don't think too much about money and I care about life quality," I defended, "By the way, you owe me for the last dinner so you'd better pay for this one. Don't forget to add 10% tax. I'll pay the parking ticket," I said generously.

A FedEx ad says, "There are thousands people named Chang in China, but we know exactly which one to deliver," or so.

I have never seen Liang. Neither has he seen me before. There must be a few Liangs at Jakarta. I hope I don't need FedEx to tell me which one is "the guy". Or I might be in trouble.

My little accident

I complain a lot about why I never have a real holiday. Now I'm having one, thanks to a motorbike accident I got recently. Or should I call it "a bed rest"? =(

A few days ago I went dinner in a moped with a friend in a cafe with a big screen to watch Portugal and North Korea playing. I was very sad that the team I supported lose 7-0, but that's not the main story. The main story is, that the meal was ridiculously expensive that I would not go to that place again. Always watch football match at home for free and eat a cheap take-away instead! No, wait, I mean the accident. On the way home a motorbike overtook me from the right and then suddenly turned left which means, it blocked my way. I was in a normal speed, probably about 80 kmph but either I braked abruptly or tried to avoid hopelessly, the result is still the same.

This is the time when you see the flashback of your life like in a movie (perhaps "Tom and Jerry" or "Ghost" from the 90s but in black and white version). But since the accident happened quite fast, like in a few milliseconds, I didn't even get the title of the movie. In all of a sudden, I was lying on the street with sharp pain came from my right hand and knee. And a tooth on my mouth! (not to mention my immediately sexy swollen lips which had beaten those of Angelina Jolie).

Studying for a while of my wounds, I think we all should wear a proper motorbike clothing as above. I didn't hit the motorbike hard, yet I have scratches and bruises all over which get reddened and swollen. Day after day, they give me an annoying agony. This is the drawback of a motorcycle: you have no shield for your body. In other means of transport, you won't get bruises in a minor accident. Take an aeroplane for an instance.

My motorbike clothing was very much into Indonesian standard: a short T-shirt with a trouser similar to pyjamas and a pair of sandals. My helmet was not something even similar to those you see in MotoGP racing. It was actually a bonnet that looks a bit like helmet. You see, in the movie Pride and Prejudice, Keira Knightly is definitely kissable when wearing this kind of hat. This is the most possible explanation why I hit my lips first to the road when wearing this kind of helmet.


As usual when an accident happens, people will gather around to help or to watch. The same happened to me. At once, a few men helped me to stand up and everybody shouted, "Give her some tea!" Don't ask me why tea is extremely important to help a victim of motorbike accidents, but there must be an explanation. For example, because tea is a gesture of hospitality, because it has a relaxing effect, or because it's quite cheap and easier to get than mineral water or that they have no other ideas. I stood up and my friend started swearing in a language I could not understand (or did she pray?). She demanded the girl who had cut our way (she turned out to be okay) to bring us to hospital. My mouth was bleeding and although I hadn't felt the pain yet, I was startled to find out that two teeth were broken and my face was wounded.
"Do I look OK?" worried, I asked my friend.
She looked horrified for a minute, but after overcame herself and took a deep breath, she finally said,
"You're alright," suspiciously.
"What do you mean I'm alright? I asked you if my face IS okay,"
"You're fine. Your mum will still recognise you,"
I exhaled in relief.

It took a while for the girl to take us to hospital because she called her family first! I was feeling alright at that time (thanks to adrenalin and my friend's infallible confidence) so that I'd prefer to take myself to hospital with my own moped (it was okay too!) rather than to wait for any longer with my sweet ice tea. Fortunately, just before flies came over to feast on my open wounds, her family arrived. They took my moped back to my house and got us to dokter Kariadi hospital. Our colleagues at emergency room took care of us with a good laugh (OK, I did silly thing but it was still quite painful). After making sure there was no broken bones (no, broken teeth don't count. Don't ask me why), I was diagnosed with "minor injury, multiple VE" translated : "lots of iritating bruises but nothing serious to get you enough sympathy".

A friendly nurse cleaned my wounds and put some iodine. When she got to my face, I asked her,
"Can I still be a model?"
Bemused, she answered assuredly "No,"
I almost cried. "Is it that bad?"
"No, dear. You don't have the height of a model,"
Oh, thanks to remind me. I think I'll keep my job instead.

A few days later, my right hand got swollen. I couldn't hold stuffs perfectly and I suddenly became left-handed. Now I can type this whole blog entirely with my left hand. Perhaps that is something I learn from this accident!
PS. The photo was made in a laptop camera and it's a mirror image.