Rickshaw Therapy

I love rickshaw. The Indonesian version of it is a three-wheeled vehicle with iron frame where the driver sits behind us and pedals. I always love it ever since I can remember. When I was a little girl, my grandma used to take me in it and we would go places where sometimes busses or cars couldn’t take us. I think part of this fondness is also induced by this memory. But apart from that, what’s not to like? If you sit on it, you can feel the sweep of breeze coming against you, and it’s the most refreshing feeling. Another thing is, you don’t have to drive. All you have to do is just sit inside and look around, or read, or sleep, or whatever is possible to do inside such a tiny little space. And what I quite like about riding it is that I got the feeling that everytime I give money in exchange with the service that the driver gives me, I have somehow put food in his plate (by the way, rickshaw driver in our country is always a man). Or maybe, even in his and his kids’ plates. And that’s just unbeatable. (Of course, if I took a motorbike or a bus, it would also mean that I will put food in somebody’s plate, but since rickshaw has so many competitors these days, I try to keep the competition fair.)

Rickshaw for me is also another tool for therapy. I found this out a year ago. While touring for the first time around Java, the pianist Sam Haywood and I took a rickshaw ride in Surabaya and found out that it gave us such an amazing feeling (also very much recommended while taking a rickshaw is sharing it with someone you find comfortable to talk to like Sam.) We had talked all night while sightseeing around the city and it was so therapeutic.

After that experience with Sam, I often took a rickshaw ride by myself, even long after he went back to London. The best time to do it is at night and while you are having a big problem and you thought that your life is so miserable. Then you have to go out there and see night life in this very thing. I sometimes found that people are selling weird stuffs right in the middle of the night. I just did that tonight and at some point, I found a girl and a boy, apparently brother and sister, sitting on the side of a road selling stickers at 11 pm. I mean, seriously, who would buy stickers at such a wee hour? But they were there with tired faces and sleepy eyes, yet every time a motorbike approaches, their eyes lit. if there is something that could make them stay awake all night, it was only hope. A hope that somebody would stop by and buy, and thus they can bring home some money. Maybe it’s enough, maybe it won’t, but it’s still better than nothing.

Now if seeing this thing doesn’t make you get a knock in the head, then you seriously need a CT-scan. Sometimes we can brood over our trouble, and feel like there’s no way out, but if you go out there and see, there are always people whose life situation is much, much worse than ours and that should give you the realization that each and every one of us has a problem of our own, and the fact that you don’t have to stay awake all night to earn your living should make you feel grateful for everything that you have. I find this night expedition a good cure to my troubled feeling. Sometimes, it doesn’t mean that the problem is gone, but this always puts everything back in perspective. If life seems such a dead end, if you feel that you’re stuck in a moment you can’t get out, you should go and look outside yourself and see those people who has no privilege of having a dream, of making a choice, whose only care in life is to survive. And that includes the man sitting behind you, accompanying you till the break of dawn, feeling grateful because he can feed another mouth for another day.

Professional- and Personalism

What worries me is the professionalism of everything. (Irvine Welsh)

If there’s one single person I can thank to for teaching me about professionalism, it would be my mum. She’s the best teacher in that. She spent almost all her working life being a secretary to Indonesians as well as expatriates, and too bad her job title is often mistaken with anything else but professionalism. But somehow when people met her, she always won their respect by showing what she truly was, a real P.R.O. Seriously, I believe she’s one of the best in her job, and I’m sure if God have put her somewhere in Europe or in the US, she would have no trouble at all finding a job.

The first thing she taught me about being a professional is that you should always, always give more than 100%. Perfectionism is the keyword; she is the ultimate perfectionist, a treat which, naturally, she inherited to me, and she wouldn’t accept nothing but the best.

The second thing I learn from her, which I think made her any difference than any other pros, is that she always had a touch of personalism in what she did. Sometime I saw successful pros who done really well in their work but who aren’t really enjoying their social life, because they really separate their professional with personal life, and it made them, in a way, “alienated”, because their life is really about their work, and they somehow failed to put personalism in their works. I have a friend who is also a concert manager, but she never seems to be connected with the artists she worked with. When I asked her this, she said, “What for? Why should I be connected with them? They’re here for a short period, and you might never see them again.” When she said this, I thought she must be mad. If you’re not connecting with them, then where’s the fun in doing all the hard work?

But now, how much personalism can we actually put into our work?

That’s really what I’m learning right now, by myself. I always love, in fact, I adore, warm people, and I always try to build that kind of relationship with people I work with. I found out from the musicians who came here that a lot concert managers are really only about business of bringing artists to concert hall and getting the concert done. Besides these, they don’t give a damn about everything. They were pretty surprise that I asked personal things (being an Indonesian) and that gave them the feeling that they can really talk to me about many non-work-related, oft-silly subjects, and that I kept in touch by sending them personal e-mails asking how life is after years of concert.

But then, like everything else, too much of something is not a good thing. Especially difficult is when there is a certain feeling which develop between you and them but the feeling isn’t mutual. I thought the hardest to handle is distrust. But I just learn that romantic feelings could also made you feel miserable. Sometimes, for professional reason, you want them to come back and do more projects with you because they are so brilliant and caring and stuffs, but then, also for the sake of professionalism, you know well enough not to invite them again because the personalism involved in the relationship is just too much. And for the sake of both hearts, you should listen to your heart and wish them well, but in the back of your head, you are only too aware that you will not see each other again for many-many years to come. And that is, perhaps, the best laid plan.

Yet, already this thought breaks your heart. That happens when you’ve got too much personalism in your work. It can make things complex, difficult, and suddenly, work isn’t so much fun anymore. It can even make you shed some tears. But all in all, after everything that is happening and after all these contemplation, I think I might keep some of personalism in my professionalism. What I have to learn is the proportion.

A Quantum Leap

Man needs difficulties; they are necessary for health. (Carl Jung)

My first (and perhaps, my last) concerto.

Last night, I nailed it. After three months of practicing and a few hours of agonies, I stepped up to the plate and perform the D-major Haydn Concerto. It wasn't quite as I expected (I had expected much better result, of course). My fingers weren't moving as fast as I wanted to, and I could have taken more time in the cadenza, but I made no stops, kept on going even when I stumbled, and I finished together with the orchestra on the very last bar of the Finale. So, all's well that ends well.

Now I really can tell my grandchildren that their granny was once a soloist! :-)

My parents, after such long, long years, were there last night. Daddy, who usually refused to be involved in what he called "pretentious" cultural activities such as classical music concerts, finally gave in and went with mum (although they missed the first movement) and he even stayed until the very end of the concert. His comments, apart from those which aren't very musical like "my, aren't you look fat in that dress!", were acceptable. Mum said I looked and played all right. And for the first time they met my most influential teacher (funny how they never did have a chance to meet him when I was still studying!). We went for a post-concert dinner and I got myself, also for the first and the last time, a 200-gram steak. (PS: I did finish the steak and the salads but NOT the wedges. I'm not a glutton!)

Looking back on the experience, I'm really thankful that I was offered such opportunity. It's really true that man needs difficulties. They're there to make us tougher, stronger, and wiser. I couldn't explain how I felt when I woke up this morning, but I was smiling ear to ear for no reason and felt a new energy building inside of me. If I can get past that, who knows, I might be able to pass something else, something bigger. If I can make a list of a life-changing experience, this would be one of it.

One of the most wonderful thing about overcoming difficulties is that you get to know yourself better. Even though I play piano for as long as I can remember, I never imagine that I could go this far. I always knew that I'm not a person who loves to be ON stage (I really love the BACK of it), I hate being on the spotlight, and I usually told myself, right before concerts, that I'm going to die and that I shouldn't do this anymore, that I should just give up playing in public and focus and teaching and all that. But last night I told myself something different. Instead of saying to myself things like "shit, what am I doing???", I was telling myself that I'm gonna be just fine, that I've been practicing for months for this, that I've been working hard and paid my respect and not taken things for granted, so all I have to do is to go out there and give my best shot. And that I did. It wasn't perfect, in fact, it was far from it. I made mistakes, and after a few bars opening, my fingers started to lose all its flexibility, resulting in a rather stiff performance (that, I know), but guess what? I had no regrets. And so I know, that I am capable of this much challenge without losing my nerves.

A few hours before the concert, a friend texted my mobile and wished me good luck. I had asked her to remind me not to this EVER again. However, after the concert, another friend of mine, a music lecturer at the university, said that I should do this twice a year because it really inspires his students to work harder. Now that's something else. I always love to inspire, as much as I love being inspired by people. And that left me thinking: maybe, just maybe, I could do this again. Not alone, of course. A double concerto would be nice. And I always want to try my hands on Beethoven's triple concerto...

Training Days

It's all to do with the training: you can do a lot if you're properly trained. (Elizabeth II, Queen of Great Britain and Northern Ireland)

La vie bien remplie.

In simple English: a full life. That's how my life has been since April when I started to accept all offers coming at my direction. I couldn't even remember when was the last time I slept before midnight because works never seem to end. And among those piles of papers and computer files, there's always an element of surprise that flips the whole world and makes you feel queasy. However, I never really thought that I would finally get hold of this situation until quite recently.

Two weeks ago, one of my sponsors called (on my birthday, to be exact) and said that he will probably cover 50% of my deficit. He didn't promise, he said he'll just try. Two days ago, he said no. Nothing, nada, nix. Zip. I couldn't be angry, he never did promise. And shit happens, that's all. 

Amazingly, I felt very calm. There I was in my pj, 10 o'clock in the morning when he hung up on me, and my brain started to make calculations. Luckily the 100% deficit was not a big number. It might left me with some debts to the credit card company, but if I work hard I might end up gaining profit. So almost like a reflect, I started dialling numbers of people who I think might be able to solve my problems. Then almost automatically, I walked to my computer and started sending e-mails. 

In the afternoon, I went to teach as any other day and quite unexpectedly, I could even be able to put all my focus while practicing Haydn. All those time my brain kept watching while saying, "Hey, this is weird."

Two years ago I would have fallen to the floor and cried and prayed to God to just drop me some cash from heaven. Learning from experience, I know it's not gonna happen and the only way to solving the problem is to keep my head above water and try to act as sensibly as I could. I felt like a goose, who moves gracefully and smoothly on the surface while pedalling frantically under water.   

I guess this wouldn't happen if I hadn't had proper training. Dealing with a commodity as rare as high-quality classical music in the country where quantity is always a focal point, I suppose I've had enough beatings. Sponsors are humans, and being that they couldn't help it if they can't always be reliable. Sometimes, even artists are just plain creatures who unintentionally make mistakes on stage, although this happened through an intentional conduct of not practicing. For those of you who are interested in this business, I would be happy to list a number of swinging X-factors related to it. It's just unfortunate that my work has to rely so much on unreliable components, but as it gives me the greatest satisfaction in life, I don't think it's right to complain. And now, knowing that I'm properly trained, I also know that I can do a lot. And will do a lot.