D-aargh.

Masyarakat itu gemar sekali mengurusi orang lain. Sepanjang saya hidup sepertinya itu saja yang mereka ributkan. Kenal tidak, saudara bukan, tapi mengurusi orang lain sepertinya sudah jadi salah satu misi dan kegiatan, yang bisa jadi besar skalanya di otak mereka. Contoh ya. Saya waktu itu berumur 12 tahun. Sejak kecil saya memang tidak pernah berambut panjang, selain juga dulu sekali waktu saya masih terlalu kecil untuk tahu alfabet, saya memang tidak berambut. Ibu selalu membungkus kepala saya dengan topi atau kerudung. Malu katanya, punya anak perempuan yang lucu, tapi gundul. Jadi sering dikira anak lelaki. Tambahan lagi, saya sering dipakaikan celana juga. Jadi ibu harus sering sekali menjelaskan bahwa, tidak, anak kecil lucu dan gundul mirip bule yang ada di dalam kereta bayinya bukan lelaki, tapi perempuan dan, ya, anak itu anaknya sendiri dan tidak, bapaknya bukan bule (asli). Astaga! Ternyata persoalan mengurusi orang lain ini bahkan sudah dimulai sejak rambut saya belum tumbuh.

Kembali kepada saya yang berusia 12 tahun. Rambut saya pendek. Karena waktu itu saya belum bertemu Roberto, hairstylist andalan saya yang tercinta, maka rambut saya hanya diurusi orang salon entah yang sampai sekarang nama, rupa, dan salonnya pun sudah tidak saya ingat. Yang jelas, rambut saya pendek, hampir menyerupai rambut anak laki-laki sebaya saya yang justru repot sekali ingin memanjangkan rambut (inget jaman nyimpen ‘buntut’ di tahun 80-90an?). Ironi memang menggelikan. Setiap hari selama saya berambut pendek ini, kalau saya ke sekolah, yang saya tempuh dengan berjalan kaki, anak-anak kecil dan anak-anak tanggung yang melihat pasti memanggil-manggil saya dengan sebutan “bondol”. Sampai sekarang saya tidak ingin tahu apa artinya. Mungkin jelek, mungkin lucu, mungkin juga tidak senonoh, tapi yang jelas, buat mereka, saya adalah si Bondol. Ketika saya memutuskan untuk berambut panjang, dan mengganti frame kacamata saya yang 80s banget dengan frame bulet ala John Lennon, sebutan saya berubah menjadi “Atiek CB”.

Panggilan-panggilan nggak penting itu terus saya alami hingga saya lulus SMA dan berhenti ketika saya bersekolah di Australia dan mulai 1996, saya kembali hadir dengan berbagai nama. Karena saya tampil dengan rambut yang selalu pendek dengan berbagai warna (yang masuk akal. karena Robby tidak pernah membiarkan rambut saya terlihat seperti anak perempuan yang baru nge-geng sama anak punk Blok M). Saya adalah “Buceri” atau bule ngecet sendiri dan “Miss-how-are-you-Miss” yang diteriakkan hingga suara mereka serak.

Seperti tadi pagi dan pagi-pagi lainnya setiap hari. Koq bisa, begitu ya pasti Anda pikir. Bisa. Karena saya tidak punya kendaraan pribadi dan oleh karenanya harus memanfaatkan fasilitas transportasi umum yang untuk menuju ke fasilitas transportasi umum tersebut saya harus berjalan ke ujung jalan yang nantinya tembus ke jalan raya. Jadi yaa, gitu deh… Masyarakat ternyata belum berubah sejak saya berusia 12 tahun: senang mengurusi orang lain. Dan kedua: Walaupun saya selalu berubah, ternyata ada kegiatan yang berhubungan dengan kebiasaan saya yang tidak berubah. And that’s okay.

Saya keluar dari rumah kos dan berjalan ke ujung jalan raya menuju halte. Beberapa orang anak berusia kira-kira 7 tahunan mulai memanggil-manggil saya “Bule!! Bule!!! Bule Good morning!!!” sembari cekikikan, ditingkahi suara tukang ojek yang sudah sekitar 3 tahunan ini menawari ojek kepada saya, “Neng, ojek…ojek…?” setiap hari saat mereka melihat saya sedang menuju ke ujung jalan. Dan sejak 20 tahunan yang lalu, reaksi saya terhadap hal-hal seperti ini adalah sama. Acuh dan mengaktifkan aura “maaf-saya-tidak-berbahasa-indonesia” saya. D’aargh. Mereka koq susah ya belajar, kalau saya perlu, saya akan panggil mereka atau, kalau saya mau saya bisa saja menuntut para orang tua itu dengan tuntutan pencemaran nama baik. Mungkin sesuatu yang berbeda akan terjadi kalau saya bereaksi terhadap panggilan-panggilan yang sifatnya sudah menahun itu. Mungkin. Tapi saya tidak terlalu menyenangi perubahan yang tidak ingin saya pilih.

D’aargh.

Peeee…

A male friend asked me once, “How does it work when you’re having your period?”
I said to him,”It’s like…peeing in your pants. Yet, you know…hey, that’s okay.”

HAILING THE BUSES. FROM THE BUS STOP.

Back on buses again. It’s interesting to find myself on a bus again at my early 30s. I thought I’d be off it for good since I was once slightly molested on my way home from work, a long time ago. That year I just turned 20. It was 7pm and the bus was full and for a moment I thought this man’s hand gripping my tigh was because he lost his balance in the speeding bus that hit a vicious brake. Until his other hand was on my other tigh. Without looking, I jammed my elbow to a person’s body behind me whose hands were on my tigh, I jumped off and walked my way home. It was a fair long walk. But since these past 3 years, I find myself on buses again. For short trips here and there, in the morning and in the afternoon. I don’t go on the peak hours where buses will be most likely packed like a mashed used car. Fortunately, I don’t really have a regular job like other people. So I can manage my time, as in coming in and out of the office almost anytime I feel necessary. This can mean coming to the office at 6.30am and leave at 2pm, come back again at around 9pm or anything in that order. I don’t have to go when the street is its most packed.

But I’m on the bus again. Actually, now I like it. It’s the best alternative of public transport and the cheapest too. It costs 2000-3500 IDR or around 30c AUD or about 20c USD or, probably a spit in Euro or Pound per trip (cause it’s so worthless in their currency), long or short. It’s practical yes, but planet far from convenient. Most buses here are short chasis and if you’re taller than 6″, then you’ll be in pain. Because you’ll have to hunch even if you’re seating down. It’s totally built for little people who weighs around 50 kilos max. I like it now because it’s cheap. It totally fits my budget, although a little uncompfortable, but really, comfortable isn’t really what I’m looking for. I’m just looking for practical and cheap, and these dingy buses have’em. I’ll go to other countries if I’m looking for comfortable. Also, I notice that it’s really hard to teach human some manners and logic. Even the prophets had problems with this, this…civilized disease. It’s really hard to educate people to get on and off buses FROM AND AT THE BUS STOP. I don’t get that. This morning there’s this girl who stood almost nearby the bus stop, hailed the bus and got on from there. I was standing about 1.5m away from her, under the bus stop’s canopy. Human beings are lazy. Indonesian citizens are the laziest. (sigh) Note to self: remind my single male friends to watch for girls OR women who don’t get on and off buses from and at the bus stop.

Although now I’m on buses again, I don’t go on them at night. My limit is 5pm. After 5 I usually take other form of public transport like bajaj or taxis. Because buses become less practical at night. Plus, I usually need transport by the time it’s 10 or 11pm, where most of the routes going my way are docked at their pools already. So taxis and bajajs are my best options at night.

Finding myself on a bus again this morning I wonder about friends who raise their brow when I tell them I still get on buses sometimes. Yeah… same here. I do wonder too sometimes. Why am I here again? The little chatter that boasts local dialects and the weirdos that get on them selling stuffs or singing and reciting poems, are probably the reason why.

The ‘kondektur’ screams ‘Pulir! Pulir!!!!!!!’ Signing that the bus that I got on goes to a suburb called Cipulir and then to Blok M, which means, I got on the wrong one and must make my exit at the soonest stop. Like, right now. I stood up and knock on the ceiling with my knuckles and got off. I think that was my last 2000 IDR for the day.

In Pursue of Happiness (read with French accent, please)

What is happiness?
Is it in one hundred whatever bill?
Is it in what we achieve?
Is it in our pants?

Is it when we pray?
Or is it when we see a father carries his child lovingly in his arms?
Is it?

Ouw, bugger it.

Light…

i feel light. Light like when you’re having a bad flu and then you blow your nose empty. Light. like a substance left my body. Light…

Absently In Love

Butterfly in my stomach. Cold sweat. Feet wobbling. Pink rush down the spine at flashbacks. Anxiety attacks and blooming anticipation. All good. All good. Healthy for the mood. Like being in love. So good. So good.

Then I noticed, I was not there.

FOR GROWN UPS (with money) ONLY.

Being a grown up is hard. Being a grown up who’s trying to start something on her own is even harder. Being a grown up who’s trying to start something on her own but doesn’t really have money to start it, proves to be the hardest.

This year, in the midst of my turning 32, I decided to be a grown up. I decided to start my own company. My spiritual guru told me once that I’m not fit to run my own business because I can’t be tricky and cunning. But I can be a great advisor and support. And so I looked for companion. People have often told me that I’ve been lucky enough to know so many decent people to hang out and do business with. So after neglecting the power of networking for years, I’ve decided to proof that what people told me about my acquaintance is correct. Almost.

And so I met my boyfriend, whom last year joined a play directed by Aji, a prominent acting coach who coached most of the movies my previous employer produced. That’s how I know him, we worked together several time and we clicked most of the time. And then from the last movie we were involved in I met Verdi, an aspiring actor who’s passion spread across acting, designing, thinkering with buzzing ideas, and dedication in performing arts. Through Aji and his last year’s play we all met Pipip. A subdued, whimsical, quirky and critical woman whose love for performing now turn to love for producing. And then with Aji, comes Mima, his beloved wife whose talent in doodling costumes and creating them completed the whole pack. We dreamed of being the first professional fusion theater company that produces interesting and unique performances. We want to go national. We want to grow bigger. We will show the world what people many talents can bring for a stage performance and what goes with it. We want to live on and grow for another hundred years. (patriotic music cue)

That’s in short is how this year of being a grown up for me begins. We are so buzzing with ideas for a lot of performances and plays and what have that we decided to, “hey, why don’t we legalized this? so it’ll be easier when we finally get major sponsor or if we are ever invited to perform overseas?” the dreamers contemplated. True. And intriguing. We’re all in our 30s, I mean, what can be more inspiring than forming our own thing and making money? So forged ahead we go. We came up with a name, we spoke to lawyers, we started a production, we came up with scripts, we rang actors and friends who wanted to participate in our first official play as actors and as behind the scene people like the finance personnel and casting and administration, we contacted most of our resources for sponsorship, we did this and that. We did everything. We borrowed money from the bank and all. And we believe, if we tried hard enough all would work out just smooth and fine, right?

Not quiet. Not quiet. Sponsorship doesn’t come easy and then we have to run into our first ‘villain’. Tax. We hate him. He’s about to take so much or our money for God knows what. We hate him. We like money. We need it to grow. We don’t want anybody taking it just like that. Not just yet anyway. Because Money is our baby although we secretly hate it too. We only have so much for so many things and it’s always running away from us. So many things we have to pay and buy. Today’s the set and props and wardrobe the next day. Make up, and utilities and all these other operational things. Urgh. We’re yearning to the day when trees and healthy poultry and cattle were enough for doing business.

We are also yearning to get sponsors with as much passion as we have for this. Or investors. Or a beat up warehouse we can use, or… I don’t know, charity money because we will definitely put it to good use. We contemplated in cancelling the show because basically it’s just bleeding more green than absorbing it, but we have our names to defend for. If we bailed out now next time people will never believe that we can pull off a good show no matter what. So we forged ahead. We forged ahead if it means that we have to be individually broke for now because our own money and saving is being the only source of life for our little company. So like any baby who starts crawling before it can start walking, we’re forging ahead.

We are forging ahead, Tax or no Tax. We are living out the first rule in showbiz: THE SHOW MUST GO ON.

Coronary For Ma.

I’m falling asleep. I need a scene to wake me up. I picture it in my head. The back veranda. Normal Sunday afternoon. Not going to be so normal now cause I’m contemplating of telling my mom the truth. I’d start with opening my mouth, I picture it. In the the shape of ‘a’.
“Umm…Ma…”
“Yes, dear…”

It wasn’t going to be just a normal Sunday avo because I’m about to tell her that, ‘Ma, I’m a lesbian.’

Gut.

My gut feeling is confused.
Should I stay or should i go?
I’m big halves of a person
Thinking of going
And wanting to stay

But if I go…would you stop me?
And if I stay…would you keep me?