Reminiscing Berlin

Lake Tegel, my favorite place in Berlin. (C) Ulla Hennig

It was the best of times, it was the worst of time, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way - ...

(Charles Dickens, Tale of Two Cities)

And that, is to sum up my gap year in Berlin. 

God knows how many times I recalled my Berlin memories. Sometimes it was with childish fondness, sometimes with bitter resentment, and not rarely with some melancholia. I learned a lot, maybe the most compared to the rest of 24 years I've had spent before that time, and I was not the same person after the experience. There were huge losses, but looking back from where I stand right now, God always, always gives more. Even with what we've lost, we still end up with many. 

But recently God gave me back one precious thing I lost in Berlin: a friendship. 

A lot of places can be interesting and lovely and wonderful for what it is. The physical side of a city can capture your mind for some time, like building facades in Paris which mesmerize me so much, or the great big trees in my hometown, Bandung, which never cease to give warm feelings in my heart. But without people, important, meaningful people you come to know and care about in those places, they can quickly lose their charms. And Berlin was not easy to forget simply because I met some people who really changed my life. 

One of them is a Japanese guy whom I came to know through a friend. It was funny. Yoshi, so this is his name, and I hope he won't kill me if he found out that I put his name in my blog, wasn't the center of my attention at that time because he didn't really play a key role in the relationship I had. But nevertheless, we began friendship which were getting stronger and I found myself spending most of my time with him. Everything about my life in Berlin was still a huge question mark by then. There were so many uncertainties, so many inconsistencies, but our friendship was the one thing that was certain and consistent, even to my last minute in the city. 

However, something happened after I went back home, and because of something I did, our friendship went to pieces. I didn't think it was reparable, but the earthquake in Japan proved it wrong. 

At the moment I saw news flash on telly about the tsunami, my mind went to him right away, and unthinkingly I went to my computer and sent him an e-mail, asking if he and his family were fine. I didn't expect him to reply, knowing that after our last "quarrel", he might not want to have anything to do with me again, so I crossed my fingers and prayed that he's still out there and read my message, even if he didn't want to answer it.  

Two weeks after that letter was sent, on one lovely Monday morning, I got his e-mail. After five years of silence, he spoke back to me. It was short, concise, no nonsense. Very Yoshi-like. He was fine, his mum was living far from the exposed area, and his close friends were in safe place. I was so happy I began crying. The relief was immense. Not only because he was unharmed, but also because I knew that our friendship has recovered. 

Looking back, my Berlin period was, indeed, one of the most difficult time in my life. But he was with me, all the way, and without him, I might have not survived the grief. In dog days, you need one well that supplies you with water so you don't die of thirst. Our friendship was that well, that one source that kept me going for another day, even to this day. I was grateful, and still am. God was kind. He might have tested me, but I was never left alone.

À Yoshi: je sais qu’il a besoin de 2 personnes pour "approuver" une amitié, mais ceci ce que je sais certaînement: je n’ai pas besoin de ton approbation pour dire que tu es mon meilleur ami.  

Where Go the Boats?

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

Dark brown is the river,

Golden is the sand

It flows along forever,

With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,

Castles of the foam,

Boats of mine a-boating

Where with all come home?

On goes the river

And out past the mill,

Away down the valley,

Away down the hill.

Away down the river,

A hundred miles or more,

Other little children

Shall bring my boats ashore.

Robert Louis Stevenson

The one that could repeat the summer day

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

The one that could repeat the summer day

Were greater than itself, though he

Minutest of mankind might be.

And who could reproduce the sun,

At period of going down -

The lingering and the stain, I mean -

When Orient has been outgrown,

And Occident becomes unknown,

His name remain.


Emily Dickinson

To God

Dear God,

I'm so sorry, I haven't been praying lately. I know You'd understand. I know You'd let me be human for a while and rest from wanting. And I know You know why, but I need to put it in writing.

I just couldn't get it, my Lord. This doesn't make any sense to me. If You give me this much loving capacity, why wouldn't You let me have that feeling you gave me seven years ago? You only gave it to me once, just once, on that one fine day. It gave me enough energy to last and to give and to hope for seven years afterward. Even after You took a big chunk of it, I'm still giving. But I want to have it back. That one particular feeling. And I never said I need the same person as a medium. I just need that feeling.

Hour Glass

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

Sand through an hour glass,

steady flow of grit,

form mountain shape.

Tick away moments,

till last grain falls.

Time now still,

sand on bottom,

turn over,

new moments tick,

stream from top again.

Over and over,

clock will stop and start.

Time in your hands.

Master the operation,

control your life.

Anna Copeland

Anonymous Poem

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

A Fragment: To Music

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

Silver key of the fountain of tears,

Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild;

Softest grave of a thousand fears,

Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child,

Is laid asleep in flowers.

Percy Shelley

A Dirge

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

Rough wind, that moanest loud

Grief too sad for song;

Wild wind, when sullen cloud

Knells all the night long;

Sad storm whose tears are vain, 

Bare woods, whose branches strain,

Deep caves and dreary main,--

Wail, for the world’s wrong!

Percy Shelley

The Lockless Door

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

It went many years,

But at last came a knock,

And I thought of the door

With no lock to lock.

I blew out the light,

I tip-toed the floor,

And raised both hands

In prayer to the door.

But the knock came again.

My window was wide;

I climbed on the sill

And descended outside.

Back over the sill

I bade a 'Come in'

To whatever the knock

At the door may have been.

So at a knock

I emptied my cage

To hide in the world

And alter with age.

Robert Frost

At a Window

Photo (C) Jimmy Perdana

Give me hunger, 

O you gods that sit and give 

The world its orders. 

Give me hunger, pain and want, 

Shut me out with shame and failure 

From your doors of gold and fame, 

Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger! 

But leave me a little love, 

A voice to speak to me in the day end, 

A hand to touch me in the dark room 

Breaking the long loneliness. 

In the dusk of day-shapes 

Blurring the sunset, 

One little wandering, western star 

Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow. 

Let me go to the window, 

Watch there the day-shapes of dusk 

And wait and know the coming 

Of a little love.

Carl Sandburg

Deleting Past

...
"But each day brings its petty dust
Our soon-chok'd souls to fill,
And we forget because we must,
And not because we will."
...
Matthew Arnold
(from "Absence")


This writing is inspired by memory. A not so pleasant one, though. 

Something in my life just turned sour. Like a food we kept too long, even in the frige, low temperature couldn't help but make it go bad. And how do you know? First, you feel it. You feel it, that it has been there too long, and you know it. Then you smell it. If you have the courage to put it in your mouth, you have a confirmation. It tastes funny. When that happens, the next thing you have to do is to put it in a plastic (better a degradable one)  then throw it with the rest of the junk.

Now that something in my life, which I have kept a little too long, and finally gone bad, is called memory. 

Memory, for a lot of us is a mental faculty. It's brain's work, say experts. Is it really true? Then how come we sometimes say it's so hard to wipe a certain memory? If it's only the brain who is responsible for creating, retaining, and recalling it, then why should it be so difficult to erase it?

Years ago, something happened and left a deep impression on me. The memory was like a big, red, scar, that, as other "real" scars in my life, didn't come off easily. Out of curiosity, I began to read books and articles about memory, and I came to know this fact. 

For those of you who find it difficult to forget a particular incident in life, this is the reason. When you experience something, the memory of it isn't just stored in your brain, but in your entire body. That includes your organs even to tiny little particles in your body such as your skin surface and hair shaft. Thus, even if your brain stops working, the other organs will still hold some certain memories, although we no longer remember them consciously. I suppose, I can draw a conclusion that, theoretically, when someone's brain is transplanted into another skull, then the organs will remind the brain about certain things they have gone through.  (Anyway, it's very complicated and I can tell you stories which prove this theory, but it will be a long and this isn't what I want to write about, actually. So, send me an e-mail if you're curious.) So all I'm saying is, it's not easy at times to wipe a memory because even if your brain wants to forget, your heart, or your kidney, may not want to do so. 

Now back to the main topic: dumping memory. No matter how hard it is, some memory needs to be sent to recycle bin because it relates to pain and its no longer productive. Because it's depriving you from happiness, and because when you think about it, you feel like seeing an old pair of jeans which reminds you of how slim you used to be, but honestly, there's no way you're going to fit in them again. And this certain memory that I want to put behind doesn't exactly make me think of that one fine day. Instead, it always hit me right in the solar plexus, leaving a taste of phantom pain afterward. It scared me a lot. And I hate being scared, especially because of something that has happened.  It's stupid, and useless. 

But since there are so much element connected to a memory, deleting one usually means deconnecting other things related to it, and that can include a name, a person, a thing, and series of unfortunate events. It can be quite a brutal thing to do, and when it comes to people, it could terminate a whole relationship altogether. That's the sacrifice one must make, I think, in order to erase an unpleasant memory. 

I have a confession to make. I write this blog, to explain to a certain person, why I do what I did. It's actually simple. I have decided not to recall this memory again, and in doing that, I consequently stop recalling him to my life. I'm simply doing this to protect myself. I want to liberate myself from pain, and if he's pained with what I do, I hope he can understand. The best thing he can do, is following my footsteps. And that would be deleting my memory from his life.    

On Deactivating Facebook

I miss Indonesian people. Real Indonesians who are low-key, down to earth, discreet, and prudent.

Facebook has successfully turn the majority, if not the whole world into Americans. Here's why. 

Every time I watch a movie made by the US film industry, one thing very obvious to me is that each time a problem occurs to a character, life then revolves around this problem and any other things are put on hold. Of course, movies are made to capture this one single most important dilemma in one moment in time in the life of the protagonists, but one same thing about American movies is how the leading man/woman view the difficult situation, which, I must say, arguably self-centered. 

I know that egotism is misinterpreted a lot today. I don't think it's a bad thing. What I mean here is that American egotism displayed on movies. It is too much of a cliche and highly unjust to say that Americans are very egocentric. After all, humans are all egotists. However, it is also a general knowledge that Americans are considered more assertive (or sometimes even aggressive) in defending their own interests and advancement, compared to, let's say, Asians. I think their education system somehow contributes to this higher degree of self-importance. In the US, children are encouraged to give opinion, to express disagreement, and to form their own thoughts. In my country, children learn to cultivate conformity since young age. 

Uniformity is Indonesia's middle name. All kids who go to private and public schools, from kindergarten to high schools, must wear uniform. That's how the mentality is developed. My teacher once told me that uniform makes you equal. Later I learn that even in uniform, people can still see who are the haves and the have-nots. In high school especially, kids do wear uniform, but you can tell from the bags they wear, the shoes they put, and the car they drive, that mankinds are only equal before God, and thus, only God can see it. Anyway, other than this effort to create an overall sameness in looks, teachers are trying to pursue homogeneity in thoughts. 

Of course, thanks to globalization, part of it Americanization, there's now a revolutionary movement in our education system, in which children are allowed to be different. This is mostly notable in private schools which adopt a western method or curriculum. And those who dream to be a libertarian gets to use another powerful tool call Facebook. 

At the beginning of Facebook creation, I believe that Zuckerberg, Saverin, Moskovitz, and Hughes didn't really intend to develop a tool for Americanization. Being Americans, they simply do what they do in the real world, only this time they decide to do it in cyber space. And what they do is concentrating on their lives and getting people interested in their lives. Little did they know that the whole nation could thank them for spreading the Americanistic egotism around the globe, including in my country. 

Facebook certainly supplies what is lacking in Indonesian social and educational system: individualism. Through Facebook, (Indonesian) people get to publish their ups and downs, telling the whole universe that they have a great thing going on in their awesome, fabulous lives, OR the opposite, that life sucks big time and they haven't got laid in 3 months. So what? So people know. And why? Because their life is important, too. Even a common lot with mixed blessings, like other millions of hoi polloi crowding earth, wants to be noted. And in Facebook, it's legal, vital, and essential.

Traditional Indonesian like my mum thinks that Facebook is a horrid thing which causes mass madness. Apart from the fact that browsing people's profiles is big time-waster and hardly profitable, my mum can never understand why the modern Indonesians nowadays seem to be very happy to share their life's stories with others, or to write unscrupulous things about themselves. The public insanity even allows people to get away with murder.   

For me, Facebook is an electric field charged with too many negative particles. It really drains my positive energy, especially after reading people's profiles. An example of how the negativity influences me:

Today Japan is shaken by earthquake and, consequently, tsunami. When I enter my Facebook's home, lots of people wrote things like "pray for Japan" and blah-blah. Now. If you want to pray, you go down on your knees and pray. If you want to tell people to pray, well, you can't do it on public space. In real life, it's basically the same as going to a shopping mall and shout to people that they should pray for Japan. If you do that, sooner or later, either a security guard or medical workers will want to take you to a safe place. If you want to show support, go to help-japan-dot-com or whatever and start donating money. It seems to me that whenever bad things happen, or whenever they have some philanthropic mission in mind, the first thing people do is update their status on Facebook. That's highly hype, rather sickening, and suspect.   

I can list one hundred reasons why my life will be much better without Facebook. On top of everything, I know I will have more time to do things which are more useful and I will save so much energy by detaching myself from people's life. After all, I don't need to be connected to 1027 friends I have on my social network. And moreover, I don't want to. The most important people in my life, perhaps not more than 50 of them, are within my reach, and that's enough. By and large, I refuse to be turned into megalomaniac. I refuse to be a creature who is very much engrossed in itself. And the way I see it, this is how it's coming.     

But lastly, isn't it ironic? In order to escape uniformity, Indonesians are sucked into this machine that plunges them into another uniformity. Or is it actually a part of their uniform mentality which unconsciously push them to be the same with others?