How could I not be mad, Bali?

Bali dancers by Ario Pratisto

IT WAS VERY UNFORTUNATE for Bali for having me in the time of rage (you know, rage is an uncontrollable anger). But then again Bali might never be so lucky, ultimately, because I am always mad (you know, mad is an adjective, and it means: insane).

I went to Ubud, Bali, last week from 4 to 10 October. I volunteered for the 2011 Ubud Writers and Readers Festival. A five-day writers festival, the biggest in Indonesia, and among the top six best literary festivals in the world — so the Harper Bazaar, UK, reported.

I didn’t really check the writers lineup. I only knew Junot Diaz was confirming to come (apparently he didn’t, but it’s not really surprising, no?).

But I wasn’t angry because Junot was ill and couldn’t keep his oath to visit Bali, the beautiful city (oh is it?), and Ubud the quite and peaceful place (it’s true!). I was in a temper because a week before I actually walked on Ubud streets for an hour to just reach the Volunteer Basecamp, I met a journalist from Bali.

We met in a national conference for female journalists in Jakarta. I was (am?) mad not because of the meeting, because I must admit it was a quite lovely meet up. I was mad cuz I learned that Bali is now growing old and sad, so my friend told me. Old like our grannies losing their youth and beauty, living with wrinkles and tasteless porridge because she suffers from diabetes (please, Anita!) and sad as in the old lady couldn’t even remember that she too was once young and pretty.

“People are now queuing for transmigration programs. It’s not easy to find jobs in Bali, 80 percent of properties in Bali are owned by Jakarta people or foreigners,” she told me.

I am not a stupid racist or a chauvinist pig. But I met a group of journalists from Papua several weeks before I eventually met that female Balinese journalist. I even wrote an article about them and their documentary writings on kampongs in Papua.

You know what they told me? That Papua too is not happy. Kampongs in Papua are all lack of basic facilities, such as schools, community health centers, bridges, water supplies. It is 2011 but many people in Papua still rely on rainwater for drink. It is indeed the year of intellectual celebration because we can prove that God is an insignificant element in the creation of universe, but do you know that a lot of high school students in Papua could hardly read? Do I? I thought I do, but maybe I simply don’t.

Dying of malaria and tuberculosis are not news there, because you need hours to reach nearest Puskesmas and should consider yourself lucky if you ever find a nurse or doctor in that small community health center.

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Will you say it passion or cash?

WE MET AN extraordinary cab driver two days ago. And we were like “wow, okay” when he, unexpectedly, asked:

“Do you want to speak English with me?”

Yes, he did ask that, the Express cab driver, to our surprise. Because, obviously, have you been asked that exact same question by taxi drivers here in Jakarta: do you want to speak English with me, when they without a doubt notice our dark skins, black hair, and language are similar to theirs?

I forgot to ask him his name. I just asked him his age, but unfortunately my tiny brain cells refused to give any numbers to me now. I forgot. I guess, he said that he is 60 or 50 something? He’s pretty old, taught himself English for eight months. Always asked his guests to speak English with him every time he heard them using one or two English words.

“I want to be a taxi driver in Singapore,” the man told us. “I didn’t graduate elementary school, but I want to speak English.”

We had a little chit-chat throughout the ride, in English. He asked many questions. I could feel his excitement, as for several times he interrupted, told us not to speak too fast.

I sometimes feel bad about people like Mr English Cab Driver. I feel bad that he wasn’t given the opportunity by… I don’t know, destiny, God (?) to graduate elementary, high school, college, and English courses?

But like what Junot Diaz might have said over this heartbreaking situation: isn’t it proof positive that God — the Great God absolute! The center and circumference of all democracy — does not love his children equally?

I am not raising a religious question here. But, fellas, OPPORTUNITIES and ADVANTAGES are acutely important to support your passions and realizing dreams.

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You and I are the children of Merapi

Me & Merapi. Photos in this post are taken by Any Rufaidah and I.

HEY, I WENT TO Mount Merapi last month. No, not for reporting, but helping… or sort of. I did not know where it came from, but I felt like I got struck by lightning and… made an abrupt change of plan: no beaches, I must go to the mountain.

Have you ever felt the strong feeling of you want to help some people so badly, you would sacrifice your energy and time? I am not faking it, but I did feel it, last month [not that I don't feel it anymore now, but last month, it was so strong].

So I went to the volcano.

I actually made it all a secret to my editors. Because I was off, and I did not want to be bothered with assignments, chasing and sending stories. I mean, I am aware of my job and I am responsible for it 24/7, but can I be a human for just a sec?

In some catastrophes, sometimes I transformed into a monster. A monster who would love to and choose to interview a girl who had lost one of his legs during a powerful earthquake, rather than helping evacuees building up tents or cooking meals or stuff.

I still remember the answer I gave to my editor, Joe, when he asked me: “What did you learn in Padang?” when I got back from reporting the earthquake in Padang, West Sumatra — there were hundreds of victims, and that so many houses were all devastated by the quake.

You know my reply? I told Joe, “I learned to work fast, find interesting stories, and just send them all.”

I told you I could be a monster.

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