(something like) Spelling Bee in My English Exam

So if you guys follow me on Twitter/@sylvdoanx, you should have seen my public breakdown over my then impending grade 8 piano exam.

I know it’s not a school exam or something, but let me tell you, piano exam is much much worse than school exam. Because unlike in written exam when you can try hard to access your memory, practical piano exam is a one-off, now-or-never thing. Once you slip when doing something – that’s it. That is it. From passing with distinction to passing with merit in just one slip.

A little more technical here, one thing I hated the most (because I’m no good at it – simple, right?) was the 6th apart scale. Just for you laymen, basically you have to play a scale (something like doremifasolatido-dotilasofamiredo), but your hands/fingers start on different notes (6 steps apart). And you have to play it 4 octaves up and down (simply saying, you play it 4 times continuously).

Wait, what? So difficult?

Oh, yes, apparently. Now, I understand the importance of playing scales in order to play piano well – it’s all about balancing the power and making the lines as smooth as possible (if you don’t get this, don’t worry, not important), yet I don’t understand making it compulsory to test these freaking scales on piano exam. At the end of the day, playing these scales requires more brain-teasing work instead of paying close attention to how I play my piano correctly. It’s more like they’re trying to test my brain, or muscle memory, instead of my musicality.

As per my title, it’s just like they ask you to do a spelling bee or a tongue twister and you’ll be graded for it in your English exam. It’s not how you can use English or how you can play piano anymore!

I know, I know. Maybe I’m just bitter coz I didn’t do well on my 6th apart (and my 3rd apart) scales. Whatever. I hope the examiner is nice enough not to let me repeat this hellish grade 8 exam. Ugh.

Image by myself! Press on Deviantart

A Case of Too Many Choices

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish that I had gone to a “specific” school.

If you go to a medicine school, you become a doctor.
You go to a nursing academy, you become a nurse.
Go to a teacher’s institute and you become a teacher.

And yet I go to SMU and soon enough I’ll hold Bachelor of Science in Information Systems Management degree with second major in Corporate Communications.

That’s both the wonder and the curse of it – I can apply to a really wide spectrum of jobs. With my IT(S) degree I can apply to many IT-related jobs. Or I can start in PR since I had a double major in it. Perhaps a little marketing too since I did an internship kinda related to it.

Sometimes I just wish my path was kinda narrower, and it was clearer.

But I wasn’t sure about what I wanted to do (unlike those people that voluntarily entered specific schools because they knew what they wanted to do), and I’m not even sure if I know now…

Are you what you listen?

We’ve heard a lot of cliches around this : you are what you eat, you are what you wear, you are what you do, etc etc. But are you really what you listen? And do you define what you listen by how you define yourself?

I’m pondering about this since my choir (visit SMU Chamber Choir Fan Page if you’d like to) was visited by a vocal coach from Philippines. He did technical stuff like breathing, posture, sound production that I would not go into detail else I’ll bore a lot of you out. Not that there’s a lot of you in the first place.

After all technical stuff, before he left he said that the way to improve our singing is to listen to more choral works. He then went on to recommend some people, or rather groups, to listen to. And I just couldn’t stop pondering.

You see, if you have followed my blog from the beginning, you would know that I don’t only listen to choral or classical stuff. Review my music category. I listen to some pop, some rock, some electronica, some lounge music, and every other thing as I feel like it. In fact, I think my choral music collection is like… 5% of my whole collection?

Do we really have to listen to music that defines who we are? Do they have to match?

I don’t think we should choose a music, or any interest, first then decide how we should act. If I like emo songs (I do like some), do I have to sport the over-one-eye hair cut and write sad poems? If I like rock songs, do I have to sport studs and funky hair? If I like classical songs, do I have to act all nerdy? Do I really have to fulfill all those stereotypes only because I like a type of music? And is it fair to judge a person just based on what music they listen to? (or based on their interests?)

All I’m saying – sometimes people identify a group, and then identify themselves. Isn’t this backwards? I think we should identify ourselves first and then join a group.

But then again, this is only a personal opinion. But I’ll stand true – I don’t want to listen to choral music just because I sing in a choir. I don’t want to limit my choices – there is a lot of great music of any genres out there.

What do you think? Do you think you define yourself by your music – or does your music define you?

Woe is Numbers

I live in Singapore where land is scarce. So scarce they need to grow vertically rather than horizontally. Living in a landed house, let alone a multi-story one, is a luxury here.

And so naturally in Singapore we live with numbers. A lot of them. Our apartment’s unit numbers, for example. It’s usually 4 numbers, #03-09, #04-05, #06-07, and so on. And of course our postal code number (every building has different postal code numbers! That’s how small Singapore is….). And a lot more.

This usually is not a problem for Singaporeans or someone who has lived in Singapore for quite some time. It was not a problem for me, at first. The problem comes when you move around (quite) frequently.

You see, when I just moved here, I occupy #34-xx (if I remember correctly). Then I moved to #08-xx. And then #05-xx. Now it’s #01-xx. And of course they all have different postal codes.

The problem usually occurs in the lift. When I was still in transition, I would often absent-mindedly press the wrong floor button. Is it 8, or is it 5? Problem also occurs when I’m off visiting my boyfriend for the weekend. You see, my boyfriend lives in #08-xx. Again, is it 8, or is it 5? Or is it……?

And I’m not finished. You know that sometimes apartments have these “nifty” enter-code-to-get-in stuff? Uh-huh. These things are usually coded with 4-digit codes. So yeah you can guess what happened. Even worse, when I lived in #05-xx, they regularly change the codes and I sometimes find myself stranded outside the gate because I forgot the new code, or I entered the wrong code thrice. Urgh.

Oh, and, remember those postal codes? I’ve lost count on how many times I wrongly entered my postal code when I’m ordering something online.

The problem with numbers is not only contained in addresses. Did you know that SBS Transit has around 300 buses, and of course, with different numbers?

Sometimes the problem is that two buses with almost same numbers (12x and 12x+1, for example) sometimes have almost similar route, while on the other hand, they can also have totally different routes. So imagine if they actually have totally different routes but you forgot which is which, and you boarded the wrong bus…… The rest, as they say, is history.

So how about you? Any number woes you’ve encountered, in Singapore and in somewhere else?

Photo by stewf available under Creative Commons NC-SA 2.0

My Love, Jakarta

When I close my eyes, I’m there
When I fly away, I’m there
I wish I were there, my Jakarta..

Then I close my eyes and pray
That soon I’ll find my way
to place that I call home, my Jakarta..

(A snippet of lyrics of my yet-to-be-finished song)

So. Last year brainwashed people attacked Mumbai far away in India and I was upset about it.

So imagine how I felt when I came to know that my own hometown, the town that cherished and brought me up, was bombed. Again.

To say that I’m upset is a terrible understatement.

 Fine. I know that bombings are really a “usual” thing in Indonesia. Like how worse can it get? I was in Jakarta when the first bombing of Marriott occurred (yes it wasn’t the first one). Also when there were several Christmas Eve bombings. Also when the Australia Embassy was bombed. Been there done that buddy.

I think it’s particularly bad because this happened after years of peace and great economy growth for Indonesia. And of course it’s bad because it happened just right after elections. Some people say it’s a rage from those defeated president hopefuls but hey.. Don’t point your fingers just yet.

So screw you, whoever planted that bomb and thought it was a great thing that you’re destined to do (I’ve received reports that they were suicide bombers but I can’t confirm just yet – please read the news). Because you know what? Indonesia unites and we will seriously screw you.

I am angered and full of hate, but I remember that hate was the thing that started it all in the first place. So come, let’s not scoop down to their level. Resist and they’ll be gone. Hopefully forever.

Stay away from my Jakarta, my Indonesia, because it rocks and it can be better again. We’ve come out stronger and stronger after a series of unfortunate events and there’s no reason that we can’t come out stronger again.

Oh and to you Jakarta citizens who only lamented that Manchester United cancelled their plan for a friendly match in Jakarta because of the bombings, screw you too. People died and some are badly injured and you only care for that? Just how egoistic can you be? Look I know it was a hard hard effort to even get the tickets but hello! People died! Can you imagine if that happened to your family? A person’s life wasted makes all your reasons for lamenting of cancelled MU match void.

So anyway.

Come on Jakarta. We can fight them together.

Down with (not swine/H1N1) flu

I am currently down with flu. I started coughing on Thursday afternoon. I thought it’s just a normal coughing, but due to the recent paranoia over H1N1 coming to Singapore shores, I decided to check at the school doctor. I didn’t go travel anywhere over the few weeks so he dismissed the possibility of H1N1. (I was about to tell him that I did go to the airport to see my boyfriend before he flew off to Jakarta, but then I went to the airport after I got my first coughs)

On my way to the doctor, on my way to the airport, on the way back from the airport, I was always afraid to cough. Because I was afraid people will think bad things about me (like OH NOES THE GIRL IS COUGHING I MIGHT GET SWINE FLU HOW HOW HOW???)

Seriously, I think this paranoia thing is a bit too much. I found out that the H1N1 flu’s fatality rate is low (just slightly higher than usual seasonal flu). Even the patient zero in Singapore is recovering well. Oh by the way, just because I’m an SMU student doesn’t mean I have increased risk of H1N1. The SMU girl went to the doctor in Bedok area, I didn’t go on the BSM NY trip, so no. Seriously.

Perhaps in Singapore they were already scared about what happened with SARS several years ago?

And by the way, I’m seriously irked by how a newspaper revealed the patient zero’s name (who has requested not to reveal her name – at least in her statement to SMU). Cut it off, will ya. It’s not like she intentionally wanted to contract the virus.

Anyway, I’m quite contained in home right now. I only went out to eat (at the famous Whampoa makan place no less!), then went back to home to gulp down my medicine. It’s a partial home quarantine, I guess.

Hope I get well soon. I’ll need to shop for some stuff for my impending trip to Russia!

Oh and by the way, contact me or e-mail the choir at chamberchoir@smu.edu.sg to get your tickets for the choir’s fundraising concert! $15 each! (details at picture below)

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.