Living in Flow

1. Makan bersama keluarga. Entah maksudnya
apa, selalu pamer apa yang dimasak + pembantu
rumah tangganya, atau pamer peralatan dapur.
Dan biasanya minumannya selalu jus jeruk.

2. Cinta yang tidak disetujui orang tua. Entah
sudah berapa judul film Rano Karno yang temanya
beginian.

3. Tokoh Ayah selalu berbaju safari. Biasanya
warnanya coklat muda, dengan 2 bolpen di
kantongnya, membawa koper, dan biasanya ke
kantor.

4. Polisi yang selalu datang terlambat. Seperti
biasa, polisi selalu terlambat untuk menangangi
masalah dalam film Indonesia, dengan kalimat
yang kaku dan khas: "Ini memang buronan yang
sedang kami cari, Pak!"

5. Adegan pub/bar/nightclub. Scene ini biasanya
lampu remang-remang warna kemerahan, diiringi
musik-musik kaya’ ABBA, Beegees, Kool and The
Gang. Lalu minuman diberi obat perangsang.

6. Masuk Rumah Sakit. Biasanya karena penyakit
yang baru disadari sudah stadium 2 atau 3, karena
mengidap kanker, leukimia, atau jantungnya
kambuh. Sangat jarang penyakitnya bengek,
korengan, atau diare. Dokternya biasanya
berkumis, badan agak gemuk, kacamata baca
model Malcolm X, stetoskop menggantung di
leher, dan biasanya ngomong : "Bapak dan Ibu
tidak usah khawatir, kami akan berusaha
semampu kami."

7. Adegan lari-larian di taman atau di pinggir laut
sambil ketawa-ketawa kecil "hahaha…hahaha…"
trus yang cewek menjatuhkan diri. Maksudnya
romantis, tapi kok malah jadi lucu. Trus saat
adegan ciuman, diganti (disensor) dengan deburan
ombak atau bunga mawar.

8. Mau di-per-kosa trus nggak jadi karena
jagoannya datang. Entah dari mana, tiba-tiba
berantem aja sama yang mau mem-per-kosa.

9. Tokoh kyai/orang sakti/pemuda yang alim.
Biasanya untuk ngusir setan kaya kuntilanak,
arwah penasaran dan lain-lain. Banyak ditemui di
film-film horor Indonesia dan biasanya selalu
menang.

10. Di setiap ending film pasti disertai dengan
tulisan: SEKIAN, TAMAT, SELESAI, dan lain-lain
dengan warna-warna yang cerah.

11. Kalau cowok pergi ngapel ke rumah camer
biasanya bawa oleh-oleh kue tart yang norak-norak
(zaman segitu belum ada black forest, atau
tiramishu sih!)

12. Kalau kuliah naik motor and berambut
gondrong.

13. Cewek kalau dijemput cowoknya pakai mobil,
pintunya dibukain.

14. Adegan buang puntung rokok, terus dimatiin
pake kaki. Mungkin biar sepatu boot/kulit
mengkilap-nya keliatan.

15. Kalau perpisahan bikin acara disko sendiri di
rumah.

16. Terjadinya ML gak sengaja, gara-gara
kehujanan atau pada saat hujan.

17. Kalau mau ketemu cewek, si cowok sisiran
dulu. Rambut gondrong dangdut, diminyakin dan
sisirnya ditaruh di saku belakang. Biar tambah
keren, biasanya sisirnya nongol sedikit.

18. Nama peran utamanya kalau cowok selalu
JOHAN, HENDRA, ANTON, BRAM, dll
(BRAM.."Brambang Abang" kali ye wakakak)

19. Kalau naik motor nggak pake helm.

20. Cewenya kalau habis dimarahin sama
bokapnya, biasanya langsung lari ke kamar terus
nangis tersedu-sedu di ranjang (biasanya film-film
Oma Irama).

21. Suka ada iklan tersembunyi, biasanya rokok.
Pemeran utama megang2 rokok dengan gaya
garing, biar merek nya bisa kesorot kamera.

22. Kalau pemeran utama cowoknya ceritanya
udah jadi tua, cuma tinggal ditambahin kumis
doang. Tampang yg tetep aja muda.

23. Kalau film silat, gadis desanya senang nyuci di
kali pakai kemben, bawa bakul, bajunya cuma 2
biji. Pas lagi nyuci, datang penjahat dan langsung
tuh pejahat pengen mem-per-kosa.

24. Kalau film perang, kapten Belanda biasanya
orang Indonesia pake wig pirang, serdadunya
senang jalan-jalan keliling kampung, pas liat
cewek lagi nyuci di kali, kejadian berikutnya sama
dengan no 23 di atas.

25. Biasanya kisah sedihnya beruntun. Misalnya:
anak sakit, nggak punya uang, mau beli obat,
hujan deras, eh si emak ketabrak mobil lagi..

27. Anak SMA pake seragam, lengannya dilinting,
nggak cewe ngga cowo. celananya baggy, atau
yang pipanya nyempit di bawah.

28. Rambut cewek belahannya di samping.

29. Vokal untuk theme song suaranya lirih dan
mendesah desah.

30. Kalau ada yang mau mati, pasti ninggalin
pesen duluan, baru mati.

31. Suara cewe kalo lagi marah pasti jadi gembret.
(btw, gembret apaan sih? –red)

32. Zainal Abidin kebanyakan jadi tokoh Bapak.

33. Kalau di film anak-anak, biasanya ibu atau
bapaknya meninggal. Si anak tinggal sama ibu tiri
atau bibinya, dijadiin pembokat, dimarahin. Si
anak kabur ke kota, jadi gelandangan. Biasanya
dipungut orang kaya, trus jadi penyanyi cilik
terkenal. Biar rada dramatis sering tuh anak
akhirnya ditabrak mobil.

34. Kalau ceweknya mau diculik, biasanya
jalannya di tempat sepi yang nggak ada
orang/mobil lewat.

35. Kalau film eksyen, adegan berantem di jalan
ramai dilanjutkan dengan kejar-kejaran. Dari kota
tiba-tiba pindah berantem ke tengah sawah!
Proses tengahnya gimana, gak tau dah.

36. Kalau adegan daerah pelacuran, biasanya di
pinggir sungai, ada becak sama warung jualan bir.
Terus ada adegan WTS godain orang lewat.
Kadang-kadang ada bencongnya juga.

37. Adegan batuk-batuk. Habis itu keluar
darah…dilap tissue….dijamin abis itu pasti mati.

39. Cerita SMA biasanya sering ada murid baru,
biasanya cewek. Sering ada adegan cowok godain
cewek pake lemparan gulungan kertas atau kapur.
Surat cintanya biasanya nyasar ke temen cewek
yang gendut atau ibu guru.

40. Kalau jajan di kantin biasanya makan bakso,
duduk di bangku panjang kayak di warteg.

41. Kalau lulus-lulusan biasanya kemping ke
gunung, di bis nyanyi-nyanyi kayak anak TK.

42. Kalau bikin geng biasanya ada yang gendut,
bencong, atau kurus.

43. Jagoan SMA biasanya ketua OSIS, kalau
sekolah bawa tas kecil yang ditaruh di bahu,
bukunya kadang cuma satu biji, lusuh lagi.

44. Hantu-hantu di film horor:
- Biasanya yang jadi korban duluan adalah orang
yang lagi ronda.
- Kuntilanaknya sering jajan sate.

45.Omar Syarif pasti jadi petinggi VOC atau paling
tidak Demang Belanda, kerjaannya cari kembang
desa, trus selalu bilang "Over Domeh" ke antek-
anteknya (Modol teu omeh - siganamah)

46.Anteknya/prajurit Demang Belanda kagak
pernah banyak / kolosal, pasti cuma ber lima
atawa ber enam, sementara Inlander-nya malah
lebih banyak (Budget-nya nggak nyampe kali)

47.Kalo lagi makan di restoran pasti tamu-tamu
yang lain pada jadi patung… ada yang duduk
doang gak ngapa2in. Satu-satunya Jus yang
dipesen gak disentuh-sentuh…. (kali ngirit biaya
kalo harus shooting berulang-ulang)

48.Pasti keluar dari resto-nya berdua Cowok &
Cewek…. Wagu Poolllll. Kagak pernah ada, cuma
sendirian ato ama kucing.

49."Pletak..pletok..pletak…pletok…" kagak cewek
kagak cowok kalo jalan sama aja bunyinya.

50. Pong Haryatmo perannya selalu jadi penggoda
wanita, juga kadang sering mem-per-
kosa……pokoke mekso banget….

51. Terus keliling Jakartanya diseputaran
Bundaran HI yang selalu nampak khas HOTELnya,
biasanya naik mobil yang tahun lama banget
(JADUL= jaman dulu) kalo nggak gitu ya Tugu
Pancoran

52. Buset dah… dibaca ampe abis ???? nganggur
amat sih …

Around midnight last night, I rode along A on his black Vespa scooter. Way cool. From La Piazza Kelapa Gading to Jalan Jaksa. From the live music of Luluk Purwanto and the Helsdingen Trio, to Festival Jalan Jaksa and YA UDAH. First time on a scooter. An ojek ride like no other. Wind against my face. Crazy, hilarious chats. Great time.

(ripped from Dinastuti’s blog)

Reports on psychologist Melanie Greenberg’s experiment which shows that writing about one’s traumatic experience helps the person develop a sense of control over his emotions. Background on the study; Applications for the study’s findings.

By:PT Staff

The diary entries Madonna drafted while filming Evita recently appeared in anissue of Vanity Fair. Riveting as her memoirs may have been, if the former Material Girl had taken pen to paper during some of her more trying times–or even concocted some fictional tales of woe–it might have been better for her health.

At least that’s what psychologist Melanie Greenberg, Ph.D., has concluded after asking one group of college kids to write detailed essays about a personal trauma–ranging from abuse to rape–and another set to write fictional accounts of the same kinds of ordeals. In the month that followed, Greenberg found, the students who had composed accounts of their personal tribulations made two-thirds fewer trips to the doctor than did a third group that had written impersonal factual essays. But surprisingly, those who authored stories about a fictional misfortune experienced similar health benefits. Writing about a fictional trauma, Greenberg suggests, may help us develop a sense of control over our emotions, and that in turn may contribute to good health.

ND:

There you go!

The study participants spent 30 minutes penning their accounts of tragey, so perhaps it’s a leap to suggest that a casual diary entry can improve health. On the other hand, Greenberg speculates that the technique can be used as a sort of trauma vaccine for folks who consistently encounter catastrophes, such as rescue workers.

Note: This is one of my older piece of short fiction. It had appeared in the Jakarta Post Sunday Edition, January 30, 2005. Please feel free to let me know what you think. The link: http://www.thejakartapost.com/yesterdaydetail.asp?fileid=20050130.G02

-N-

Joao

Features - January 30, 2005 

Nelden Djakababa

In the end, Joao, I finally let them lower your body into the grave, a hole like a gaping mouth they had dug hastily, as if reluctant to part with this beautiful offering. Yes. Your body was still beautiful until the end. It was like what people say: the dead beloved very often look like they are merely asleep. You were like that too, Joao.

Isabella once said to me that no matter how cruel a man might be in his waking moments, no matter how severe his spirit might be, when sleeping they’d all look like heavenly boys. And, Isabella continued, the moment you see the face of a man whom you might have the tiniest hint of liking, then you shall be doomed to love him.

I do not know if this would be true for every waking woman, and every sleeping man. What I know is that it was true for me, with you.

I was thirteen years old and you, Joao, were sixteen. Thirteen was my age of rebellion. Looking back, I feel sorry for my mother. I was a difficult girl. All those sensations were churning in my body as if trying to shout out something important. But I did not understand what it was. All I wanted to do was to disobey my mother. I couldn’t be told to do anything.

Poor mother. She had to deal with me all alone. I had never known my father. People whispered that he had disappeared into the forest.

Even when mother asked me to go fetch a bucketful of water from the spring half an hour away, I’d only return two, three hours later with a bucket two-thirds full. I drove my mother crazy, but I did not care. My mother had told me to come back home immediately, but I’d walk slowly around the hilly savanna between the spring and my house. Chunks of limestone were scattered all over the place among grasses and occasional trees.

You were sleeping under one of those trees one such disobedient day. At first, I only saw the goats your parents owned. You were told to look after the herd. They were grazing lazily while the wind blew gently. No wonder you dozed off. The moment I saw your sleeping face, something inside my heart melted into warm liquid amber in which I saw a vision of me having your children and growing old with you. Imagine how overwhelming it was for a thirteen-year-old girl, to experience such a stir!

It was a very innocent notion, Joao, I know. But that was what started all these whirlwinds. That was why I stood there while they covered your grave with charred soil while we could still hear gunshots outside. To me, you have been beautiful since that day long ago, when you were a boy sleeping in the savanna. You were, are, still beautiful. In death, even. Your face was fixed in serenity. The back of your head was missing, but you looked like you were merely asleep. And so, I fell in love with you all over again.

Oh, Joao. How did we come to this?

Several years after I saw you sleeping in the savanna, we had inevitably grown up. You finally noticed me, the girl with dense pigtails walking awkwardly in front of your parents’ house every day on her way to morning

Mass.

You finally fell in love with me as well. So we got married. One month after that, we moved down to the city because you got a job at the central post office. We were happy, so happy experiencing every aspect of each other’s being, in a new place, one moment a time. The city was a world in itself, and I was with the man I loved. People say that fascination and infatuation would gradually, irrevocably, recede as the honeymoon phase ended.

It has never ended for me, Joao.

It was your breath that was stopped. We were blissfully unaware of the unrest slithering under the surface of this land, waiting to show its dreadful face at any time. It was grotesque. You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time.

By the cemetery*, they were protesting over those mysterious deaths when the men in uniforms opened fire. You were crossing the street on your way home for lunch, to my cooking, when you heard the gunshots from the cemetery about two blocks away. You ducked, you ran, you did not want to be caught in the midst of all this insanity. But a stray bullet exploded in the back of your head, taking the life from your body even before it hit the ground.

We were considered lucky, Joao, because by coincidence, you were killed right in front Roberto’s and Maria’s house. They saw everything. The moment you fell, Roberto ran to you, braving the flying bullets, the chaotic crying and yelling, running, killing, to drag your body into his house. Maria slipped through the back streets filled with people running with frightened faces and wild eyes and rushed to get me.

I was waiting for you at home, but it was Maria who appeared. Without so many words, she told me to come with her, said something bad had happened.

It was only at her house that I fully understood what had happened. As I saw you there, lying in the middle of the living room, the warm liquid amber children in my heart — the ones we were supposed to have — froze and faded, one by one.

Roberto tried to convince me that we had to bury you fast, immediately, before your body could be found by those who had killed you so recklessly. Roberto said they’d surely take your body by force and bury you with the others in a big hole somewhere. It was not supposed to happen, the killings. No proof should be left behind. They would try to make all traces of the incident disappear.

Maria added that it would be best to bury you as soon as possible in their small backyard protected by high walls on all sides, with no tombstones or any other recognizable marker. Yes, she said, this would be difficult for me, but it would still be better than to lose your remains forever.

"You can always be certain he’s here, Elisabet," Maria said gently. I could not respond immediately. People were still yelling in the streets. Other sounds could be heard — occasional gunshots, running steps, the stomp of boots, heavy vehicles roaring by. Perhaps they’d soon start searching from house to house.

I gazed down at your face, Joao. I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I had lost you and that I had to bury you without a coffin, without a funeral.

Inevitably, in the end, I acquiesced. I was still too much in shock for tears. My hands trembled uncontrollably. I was drenched in cold sweat. I felt weak. Helplessly, I watched as Roberto and Maria furiously dug into the soil under the big old tamarind tree in the backyard. Driven by desperation, the strength and speed of their work was amazing. I could do nothing to help them.

Finally, after wrapping your body with two pieces of tais**, Joao, they lowered you into the hole. We mustered up a hurried version of final prayers, and they filled the hole.

Maria and Roberto leveled the soil evenly so that it would not be a tell-tale mound, and then quickly spread gravel on top of your grave. They had been planning to use the gravel for a small fish pond, but instead, they hung a used tire from a strong branch of the ancient tamarind tree so it dangled exactly over you, Joao. The gravel was now a landing pad for the swing.

Our children could have played there. Maria’s and Roberto’s future children could have taken turns swinging and pushing. Yes, we all wanted our children to carry on our ancestral names, as well as the Portuguese names we would have given them after baptism. But these were dangerous times, too dangerous even to let our bodies dream of becoming pregnant. Without exchanging a word, I saw this in Maria’s and Roberto’s eyes.

The three of us stared in silence at the tire swing hung over the gravel. None of us could bring children into this turbulent world. We simply could not. But for Maria and Roberto, it was not yet time. For me and you, Joao, it would never be. Ah, Joao. We were only trying to be happy.

Now I am back at mother’s. That very night, I had to flee to our village, because they might come after me. For now, it is safer at my mother’s than in the city where they killed you. Maybe. In the mornings, I gaze at the savanna hills where I first saw you sleeping, years ago, and take a deep breath, taking in the smell of dry grass.

My aged mother has been very worried, because four days later, I still haven’t been able to cry. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll finally cry for you, Joao. Maybe.

Jakarta

, September 7, 2004

* the

Santa Cruz

Cemetery

shooting in Dili, Nov. 12, 1991
** traditional Timorese textile

The writer is a psychologist who works with Yayasan Pulih in providing post-conflict trauma counseling.

In the past, it was assumed that a female was simply a male with hormones, says Tracey Shors, a professor of neuroscience at Rutgers University. The truth is the exact opposite. Female is the default brain setting. Until the eighth week of gestation every human fetal brain looks female. The brain, like the rest of the human body, becomes male as a result of surges of testosterone—one during gestation and one shortly after birth.

A team of psychologists from a respectable university has done an analysis of the profile of people in Friendster based on the pictures they upload there.

Some of their findings:

PICTURE OF ONESELF WITH ONE’S PARTNER (close-up):

Means: “Go ahead. Introduce yourself to me, but only if you’re better looking than this one.”

PICTURE OF ONESELF WITH ONE’S PARTNER, ABROAD (Like you can see the

Eiffel

Tower

or the

Niagara Falls

on the background for example):

“Introduce yourself to me, only if you think you’re better looking and better-off than this one.”

PICTURE OF ONESELF WITH ONE’S PARTNER AND CHILDREN, ABROAD:

“Don’t introduce yourself to me, except if you think you’re better looking and better-off than this one, and you can afford to take care of my kids.”

PICTURE OF ONESELF, ALONE, ABROAD:

“Don’t introduce yourself to me, except if you can afford to pay for my tickets to go HERE.”

PICTURE OF ONESELF, ALONE, IN A LOCAL TOURIST DESTINATION (like

Borobudur

, Taman Mini, Dufan, Kuta Bali, etc.):

“I’m very affordable! You wanna take me to

Bali

with a budget airline? Ok!”

PICTURE OF ONESELF WITH FRIENDS:

“At least I have good-looking friends.”

PICTURE OF ONESELF WITH PET:

“At least I am more good-looking than my pet…”

PICTURE OF ONE’S OWN BABY:

“I need to point out to my spouse that I love my kid. If I only put my own picture, s/he’d say: ‘So are you planning to look for a new one in Friendster, huh??’ ”

PICTURE OF A BABY (LITTLE SISTER, NEPHEW / NIECE, A NEIGHBOUR’S KID):

“I wanna get married and have kids soon.”

PICTURE OF ONE’S PET ONLY:

“At least my pet is good-looking…”

PICTURE OF ONESELF IN FRONT OF A CAR:

“At least you won’t need to walk around town.”

PICTURE OF ONESELF FROM SOME YEARS AGO:

“At least I had been a bit good-looking and funky (when I was younger).”

PICTURE OF ONESELF WITH PARTNER, HUGGING:

“Gosh this person, always clinging on me! S/he doesn’t realize I’m bored with him/her already!”

PICTURE OF ONESELF IN FRONT OF A HOUSE, WITH CASUAL / VERY CASUAL OUTFIT (maybe also sporting a broom and / or a duster):

“My master is often out of the house… so the coast is clear!”

PICTURE OF A CARTOON CHARACTER / A CELEBRITY / LOGO OF SOMETHING:

“Do not judge me by the way I look… Don’t… Just DON’T!”

PICTURE OF ONESELF, CLOSE-UP:

“Gosh, I’m good-looking, eh?!”

PICTURE OF ONESELF, ALONE, POSING LIKE A MODEL OF A MAGAZINE COVER:

“Gosh, I’m DAMN good-looking! Ck ck ck ck…”

PICTURE OF ONESELF, ALONE, POSING LIKE A MODEL OF A MAGAZINE COVER, WITH SOFT / BLUR / SEPHIA EFFECT:

“If only I don’t have zits / blemishes / wrinkles, gosh, I’m DAMN good-looking! Ck ck ck ck…”

NO PICTURES, OR THERE IS ONLY ONE PICTURE AND THAT’S A PASSPORT PICTURE AT THAT, AND THEN THE LAST LOG-IN WAS MORE THAN 3 WEEKS AGO:

“I joined Friendster because there’s this friend of mine who kept on bugging me by saying ‘come on, join Friendster, it’s cool!’ and then I’ve actually said ‘Naaah, don’t think I want to’ but this dang friend kept on it and pressed on ‘Ah… come on! Join! The more, the merrier!’ and I’ve said ‘No / don’t want to / don’t have the time’ but that friggin’ friend kept on asking me to join every day so to make him / her stop, I joined and then that’s it, I never opened it anymore.”

SEVERAL OF EXACTLY THE SAME PICTURE:

This person has just newly joined Friendster, so s/he don’t know yet that Friendster can be really slow, so when s/he uploaded a picture s/he went “Huh, how come my picture’s not there yet? Then it failed. So I’ll just have to upload it again…” And then after uploading for the second time: “Huh? Still not there? Let me upload one more time…” And so on…

Telah meninggal dunia karena stroke, pada hari
minggu 30 juli 2006:

Lilian Adi Nasution (Adi Kebo)

ex Psikologi UI angkatan 85. Dimakamkan 31 juli
2006 jam 12 di menteng pulo.

Beliau inilah yang melatih angkatan gue untuk
pentas IBD.

He’s such a funny guy.

Dia yang ngajarin kami Yell Guys versi "urat malu
putus", supaya kita-kita nggak malu pentas
dengan gaya yang malu-maluin banget.

Dia juga ngajarin kami meditasi visualisasi
sebelum mentas.

Dia salah satu orang paling intuitif yang pernah gue
kenal.

Dan baru sekarang gue tahu, nama depannya
Lilian…

Dia juga yang bilang:
"psikologi yang di ruang kelas itu paling-paling
cuma mencakup 10% dari ruang lingkup psikologi.
Kalau mau betul-betul belajar psikologi, keluar dari
kelas juga dong. Belajar di kehidupan nyata. Dan
baca buku banyak-banyak."

How true.

May he rest in peace…
————————————-
::ibunyaima::

Nambahin obituarinya Nelden:
Sempat pada suatu hari, pada saat kita mau
latihan IBD di UI Salemba, dan baru gw, dia, dan 1-
2 orang lagi hadir, dia punya ide gila: ngintip otopsi
yuk!

Dan mengendap2lah kita di FK, lewat kamar
mayat, dan entah gimana ceritanya kita bisa ikut
ngintip beberapa ko-as yg lagi praktek dgn
cadaver. Pas pulang dia nanya: "Puas lihat bedah
mayatnya?" Saat kita semua bilang betapa ngeri,
jijik, mau muntah.. dia bilang "Oh, kalian lihat
mayatnya ya? Gue sih LIHAT KO-ASNYA YANG
CANTIK"

Yup! He was a funny guy!

Dia yang bikin Pentas IBD kami jadi (meminjam
istilah seorang teman yg gw lupa
siapa) "sendragurau", bukan sekedar "sendratari"
seperti fakultas2 lain..

Vaya con Dios!