kedjora

Photographs of my dear best friend, Mutiarani Taufieq. 

Becoming Indonesian

My friend, Emir, is set to play Gamelan at the Consulate General of Indonesia

Gamelan music is an integral part in both Javanese and Sundanese ceremonies. So as a person who was born and raised in Java, Indonesia, gamelan is not something peculiar to me. I know many relatives who had gamelan take part in their wedding; their son’s circumcision, their graduation, and so on.

Although I was raised to listen to gamelan, back then I wouldn’t describe this set of ensemble as magical melodious percussion music like many foreigners do. I thought gamelan was really boring. I even wondered, why would modern people have such boring repertoire played in ceremonies, instead of having some conventional pop band or something.

But when I first used the wooden mallet to strike the Saron Barung for myself, I immediately fell in love with this bronze-barred glockenspiel, I fell in love with gamelan music. I know this doesn’t apply to everybody, but I have come to realize, this music actually offers such rich experience for all human senses. Beaten bronze instruments glow softly in frames of intricately carved wood. The honey-like smoothness of the tones and the intense rhythm intertwine to produce a mood that is at once tranquil and dynamic. Ahh, such an even-handed blend of audiovisual experience!

However, awesomeness of gamelan is not the utmost reason for me to continue participate in a Toronto based gamelan club called Godhong Maple.

What is it then? Is it to preserve culture? Well, there are indeed vast concerns that Indonesian culture is about to wipe out, and we see articles everywhere accentuate on how Indonesian youngsters should really preserve it. But for me, it is not about preserving culture either. It is rather due to an egoistic purpose, I want to be defined as a genuine Indonesian.

“But even though I share their blood and history, it’s the choices that I make today, and everyday, to make me who I am” – some quote from tumblr

I am not implying that one is not a genuine Indonesian if he doesn’t know gamelan. I just believe that a person is not defined by where he was born, or what race his parent was, but he is defined by what he chooses to do now, and everyday, and that process makes a person the man he is. That is the reason why I am committed to learn more of Indonesian culture; it is a process of me becoming a man I want to be, Indonesian.

Yet, It is also true being an Indonesian is (again) divine. Some might say defining one by his culture is such a traditional way of judging. But for me, culture of Indonesia, including its performing arts, is the preeminent definition of Indonesians. I feel like, there is a deeper meaning when saying “Indonesians are rich in culture”. Culture of Indonesia is actually something big, we have our own broadway, we have our own ballet, and we have our own orchestra. Our culture had been established long before we were colonized and we started adopting other nations' cultures. We, Indonesians, are great in culture. Thus, If I could be defined as an Indonesian by its culture, which happens to be something really mind-boggling, I would be more than honored.

And again, I don’t care if my friends or my future children or anybody else disvalue culture of Indonesia. I don’t care if it goes extinct. I don’t care if people think it is plainly uninteresting or boring. I don't care if people think I am outdated. But one thing for sure, it is still important to me that I am able to embrace it well, not because of anything else, but myself. And I, without question, applaud those who still appreciate culture of Indonesia, particularly its performing arts :)

Here is a trailer of the movie I have been longing to watch, Sang Penari(The Dancer. Basically, this movie points out that there used to be more to the story in Ronggeng than just a dance performance.

Back

My new friend, Mutia

I am back in the city! I just realized that it has been three months since I last updated this blog. So many things have been going on with me, I had to take care of that, I had to take care of this, I almost didn't have time for myself. Good thing is, everything has been sorted now and I am already back to my routine! (*cheers* and *beers*) 

I thought starting this semester would be another boring phase to get through. But thank god I met this girl called mutia. She just got in toronto a few weeks ago. She came here to pursue a marketing diploma in my previous college. I am so very grateful of her presence here. The day we first met up, I knew we were becoming best friends. We share the same hostility on how awful canada (or toronto in particular) is. We rant on how hip hop culture is very very mainstream here, and how nobody listens to british bands or old timy rock's like us.

Anyway, I love my new college. Since Ryerson University is located right in downtown, it feels a lot more vibrant than my previous college. Everything is nice here. The school is nice, the residence is nice, the people are even nicer. However, I don't think I have discovered all things that this campus has to offer to me, I have been very, very antisocial lately. I know it is surprising that this comes from a person like me, but lately, I have never been in the mood for parties. I never used to reject party invitations, not this many at least. But now, I don't know why. There is always this 'i think i've had enough of this thing' feeling every time somebody invites me to come for some drink. I just feel that now It is very awkward to be in a party, the conversation, the jokes, ugh I just, don't bond that much anymore.

So instead, I've been wandering around TO with mutia. We bursted our asses to be on time for meetings with mutia's possible apartments' landlords, we shopped vinyl records, we watched concerts, and duh, god damns how we recklessly spent our (parents') money on many many stupid expenses like bedding, tiff membership, clothes, etc. Man, I just hope this month's bills don't explode in my mailbox x_x

 Mutia's tired face after a whole day of running here and there

 Eaton centre

 Some guy playing nice music on Yonge st.

 best thing in TO after chicken fingers, BLIXI!!

 hell of a nightview from my new room's window

Some scene in front of metro(?)

Imma Miss My Room

A place of stuffs that always remind me how I really loved tennis of which it had led me to years of fight and struggle. 

A place which possesses the best king-sized bed in the world and the proofs that I was once a narcissistic toddler.

 A place where I can grab toiletries or clean my self while I am still wandering in my dream.

A place in which it lies a bamboo carpet, the sacred spot where I can light ciggies, indulge myself into some soothing music, stumble upon ideas, and get some works done.

And of course, a place where my little sis and I are able to brutaly (s)talk about people all night long till we fall asleep.

nineteen

me and my grandparents

Last sunday, I turned 19. There was nothing too special on that day. It was just me, my parents, my grandparents, my sister (the other sis went to Jakarta for a tennis tournament) plus, endless birthday tweets and walls, uh oh and of course, my mother's birthday cookings (she is a really good cook). It was a good day, i'm glad I spent such a blissful time with my family on my birthday.

Though I really did have a blast staying at home with my family, I thought to myself, I wanted something more, I wanted to dance. So, the next day I finally decided to throw a party at a-place-I-don't-have-to-say-its-name, but is also a good dancing venue with a really great music.

me and few gurls that came way too early

udo

I wasn't allowed to bring my camera inside (and heck I don't know for what fucking reason).  At first, I was so pissed off that I had rented the place and yet I still wasn't able to take pictures. Moreover, I ordered too much drinks for us all $$$$$$-( But however, the great time I had inside made it even. People were coming, and though it was no lux and glamour, but I was having a real good time. I danced the fullest and felt like the happiest man on earth (thanks to my best friends). We finished at about 3-4 in the morning, and decided to go to Gempol to eat and redeem our heads. It was a halfway to Gempol, kemal couldn't stop throwing, and I just remembered I forgot to pick up my camera. We meant to hail back and get the camera, but kemal couldn't bare the moving car any longer. So, I had to stay with him at the street-side with ucok while the others went to get my cam. After the jump are the photos i took after I finally got my camera back. That's what I call a night.

Apparently, the party was too harsh for kemal.

Hard time hopping kemal on the car.

These two goonnies surely had a good time too.

Finally arrived at Gempol.

b-b-b-best chums

We stayed over at Udo's.

Norah Jones's was put on repeat, what a way to end such an exhausting night.

More About Homecoming

My hometown, the city of the heavy sun, it had been a long time since I last saw my family.

At first, it felt surreal. I never really thought I could finally go home it's strange. I was about to look for a bus to Bandung when I just arrived in Soekarno-Hatta Airport, Jakarta. But then, I saw my mother, with a simple chiffon dress and a matching veil, waiting for me at the exit gate. As if my mother's presence wasn't enough, my father was there too, he wore his usual vest, and I had a warm-welcoming hug from him - that is when I was fully convinced, I was really home.

"It's a funny thing coming home. Nothing changes. Everything looks the same, feels the same, even smells the same. Then you realize the only thing's changed is you" - Ale Meza (a friend of mine from Mexico)

The trip to bandung was such a bliss. I expected Jakarta to be more chaotic, uglier. But it was such a beautiful night, I spotted no street litter or traffic jam. The lights, the breezy air, ahh.

After a fast one-hour drive from Jakarta, I was finally home. My home looked really tidy and neat. I learned that my family just hired a new gardener, the tehtehan and the grass had been perfectly chopped. Then there was my living room. The same old living room, only it was prettier and more organized than what I had remembered. I was a little tired. I washed my face and went straight to bed. It was completely the same old bedroom feeling. I found myself looking at same old bed (the best bed in the house), the same old newspaper clippings, my tennis trophies, my racquets.  It was weird, it was like, the house was magically frozen after I last left it.

The next morning I met my two sisters. I bestowed on Tannisa, one of my sisters, the Diana F+ "Garden of Eden" that I bought before I left Canada, she seemed delighted. And then I hugged Kannia, my other sister, she almost bursted into tears, that was so sweet of her. Well, they didn't seem to have changed at all, which is good. We were chit-chatting about a lot of things until the fleeting and familiar smell of Nasi Goreng paused our conversation, breakfast was ready. I ate my first home-made Nasi Goreng after such a long time, it was very well cooked, relishing my mouth cavity with all its milkish, fragrant graces, as it was bouncing on my tongue. The incessantly weird feeling suddenly struck back, clearly I had forgotten how heavenly it was at my home when it comes down to food provision.

I don't know if it's because the jet-lag, but it was kind of haze that lasted for a while. As I started overcoming it, I got my old life back. I cruised around the city with my old sublime motorbike. I had such a great time meeting my high school chumps and my cousins. And, I had this splurge of appetite for doing classic townie things I never had done before. Ahh.

I am glad I have four months here.

Hukka Bar with Mbak Denyis and Mas Dewi

I am loving every minute of my homecoming. I have been having such a ravishing time here, especially with my big bro, dennis, and of course, my best sis who will soon become the host of TransTV's Aku Ingin Menjadi, Dewi. 

These photos were taken from my first homecoming debut in Jakarta. Having read a misleading article that claims Potato Head as one of the best cocktail bars in Jakarta, I first urged these two goonies to take me there. But turned out, Potato Head was a whack. So, we ended up ordering just a round of cocktails, quickly going out of there, and cruising back impromptu to this Hukka Bar in Kemang, Jakarta.

What a night.