To Be Thankful pt 2

Part 1

I stared at this boring “Write Post” page for so long, not knowing what to write. So I killed time by talking to my friends via MSN (something I rarely do after Plurk came, but then Plurk is getting boring nowadays). Then my friend Owen gave me this idea to write about how thankful I should feel.

I feel thankful that I still got an internship.

My internship time is not an easy one. I work in an agency where clients keep coming with new work (via my supervisors) and tons of other things to do. Of course, I bitched and moaned, I broke down, I felt like giving up. Seriously I feel physically and emotionally tired everytime I go home. (speaking of home, I have already moved to a spanking new place!)

But Owen told me a number of our friends who still don’t have an internship. And let me tell you, they are the fabulous ones, the ones with high GPA, the highflyers. Me, I’m a mere neither-here-nor-there SMU student, with pathetic GPA. (and please don’t say “Oh come on, you say it’s pathetic but it’s 3.+++ right?”. No it’s not.)

And so I’m blogging this. To remind you. If you are the ones who have jobs but hating every single minute of it. That your job is something you have to treasure, to be thankful of. And also to the ones who are still struggling to find jobs. It’s ok, there will be a fit for you somewhere. Probably not in an MNC, probably not in a big bank with fat check, probably not with a super cool package and long leave days. Don’t stop trying.

Remember to say the simple word. Thank You.

What’s inside your Bible? (or any holy scriptures)

I remember years ago when I was in junior high school, I borrowed a book from the library titled (if I’m not wrong) “Kisah-kisah yang Menyentuh Hati”/ “Touching Stories”. It is said to be a book that compiles stories that are frequently referenced by priests/preachers/basically any religious leaders.

I remember years ago I chanced upon this particular story. It was titled “What’s Inside Your Bible?”. So inside the story was a little boy who was asked by his Sunday School teacher about, well, what’s inside your bible. The answer should have been obvious. Words of GOD. Or perhaps rather 66 books of scriptures (with 1189 chapters and 31101 verses in King James version. I’m pretty sure the Indonesian version has loads more than that). The boy answered “There’s my Mom’s shopping list, a picture of my sister’s boyfriend, Dad’s stuff, Grandma’s stuff” (can’t remember what the other stuff was).

As I’m going through my stuff to pack them up (I’m going to move out in a week), I found my bible. Somebody (I think it was one of my parents – Dad or Mom, I’m not sure. It could have been my then already-Catholic uncles too) bought me this Bible on February 12th 2000 (yes I wrote it in the Bible along with my name, my address, and my phone number). As per Catholic tradition, the Bible was supposed to be blessed by a priest. To anticipate that the 11-year-old me wrote “Date of blessing:” just below the “Date given:”. To cut my “lost period” stories short, I never got the bible blessed.

When I was in junior high school too, there were always daily bible and reflection readings everyday. It was a Christian school so yeah. Students took turns everyday. Everyday there would be a group of students that are responsible for that day’s daily tasks, including cleaning up the whiteboard and the readings. One student will do the opening prayer, one student will read the bible, one student will read the reflection (we read Saat Teduh, Indonesian version of The Upper Room), then one student will do the closing prayer.

Everyday, there would always be one highlighted verse of the Bible. Each day, for about 2 or 3 years (I think I stopped after a while but I can’t remember), I would highlight those verses in my Bible. As the result, the pages of my Bible now are gleaming in different shades : blue, pink, yellow, orange, etc. depends on what colour of the highlighter I owned at that time (or the highlighter I borrowed from a friend).

I attempted to read the Bible from front to back once but failed. I think I stopped at Genesis 27. Really low motivation that time, I guess. As I was reading, I highlighted a lot of verses along the way too.

Not only highlighted verses, I also found a lot of bookmarks. Bookmarks that were given to me in Sunday School, a bookmark that I made myself at an arts and crafts class (I guess), and some handmade bookmarks I made from scrap papers – containing mostly mushy messages about my love for my boyfriend that time.

My point -and the story’s point is : a Bible is not only a book containing words by GOD or a collection of 66 scriptures. It’s a part of your life. Too often a bible is seen as the holy book, decorated nicely and left untouched. Or it is only used at special events. What good can unheard words of GOD do to you then?

Take your Bible and make it yours. 

So what’s inside your Bible? (Or Koran, Tripitaka, Weda, etc.?)

Photo by nyello8 available under CC BY License

Indonesian Chinese

Indonesian Chinese
Chinese Indonesian
Chindo
Indochina
Cokin
Tong ngin
Tionghoa
Cina

There are a lot of things people use to call me and similar people : a person of Chinese descent/ancestry who was born and raised in Indonesia.

But in English-speaking world, I always choose to call myself “Indonesian Chinese”.

Sometimes I don’t use it at all, fearing discrimination or sorts. But most of the time, I’m proud of using it. Really.

Never mind about the grammatical rule or anything. Perhaps it should have been Chinese Indonesian, since an adjective should be placed in front of a noun, yes? But then both Chinese and Indonesian can be both adjectives or nouns so.. I don’t know. I’ve found at least two books in SMU Li Ka Shing Library about people like me using different terms : Chinese Indonesian or Indonesian Chinese.

But I chose to use Indonesian Chinese because of this : I’m always an Indonesian first, then a Chinese. Chinese is merely my ancestry, my heritage. Granted, I grew up in a Chinese culture too, being always pushed for the best and punished for being ordinary. But above all, I consider myself an Indonesian. Always. And will always be. (okay honestly I should see in some years’ time, that if they continue to make it difficult for me to travel overseas just because of my citizenship, i’ll seriously consider changing citizenship for practical reasons)

I know May 1998 incidents might have supposedly made me against my country and the so-called indigenous people (how can you say I’m not indigenous too when I was born on the same land as you?). But I didn’t. I don’t know why. I can list a lot of cheesy reasons like how Indonesian nature captivates me, how I love Indonesian food, how Indonesian people are so friendly, and the blah. But no. I love my country, and just like any other type of love, does it really need a reason?

So to so-called native/indigenous Indonesians that refuse to recognize me and others as Indonesians, remember. Indonesia is a melting pot. Living in a melting pot is not the same with, say, a cupboard? In a cupboard you sit and live together with other things, but in a melting pot, we become one. OK I know cupboard is a silly analogy but you get what I mean (I hope).

Whatever happened to Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, man.

Oh and, no, not all of us are rich. Believe it or not, at my very first room in Singapore, the maid employed in the apartment is an Indonesian Chinese.

And where else did you think your “mi ayam” and “siomay” come from?

photo by Midori

photo by Chandra

I know. Yum.

And to people who think that I’m not Chinese because I can’t speak or read Mandarin or because I don’t do things in a Chinese way, this post is my answer. I’m always an Indonesian first then a Chinese. After all I don’t wanna be a Chinese that demeans and teases other people like you.

To Do Yourself A Favour

We get depressed.

Of course we do. Things don’t always go our way. Right?

Sometimes I find myself in a situation so depressing, I feel crippled to do anything. It’s all so impossible, and I’ll feel helpless.

But now, I think, sometimes I depress myself. It’s not the situation that depresses me, it’s me. Me myself and I. I let the situation depress me. I let the situation bring me down.

I remember one time when there was a CEO giving a talk in SMU. Gah, I forgot his name and his company. But I remember one quote, just that one quote from him. “If you start blaming other things but yourself for your failure, perhaps it’s time for you to do self instropection”.

Ok anyway, let’s just cut this short. I got this idea of “doing yourself a favour” after I finished cleaning up my room yesterday.

So, I finally cleaned up my room. (because a new tenant is coming to view the room) A spring cleaning a year too late. Yes, I have a very dirty, untidy, and disgusting room. (Ok not as bad as this room, but still) It’s a miracle how my boyfriend didn’t complain about it.

The (amazing) truth is, I’m actually a very neat freak person. Ok not as OCD as people who can’t bear see their things move one cm to the right, but I like to keep things in order. Ask people who have travelled with me and ask them how many ziplocs/containers I brought. One for electronic things, one for medicine, one for toiletries, one for make up, you got the idea.

So yeah. I got myself depressed by the state of my room. Things spread everywhere. Dust everywhere. Cupboards covered with dust and whatnots. I can’t find things anywhere. The best thing was I kept blaming the not conducive room for my not effective studying/learning/whatever thing I do inside the room. And also for my insomnia.

But as you might have realized…. The problem is in myself. It was my room, and it was ME who didn’t clean it up. It was me who created the not conducive environment. It was me who caused my own insomnia.

So I did myself a favour. I cleaned up the whole room. Set aside 2-3 hours (per day, for two days) just to make them squeaky clean. I cleaned them from dust. I rearranged my books and my other stuff. I threw away everything I didn’t need. 

The room is now clean, neat, and homey. A bit ironic, though, since I’m moving out next month (and I haven’t got a room because the ones I call always say it’s a bit too early to “promise” me the room).

But anyway. That’s not the point. So please, guys, next time when you are in a depressing situation, think again. Was it really the situation, or was it you that did not do anything to get rid of it? Face it, sometimes it’s really you, and I know it’s hard to accept the truth because having a responsibility to change a situation is daunting. Do yourself a favour. Work to get rid of the situation.

You are in charge of your own pleasure, happiness, and satisfaction. I have nothing to proof this statement but seriously, if it’s not you, then who/what?

Again. Do yourself a favour.

Don’t Write. Talk.

I started writing this entry around 1 month ago and forgot to finish it.

I watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button some days ago (it was a midnight movie). I intended to write this after watching the movie but I was too tired.

Anyway, this is not a review of the movie. If you want to read reviews, there are tons of blogs or websites out there.

In one of the scene, Benjamin Button visited his sweetheart to New York. She just finished dancing, and he approached her in the backstage. Anyway, in that particular scene, I saw vintage looking telephones behind Benjamin. On it was a sticker that said “Don’t write. Talk”.

Remember that the scene was set in 1940s, when telephones just started to be used widely (more information : timeline of telephone).

I was just thinking how ironic it is now. People that time were desperate to get in touch. Before telephone, people can only send mails and perhaps some greeting cards. Even before that, messages can be only delivered by couriers, and it took days, weeks, even months to reach.

Think about the situation now. Telephone became passe and internet came along. Soon enough everyone is using it as the primary communication tool. Why do we need to punch in numbers when a double click can start us to talk?

And we communicate basically on writing. We use emoticons sometimes to aid in expressing emotions (and that’s why they’re called emoticons no?), but, you know, it’s still just writing.

And with this writing misunderstandings occur. People say you’re flaming, but you’ll say you didn’t, and people shouldn’t infer anything from written things.

I think it’s just ironic. When people have finally invented a device to let use hear and even see each other despite great distance, we chose to retreat behind written words. Yet again.

Are we going backwards in evolution?

Perhaps in near future, even words won’t even be needed anymore. Perhaps we’ll use sign languages to communicate. Perhaps later language is not important anymore, since we can so-called read minds to know what people are thinking and we don’t need to voice out our opinions.

To people whose friends just got attached

First of all, especially if you haven’t got attached before, please know that juggling boyfriend/girlfriend and friends AND a plethora of other stuff is tiring and impossible. There’s a reason why the term “supermom” (who juggles husband, children, work, and everything else) was invented, you know.

Second of all, please know that we still want to hang out with you guys, just that sometimes our boyfriend/girlfriend made appointment with us. First come first served, ok? And also to mention that sometimes you just assume we’re busy with our boyfriend/girlfriend so you just exclude us because you think we’ll be busy anyway. No, we didn’t say no when you invited us. You didn’t even invite us, remember?

Third of all, we don’t live for you. Well yes we were ALWAYS together when we and you were still single, but hello. Doesn’t mean we dedicate our lives for you. This goes in line with #1 and #2. We’re just too busy and stressed juggling all, and sorry we can’t make it for an appointment with you because the boyfriend/girlfriend made it first. Yes, we want to make time for you but no, it can’t be fulfilled everytime.

All in all,

Friends support friends. Friends get happy when friends are happy. Friends understand friends. Friends don’t force selfish desire. Friends don’t assume. Friends don’t look with one eye. 

And friends will be friends even though they don’t see each other that often anymore.

I think that’s the way it should be.

The Middle Girl

Sometimes I feel that I’m always in the middle.

Not good enough, but not bad either.

My grades are never top grades, but they’re still adequate to keep me from being kicked out. I play piano, finished my grade 7, but I’m still not able to play Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu.

Perhaps it’s because of my nature of being jack-of-all-trades. I don’t quite understand why I became one. Perhaps it was because of several lessons I took when I was a child. I never know.

The saying “jack of all trades, master of none” scares me sometimes.

After all it kinda sucks being a middle girl. People know you can, but you’re not the expert. You’re not the best.

Countless people have told me that I need to choose one. I need to focus.

But I honestly tell you, I can’t.

I’ve analyzed each of my interests, weigh them, see whether they’ll benefit me in the future, and the blah and the blah and the blah.

I got tired. But after pondering for some time (actually quite a long time) for this, I think I know my passion : to know a lot about as many things as I can.

However that still doesn’t free my status as “The Middle Girl”.

I still don’t know, though, whether it’s a blessing or a curse. What do you think?

—BONUS—

A video of Chopin’s Fantaisie Impromptu (I don’t know whether I spelt it right. Don’t bash me if I didn’t)

A video of me playing “Giga” by John Loeillet. This was my exam piece for my grade 7 exam. Be aware though that I don’t play this clumsily for my exam! Haha. This was just one of my practice, I wanted to know how I sounded so I recorded it. This video is also dedicated to Wilfrid, who, if I remember correctly, asked to see my piano performance. Well here’s one of my unglam performance.

sylv playing piano – john loeillet – giga from Sylvia Giacinta on Vimeo.

Where is home?

Home. One word, four letters. How big is a word that can make me confused and insecure? Only a four-letter word.

So which one should I call home? After 2 years in Singapore, I know I’m very comfortable living here. I miss Singapore when I’m back in Jakarta, and vice versa.

But somehow I think people that claim to be the “native” of places that I’ve lived in don’t really think I should live in the same place with them.

I remember vividly May 1998. How can I ever forget it. (read my reminiscence here) I was barely 9 years old but I can feel the hatred directed to me. To my people. We, the people with fairer skin that live in a fairly big house and go to private school. They say we’re stealing their welfare. They say we’re stealing their jobs. We’ve made them deprived of better life.

I remember how I was made to pay more for my food because of who I am. I remember uncovering a letter of “citizenship confirmation” with my dad’s name on it. Dad said he had to do it because it was compulsory that time. I remember being called names and being whistled at when I’m walking down a street.

Some still accuse us of being snobbish and arrogant because we’re not down-to-earth or in other words refusing to befriend so-called “native” people. Well here’s a shocking truth for you : we’re not. But considering what your so-called brothers in race did to us, it’s natural for us to stay cautious, right?

I moved to Singapore, and ha ha, guess what. I found out that the so-called locals don’t really like us either. “Us” now refers to people who moved to Singapore in search of better place to study, to work, to live. Well how lucky I am to be in the “unwanted” category again?

But ha ha ha. Guess what, Singaporeans. Your government has decided to give me a tuition grant that waived me 60 (that spells SIXTY) percent of my tuition fees, with only condition that requires me to work in any Singapore listed company for 3 years.

I posed this question to Mr. Peter Ho (a member of parliament – sorry I forgot what the exact title of his job is), who came to SMU to deliver a talk titled 4 myths of public service.

“What do you think of the current state, where there are so many migrants coming to Singapore? Do you think it will influence or maybe change public policy in the future?”

It is pretty much a yes-no question, but he answered like this: (paraphrased)

“Well you must remember that Singapore has always been a migrant community. That’s what we’re built upon. So, no, there will be no change whatsoever because Singapore is already a migrant community. I guess Singaporeans must put their emotions aside and accept foreign talents”

So when will Singaporeans, the people born in Singapore, think like Mr Peter Ho? Accept that I, like many other people here, am here not to steal the bowl of rice, but to share it. After all, I believe I and many other people like me are not that evil. We’re thankful of what Singapore has given us. Like, of course, our 60% cut of tuition fees. haha. But really. If I’m asked to give back something to Singapore, I will. It’s not that I’m betraying my country. It’s just being gracious.

I’m pleased to say, though, that I see my current generation is becoming more and more “bonded” together regardless of race or whatever things that differentiate us. I’m glad to say that I mingle easily with Singaporeans, and I have no problem whatsoever communicating to so-called “native” of Indonesia.

Will we see a big change as my current generation grows older? We shall see.. What do you think?

And meanwhile, I’m still confused on which to call home. Maybe I should just call both home. That’d be fair.