Mas Buruh, Sadar Dikit Dong

Jlebb....

Demikian bunyi hati saya saat membaca artikel Kompasiana ini, yang menyatakan buruh Indonesia meminta gaji 4 juta rupiah. Dari nominalnya saja saya sudah sakit hati, apalagi saat baca perinciannya. Saya jadi tergelitik membandingkan nilai tersebut dengan saat saya bekerja di Jakarta (saat masih menjadi mahasiswa):

1. Perumahan 

Buruh: Uang sewa rumah 3 petak (Rp 750,000)

Saya: Kamar mungil 1 petak di kawasan mahal dekat kampus yang hanya berisi kasur dan lemari. Plus AC (Rp 750,000) 

Buruh: 30 item perabotan rumah termasuk kasur, dipan, sprei, meja, lemari, dispenser, mesin cuci, kipas angin, perlengkapan makan  (Rp 300,000)

Saya: kasur+dipan+lemari+AC+cuci baju dari kos, sprei+dispenser+kipas angin+peralatan makan punya ortu/dikasi teman (Rp 0)

Buruh: Biaya listrik 900 VA Rp. 100 ribu dan air PAM untuk keperluan mandi dan rumah tangga Rp.100 ribu (Rp 200,000)

Saya: Listrik dan PAM sudah include di kos. Dan karena pekerjaan saya, biasanya saya cuma pakai air mandi pagi/malam, jadi tidak banyak (Rp 0)

Total: Buruh Rp 1,250,000; Saya Rp 750,000

2. Transportasi

- Buruh: Dua kali naik angkutan umum (PP), hitungannya 2 x Rp. 3.000 PP = Rp. 12.000. TransJakarta (PP) = Rp7.000. (Rp 570,000)

- Saya: Karena pekerjaan tidak tentu, saya menganggarkan 20,000 per hari untuk angkutan umum, kalau ada lebih bahkan bisa pakai taxi. (Rp 500,000)

3. Makanan dan Minuman

Buruh: Makan pagi (nasi uduk telor) Rp. 5.000 x 30 hari = Rp. 150 ribu. Makan siang (nasi soto) Rp. 9.000 x 30 hari = Rp. 270 ribu. Makan malam (nasi goreng) Rp. 8.000 x 30 hari = Rp. 240 ribu. Buah-buahan Rp. 100 ribu. (Rp. 560,000)

Saya: Total budget makan per hari Rp 15,000. Buah-buahan kalau pas ada uang lebih. (Rp 450,000)

Buruh: Minuman : 1x minum teh Rp. 2.000 x 30 hari = Rp. 60.000,-; 1x minum kopi Rp. 2.500 x 30 hari = Rp. 75 ribu; Aqua Rp. 3.000 x 30 hari = Rp. 90 ribu; Susu Rp. 2.500 x 30 hari = Rp. 75 ribu, (Rp 300,000)

Saya: Aqua galon Rp 11,000 per minggu, Teh celup sekotak (isi 25) Rp 4,000, budget kopi sachet Rp 2000 per minggu. Susu kalau ada uang lebih (Rp 56,000)

Buruh: tidak pake gas (Rp 0)

Saya: pake gas kaleng kecil (Rp 14,000)

Total: Buruh Rp 860,000; Saya Rp 520,000

4. Sandang

Buruh: pakaian, celana, kaos, sepatu, kemeja, handuk, perlengkapan badan, jam tangan, jam dinding, tas kerja dan lainnya (Rp. 300,000)

Saya: Belanja baju setahun Rp 360,000 (Rp 30,000 per bulan)

5. Pendidikan

Buruh: Beli koran atau tabloid (Rp 15,000)

Saya: Baca di hape, dengan pulsa internet (Rp 25,000)

6. Kesehatan

Buruh: Sabun, pasta gigi, bedak, deodorant, sampo, suplemen obat, potong rambut dan lainnya (Rp 150,000)

Saya: Rp 50,000 

7. Rekreasi dan tabungan

Buruh: (3 persen dari total) Rp. 100.000,-

Saya: Tidak ada jumlah pasti (Rp 0)

Total buruh: Rp 3,170,000

Total saya: Rp 1,875,000

FYI, gaji saya saat itu Rp 2,300,000; jadi saya masih ada surplus sekitar 400,000an. 

Serius, agak heran aja sih klo di daerah pabrik yang penduduknya mayoritas punya upah minimum biaya perumahan lebih mahal daripada di daerah kampus menterengnya Jakarta. Saya di Trisakti bow, kanan-kiri mall. Yang setara/lebih mahal dari perumahan buruh ini biasanya yang kos-an lebih bergengsi atau apartemen sekalian. Bea makan/minum, sandang dan kesehatannya juga ga masuk akal. Rp 150,000 itu biaya sabun etc plus deterjen dan sabun cuci piring untuk saya sekeluarga (ber 8) di Bali. Tiap hari bisa minum teh, kopi, dan susu itu fantastis banget buat saya, karena banyak banget masyarakat menengah Indonesia yang cukup hepi bisa ngopi sekali sehari. Beli buah potong Rp 1,000 perbiji perhari jatuhnya cuma 30,000; dan itu juga luxury untuk kebanyakan kelas menengah Indonesia. Dan budget baju Rp 300,000 perbulan? Buset deh, ini setara dengan budget baju temen saya yang kerja di resort mewah di Bali yang memang kudu cakep menawan. 

Di Amerika juga ada yang kaya gini, beberapa penerima bantuan nutrisi pemerintah (alias food stamp) bilang dana yang dikasi ga cukup buat mereka makan layak. Pas ditanya mereka belanja apa aja, ternyata mereka belanja makanan instan yang tinggal masak (sosis, nuget etc) yang bermerk dan salad kantongan etc. Ini jatuhnya jauh lebih mahal daripada beli n masak dari bahan mentah. Jadi untuk orang-orang ini masalahnya bukan uangnya yang ga cukup, tapi merekanya yang dodol n ga bisa belanja. Saya jadi mikir apa ini juga masalah para buruh ini, karena mereka yang ga ngerti nyari harga yang semurah-murahnya. Rasanya miris aja, saya yang berinvestasi di pendidikan harus morat-marit belanja yang semurah-murahnya biar bisa hidup (boro-boro nabung), sementara buruh-buruh ini bisa tinggal demo dan minta naik gaji. Yang lebih miris lagi adalah didalam biaya-biaya ini yang tak tertulis adalah biaya rokok. Kalau 1 pak rokok Rp 15,000 dan mereka bisa habis 1 pak sehari, total sebulan mereka habis Rp 450,000. Belum lagi miras etc. Ga adil aja rasanya kita konsumen yang harus nanggung bea "foya-foya" mereka. 

Di Indonesia, segala hal bikin harga naik, kita tuh ga stabil banget. Hari Raya, harga-harga naik. Akhir Tahun, harga-harga naik. Harga BBM "konon akan" naik, harga-harga naik. Harga BBM beneran naik, harga tambah naik. Kalau si buruh ini beneran dikasi sekian juta per bulan, saya yakin banget harga-harga di sekitar mereka juga naik, jadi akhirnya yang untung ya pedagang/pemain besar dan mereka tetep buntung. Kok ya gampang banget dibodohi ya...? 

Saya bukannya anti kesejahteraan wong cilik, banyak kok buruh yang memang patut dibela, yang kerjanya di kondisi tidak layak dan gajinya sedemikian kecil hingga mereka bisa dibilang kerja rodi disitu. Buruh-buruh inilah yang patut ditolong dan diselamatkan. Tapi orang-orang yang nge-demo dan bikin macet jalan, yang mengancam dan/atau melakukan tindak kekerasan terhadap orang lain yang dianggap menghambat atau tidak seideologi dengan mereka, yang dengan pedenya menuntut kesejahteraan sambil membawa hape mahal dan menghisap rokok tanpa henti, sori-sori aja ya. Kalau saya bisa hidup nyaman dengan gaji segitu, harusnya anda-anda juga bisa. 

UPDATE: omigod mereka punya Kawasaki Ninja 250 cc. OMIGOD!!! Saya ingat jaman dulu mantan pacar saya susah payah biar bisa beli CBR nya, padahal keluarga dia cukup mampu. Dan orang-orang ini punya Kawasaki Ninja 250 cc. OMIGOD!!!! Buat yang mau protes dan bilang mereka tidak "mencerminkan" atau tidak merepresentasikan buruh, tolong tutup mulut dan segera seret orang-orang ini keluar dari grup anda sebelum mereka makin bikin masyarakat luas tambah tidak menyukai buruh secara umum. Sulit bagi kami kaum menengah untuk bersimpati dengan anda para "wong cilik" saat kami harus mpot-mpotan bayar cicilan motor bebek/motor matik selama minimal dua tahun dengan porsi yang cukup besar dari gaji kami dan anda sanggup mencicil moge. Kalau anda mau simpati saya, tolong beri saya alasany yang bagus. OMIGOD!!!!

Don't Blame Us For Achieving Things

The excerpt:
- Asian Student to Parents: People at middle school/grade school are saying I need to take this test prep class to get into a good high school, but it costs a lot of money, can I take it?

- Parents in response to question: Of course, we will find the money. (While, in their minds they are thinking: I have no idea how to find the money, but I can work more hours, pick up another job, or wear my beat up shoes for another year, it doesn't matter, this is more important, and I don't even need evidence from my kid to show that it will help.)

- Student back to parents: Okay, I can help pay for it too.

- Parents response: No, you just study.

Read the article that prompted the comments here, and read the full comment here

Hard work IS NOT being discriminating towards other people. Hard work DOES NOT "highlight" racial divide. The world is not an understanding place, and in order to make it in this world you have to show your best effort. The world does not care about your skin color, religion, nationality and such. You can get a job or make your own business, you may or may not got leverage from your family, but in the end what matter is your own effort, your own hard work. The world will not wait till you understand all its rules, it will not wait till you are familiar to all it has to offer.

It's discouraging to read things like this. I had to work hard to get a good school, and I remember my parents go [almost] broke to provide us with school fees and reading materials. It pays off. Yet here, people like me actually get criticized for "working hard". Or to be exact, the system was being criticized. It is hardly fair for people who cannot (or would not) spend the additional time of studying or investing in their child's education, but let's face it, life is never fair. Even if it's change into another test, there will be someone or a group of people who somehow aced it. And then what? Change the test again? Cry foul?

It is one thing to not able to get a job or decent education because of a certain characteristic of yourself (i.e skin color, race, religion, sexual view, etc). It is another thing to not able to get a job or decent education because other did better than you, and then blame the achiever. Stop being so racist guys.

I Love My Curves. Now Shut Up.

No sweet treats, just bitter malicious letter from "concerned" neighbor

I hate you.
Like, I really really hate you.

You reminded me of all those people that constantly reminding me that I would look prettier if I shed some pounds. As if the inches I lost on my waist line will significantly correlates in reverse to the number of boys that ask my phone number. That the skinnier I am the more attractive I would be, and thus, the easier my life would be.

Oh I was there, trust me I was there. Working out so intently, cutting up my food and such, seeing how I lost the inches and able to wear thin-size dresses and shirts and jeans that I thought I would never ever had the chance to use. I loved myself, the chubby curved me, and it felt so weird to wander with a lot less lump on my chest and the saggy feeling on my behind. Yet it was awesome to finally able to use that low v-neck shirt effortlessly, and how everyone compliment me and say I did a good job with my weight loss as if it's the greatest thing I could do and give for myself. But you know what? Getting a date was still difficult. Making friends was still hard. I didn't turn into this cool desirable chick, nor become a heroine in a fancy story. I was still me, a few pounds less.

You and people like you have this imagery, this concept of what people should be, according to you. You went all the way on your crusade to make sure this concept of yours being implemented. You want your perfect world and you go all out even if you have to force people against their will. It doesn't matter if other people have their opinion, or have a story on why they are themselves. It doesn't matter if the "change" was not all they favor for. All you see is if it's not according to your standard, you will wreak havoc. All you wanted to see is everything goes according to what you wanted them to be. You are Ms. Pariah in Elvira, Mirstress of The Dark. You are Mrs. Busybody in Enid Blyton's stories. You are Chet in Weird Science. You are hideous.

My body size and shape does not meddle with my brain. It does not hinder my ability to think, my sense of humor, my compassion for others. It does not made me a better lover or a better friend, or a better person all round. If you think my health is bad due to my body shape, come and speak to me in person, state your case and tell me why the hell you think it is a good idea to made me change my shape. I'll tell you a secret: if it doesn't directly affected you and endanger you, I wouldn't even give a sh**. If I am your work partner and we did a lot of strenuous activities together, then yes, I would be happy or at least understanding on your concern to my body size because it might affect our work. But if you and I share the same office shapes with about 20 other people each in our own cubicle, then don't even think to come near me to say I look better if I shed a few inches.

I don't want to lose a few pounds. I don't want to shed a few inches. I don't want to be fairer. I don't want to have bigger breasts or plumper butt. I don't want to have straight hair. I don't want to change how I think, how I am. Maybe I would, but if I did it would be for my own reasons and not to satisfy your OCD for your "perfect world". Change yourself if you need to, if you want to, but leave me alone. Leave me f***ing alone. You don't know me. Don't judge me. Don't violate me.

Nuts, Sweets, Festivities: What Dreams are Made Of

We went grocery shopping last night, and our supermarket just stocked some nuts. You know the sorts: hazelnuts, walnuts, peanuts, almonds, etc. What really stoked me was that they also have the nuts in the shells. The nuts in the shells. For the first time in my life I saw what an almond looked like in its shell, and the little round hazelnuts that I so often see depicted in the sachet of my instant coffee in Indonesia, and of course the roundish wrinkled walnuts. I remember looking at them, touching them, and felt like on the verge of crying.

But that was not all. In anticipation for the holiday season, the supermarket's bakery section was chock filled with various goods: pumpkin pies, cherry pies, apple pies, the thin versions, the one piled high with whipped creams, any kind of pies that you can imagine; stacks and stacks of cookies with colorful icing on it; slices of cheese cakes and full carrot cakes and other type of cakes; decorated butter cream cakes with frankestein face and some cute fluffy monsters, all in different colors and styles; packs and packs of cupcakes with delicious icing on top, chocolate white green yellow and all sort of colors; and candies, endless rows of candies. Last night was probably THE best night of my life here in US.

My first banana split

To an [adult] American, I probably looked foolish. Holidays come and go here, and probably only children shared my excitement about the holiday season and the treats to come. I grew with it. From my forever sunny country I grew (and learned my English) with tales of Christmas, of tables laden with delicious meals and pies and small cakes and puddings, of winter stories where everyone huddled for warmth, of the nutcrackers and Christmas candies and how children and squirrel eat their nuts from the shell. All the stories and European folklore I grew up with told about the rich savory meals and the delicious sweets, their adventures were awesome and their stories were powerful, but the depiction of the meals was what seemed so real and so relatable to me. I would probably feels the same when I see a real castle and/or a real royal horse and/or a real princess/prince in the old days costume complete with air of grace and royalty, but for now it was the food, the glorious food.

The real treat is, of course, not the food itself. The real treat is realizing that the thing you can only see as fiction is indeed verily real. I had a candy cane before in Indonesia, as well as Christmas tree and even a full set of Santa's cabin in the "snow" with "snow" falling on it. I remember being so happy and ecstatic, yet it didn't feel right. There was something amiss there. The snow, the candy, the little deer ornaments on the Christmas tree, these were all fascinating, but they don't belong there. They don't belong in the tropical paradise, they belong to four seasons countries. And I thought I would live all my life without tasting what fresh blueberries taste like (they're delicious!) and what a joy freshly baked banana bread would be (my husband made the best ever!). But they're real. Everything that I have read, all the things that filled my childhood with wonder and amazement, all the emotion stirred in the stories and how I imagined them to be, they are real. Just as the cold weather told in Fall and winter stories, they are too, frighteningly real.  

My husband once asked me, what impresses me the most about US. I said it was the tap water, that we can actually drink right from the tap. Last night he jokingly said he couldn't fathom that after all the things he showed to impress me in US, I was instead ecstatic about tap water and nuts. I felt kind of bad, but to me that is what dreams are made of. People so often took for granted things in their daily life, things that they are so accustomed to. But to others, to people who do not lived the way they do or even think the way they do, those things might be an exciting experience to itself. I remember my husband smile as he waited patiently for me to checked the cookies and cakes display in the supermarket's bakery, and how he offered me to buy a bag of mixed nuts and the nutcracker. I declined though, thinking the nutcracker is a monstrous hammer-like thing the size of a nutcracker soldier doll; how surprised I was when he showed me the nutcracker was only the size of letter L keys, and I laughed and laughed like crazy there. I am glad he had the patience and open-mind to be joyful and excited with my new "discoveries", instead of being angry and confuse and say "It's just some walnuts, get over it!".

Every night it grew colder here, and the mornings seemed to come really late. I snuggled happily in my bed with my husband next to me, and the thought of having his homemade warm hot pancakes with syrup for breakfast makes me all happy and joyful. This is just like the story book. This is what dreams are made of.    

I Miss My Safe Land

I felt the cold metal pressing me from every direction
Round cylinders with quick death, ready to sprung
I found myself cowering in fear
And trembling with rage, pure hot rage

Where does my freedom go?
My sense of safety, my freedom to live
Death was a friend, an end that can't be missed
Yet here, it was casually dispensed

I felt the poison drowning me in my blood
And the smoke fill up my lungs
I found myself struggling to fight the drug effect
And have control, full control of myself

Where does my consciousness go?
My awareness and sharp reflexes, the soberness needed to live
Death was inevitable for those who lost control of themselves
Yet here, they happily go blind

I felt the demands crushing my existence
Trivial complaints and careless thoughts, ignorance all round
I found myself wanted to yell and shake them off
And made them see how big the world really is

Where does my patience go?
My respect for other human, the sense of kinship and good for mankind
Death would come, thus we need to make life counts
Yet here, everyone is alone even in numbers

I miss my safe land without guns
I miss my safe land without drugs
I miss my safe land without ignorance
I miss my safe land where I belong

Dear Amanda, Sorry They Hurt You Again

Dear Amanda,

Sorry they hurt you again. In the olden days, when you are dead, you are dead. Today, even when you are dead one can still find your picture and defile you with harsh, foul words. I am glad you can't relate to that anymore, but I know how hurtful it must have been for people who knew you. It hurts me too, and I don't even know you.

It hurts to see your face attached to Kurt Cobain's, with a tagline that suggested that people should know him and not you. Why, I wonder. Why compare a long-dead musician who killed himself due to depression with a little girl that killed herself due to hateful bullying? One killed himself because he can't handle the "love", one killed herself because she can't handle the hate. It's not even a comparison. He's a person they never met before, an idol that is alleviate to god-like place just because he is dead in the peak of his career. But you, dear Amanda, you can be their sister, their niece, their friends. You can be someone close to them, someone that they care and love, and your death can devastate them more thoroughly than a person who they never met before. 

It hurts to see your photo used that way, as a cheap trick to illustrate a girl's disinformation about the so-called fabled band of Nirvana. A band that most of the children in your generation probably never even heard about, nothing but a mere "cool brand" to emphasize how cool they are, just like the brands of shoes and clothes they are wearing. Why not choose other musician, a notably terrible one from your generation? Surely there are aplenty. Or choose a male actor, one who is equally lousy yet famous. Those too are also aplenty. Why do they have to use your photo, Amanda? Why do they have to treat your death as something irrelevant, as something trivial and subject to ridicule? The moment you were born in this world, you changed it. It may be insignificant to some, and fully unrecognizable by others, but you changed it. We all changed the world we live in, and so have you. 

It hurts me most to see people commenting hurtful things about you: 

These are people who somehow think they are better than you. These are people who do not stop hurting you even after your death. These are people that think they are so fine and you are just a worthless junk. These are people who thinks they can do no wrong. I want them to walk in your shoe, I dearly hope they can walk in your shoe before they said these things, and see how they fare. But nobody can truly understand how you feel, your agony and pain, your humiliation and loneliness. And nobody can bring you back to life, not even if these people blessed with an epiphany of how you suffer throughout your days.

I often wonder Amanda, what kind of people who taunt you and pushed you so hard that you had to take your own life. What kind of sick person that take glee in hurting someone else, that think you worth less than they are? But I probably should have understand. As you can see I was called a dumb bitch just because I mistakenly stated in my comment that Kurt Cobain died from overdose, just because of that trivial reason. And you, dear Amanda, you have to live with far, far, far worse than that. These are the people that took you away, Amanda. People who are high and mighty and think they are better than others, and thus have all the right to hurt and disrespect other people. People who cast judgement and "punishment" without understanding what happened. People who satiated their hunger for power by hurting and oppressing other people, and take delight from other's defeats and ruins. These are the people who took you away from us, and they will take more away.

I too, am one of them. I cast my judgement upon these people, these monsters who had no respect for a deceased girl. I wanted to hurt them, to called them names and disrespect them just as they disrespect you. I want them to feel the agony and humiliation that you feel and let them realize how insignificant they are, how worthless they are. But what will happen afterwards? Will I get satisfaction, will I get addicted to that feeling, will I be another bully in the playground? These people too, are special for someone else. These people too, have changed the world we live in. These people too, are humans like you and I. And even if they do not deserved the respect, you do. That is why I erase their names, and other names in the pictures. You deserve that respect. 

The bullying must stop. The hurting must stop. And it must stop now.

But for now, rest in peace dear Amanda. Rest in peace.

More about bullying:

I Am Not Special

It's Hard to be Different

The Parents' Prose: In memory of Rebecca Sedwick

I Am Not Special

The best lesson that Life has taught me is that I am not special.

There will always be people taller/shorter than me
There will always be people smarter/dumber than me
There will always be people who have more/less than me
There will always be people more attractive/less attractive than me
There will always be people faster/slower than me
There will always be people kinder/meaner than me
There will always be people funnier/sadder than me
There will always be people who know more/less than me
There will always be people who communicate better/worse than me
There will always be people who get what I want but couldn't have, and
There will always be people who wanted what I got but couldn't have

Therefore, I am not special. There will always be someone who bests me, both in being best and being worse.

The dark wavy hair that my family shares
The exotic face and skin color that my sub-race shares
The knowledge of life that my nation shares
The laughter that people share
The grief and tears that people shed
The lost of love, the finding of love, the decision to live, the struggle and strive to live
The pain and joy and fear and glee, the anxiety and calmness and depression and elation
The discovery and the loss, the long waiting and the quick reward
The trial, the error, the experience
All of these shared by other people
Amplified in some, downplayed in others

Therefore, I am not special. There will always be someone who looks or thinks or feels like me, I see a part of me in every human being.

But Life has also taught me that I am indeed special.
There are no two things in this world that are identical from one another
Not even if it comes from the same mold
Not even if it looks like a perfect copy to a human's eyes
Just like snowflakes and human's twins
Therefore, I am special

My thoughts, which also thought by many other human to some degree, are mine and mine alone
My emotions, which also felt by many other human to some degree, are mine and mine alone
My physical characteristic, which also exist in many other human to some degree, are mine and mine alone
My skills and abilities, which also present in many other human to some degree, are mine and mine alone
My choices and decisions, which also made by many other human to some degree, are mine and mine alone
My life and how I live it are mine and mine alone
Just as a flower: the soil that nurtured me, the seed that sprouted me, the climate that surrounded me,
All together made me who I am, and no flowers are exactly the same
I am who I am, the one and only me
Therefore, I am special

In this world I am not special because everybody, including myself, is special
I couldn't raise myself and look down on them, because they have something I don't have
A piece of them that is different than mine, a piece of them that is more than mine, be it better or worse
They couldn't raise himself and look down on me, because I have something they don't have
A piece of me that is different than theirs, a piece of me that is more than theirs, be it better or worse
We are not special, because each and every one of us is special

We are but a drop of water in the ocean
Each with story to tell on how he/she get there, and the journey that they take
Each has different shapes and different number of atoms, each is unique and one of a kind
Together these drops create the ocean where the sea-animals live
Together these drops made the waves that corrode the rocks
Together these drops made life, sustained life, or destroyed it
Each is special, and uniquely themselves
Each is precious

I am not special, and neither are you.
Yet I am also special, and so are you
And in this sea of life, I am glad I met someone special like you
I am glad that I met you

Seorang Diri di Amerika

Nongkrong di pelabuhan/marina ngeliat kucing jalan-jalan

Apa rasanya tinggal di Amerika? Konon keren, apalagi kalau tinggal ga jauh dari Hollywood. Konon beradab juga, dan semua-mua terjamin dan aman. Konon katanya.

Hampir 4 bulan saya tinggal di Amerika, dan saya hampir-hampir ga ngeh kalau saya sudah bukan di Indonesia. Mungkin saya saja yang katro, yang alam bawah sadarnya menolak mengakui kalau sekarang saya di negeri orang dan butuh nyaris 24 jam untuk terbang pulang ke Indonesia, tapi buat saya benar-benar ga ada bedanya. Siang hari (dan terkadang malam) saya mendengar orang lewat berbicara dalam bahasa Inggris atau bahasa Spanyolnya Meksiko, dan rasanya itu wajar banget. Ga parno atau bingung, ibaratnya saya cuma lagi di daerah di Indonesia yang bahasanya beda. Kadang saat saya belanja ke supermarket dan ketemu orang kulit putih di parkiran mobil atau di area supermarket yang kosong/sepi saya bakalan bingung dan berpikir: ini bule ngapain disini? Atau saat-saat saya sibuk berceloteh atau bersms dengan suami saya, dan saya jadi eneg sendiri: ngapain sih gue sok bule sms an/ngomong pakai bahasa Inggris??

Saya paling sering tersadar bahwa saya bukan di Indonesia lagi kalau berhadapan dengan makanan. Saat suami memasak pasta atau sandwich untuk makan malam misalnya, atau menu barat lainnya yang isinya hampir semua karbohidrat dan daging, saya akan terbengong sedih dan meratap dalam hati: mana sayurnya? Atau saat saya menyadari saya ga bisa seenaknya menghabiskan indomie yang ada di lemari dapur, karena kalau habis susah nyarinya. Harga Indomie disini ga mahal, cuma sekitar 39 sen atawa Rp 4000 perbungkus, tapi nyari toko Indonesia disini yang susah. Atau saat menyadari kalau disini ga bisa pagi-pagi pergi ke dagang sayur dan beli bumbu masak plus daging etc, karena disini yang jual sayur tiap hari cuma di supermarket. Ibaratnya kalau mau belanja pilihannya cuma Giant Carrefour dan kawan kawan. Dan bumbu rempahnya? Jangan tanya... botolan semua.

Banyak hal yang disini lebih cihui daripada di Indonesia. Perpustakaannya, misalnya. Saya tinggal tidak jauh dari perpustakaan yang cukup besar, dan rasanya puas banget bisa kesana dan membaca berbagai buku. Selesai sudah petualangan saya nyolong-nyolong baca buku di Gramedia dan Gunung Agung. Museum-museum dan taman-tamannya juga keren habis, dan terjaga plus tertata rapi. Suami saya suka bingung kalau saya takjub melihat mainan anak-anak (ayunan, jungkat-jungkit, seluncuran, etc) yang tertata rapi di taman, modelnya seperti istana mainan di McDonald atau KFC, dan hampir tiap taman punya benda ini, kadang 2 set sekaligus atau lebih. Saya cuma terharu membayangkan apa kata keponakan kecil saya kalau melihat tempat bermain sekeren dan selengkap ini, karena di Jakarta atau Bali cuma sekolah-sekolah yang super oke saja yang punya benda-benda seperti ini. Air minum juga mudah didapat, karena hampir semua tempat publik termasuk supermarket punya pancuran air minum dan air keran disini aman untuk diminum. Selesai sudah bolak-balik mengangkat galon air ke toko atau tempat air isi ulang. Polisi disini bisa dipanggil dengan mudah via 911, dan semua lalu lintas disini tandanya jelas dan mudah dimengerti. Semua serba teratur dan nyaman.

Si Akang mo ngejar speedboat ceritanya. Yup, ini foto nikah kita :D

Tapi tidak selalu semua aman dan nyaman. Ada daerah-daerah disini yang dianggap rawan dan berbahaya, dan kecintaan orang sini terhadap senjata api juga bikin was-was. Kemarin kami melihat seorang ABG menakut-nakuti ABG lainnya dengan senapan dari jendela kamarnya. Saya dengan cueknya berjalan terus, karena kalau di Indonesia benda itu pastinya palsu; lagipula siapa pula yang berani menembak secara random, mau rumahnya dibakar massa apa? Suami saya langsung menarik saya dan menelpon 911, saat itu saya baru tersadar kalau saya bukan di Indonesia, disini orang-orang berhak menembak dengan alasan "membela diri" dan bahkan tidak ragu menembak di muka umum. 2 menit kemudia dua mobil polisi datang dengan kecepatan tinggi, plus sebuah helikopter yang berputar-putar diatas lokasi. Serasa GTA euy. Malamnya saat kami mengunjungi restoran Meksiko kami melihat segerombolan anak muda dengan Porsche kuning mereka, dan suami saya memutuskan untuk mencari tempat lain karena ia khawatir gerombolan anak muda ini anggota geng dan kita bisa terlibat baku tembak disitu. Waduh. 

Disini hukum kuat, tapi bisa dicari celahnya dengan pengacara yang pintar. Ada pengacara yang beragumen bahwa kliennya terlalu mabuk untuk menyadari dia menabrak mobil lain dan menewaskan pengendara mobil tersebut, jadi ia tidak bisa dijerat pasal pembunuhan. Ada juga yang bilang kliennya memiliki ADHD jadi tidak tahu konsekuensi jangka panjang bahwa menembak orang lain itu salah. Yang paling mengherankan: seorang pria yang mengupload pengakuan diri bahwa ia menabrak orang sampai mati saat mabuk, lalu menyatakan "tidak bersalah" di pengadilan karena secara legal ia bisa melakukan itu. Disini juga ada untouchable model di Indonesia, misalnya saja kasus perkosaan di kota Maryville yang konon tidak diusut karena pelakunya anak pejabat. Atau perkosaan oleh atlit football di Steubenville (secara garis besar atlit football mereka dianggap setengah dewa). Ada juga orang-orang buangan, yang kalau di Indonesia modelnya pengemis dan pemulung, misalnya saja kasus anak muda ini yang ditemukan mati dengan kondisi mencurigakan dan setelah otopsi organ dalamnya terbuang dan diganti dengan koran bekas. 

Apapun ras, kebangsaan, atau agamanya, saya menemukan kalau orang ya tetep orang. Sama saja semua: ada yang baik, ada yang rese, ada yang bodoh, ada yang pintar, ada yang egois, ada yang pengertian, ga ada bedanya antara orang sini dan di Indonesia. Kalaupun ada bedanya, yang paling terasa adalah kemandirian orang Indonesia secara umum. Orang sini yang mampu (dan ceritanya sadar kesehatan) lebih memilih membeli air botolan yang mahal, karena minum air keran itu ga keren. Yang kurang mampu hobi minum soda karena harganya lebih murah dari air botolan. Saya beli botol minum dan mengisinya dengan air keran, habis perkara. Air ya air menurut saya, bisa diminum saja sudah bagus. Petugas di konter daging di supermarket langganan saya terbengong saat saya membeli daging potongan besar, dia bilang jarang ada orang yang membeli daging seperti itu dan kebanyakan memilih yang sudah terpotong rapi dan dipaketkan. FYI, harga daging potongan besar dan yang terpotong siap masak itu bedanya bisa $5-$7 per pon nya (1 pon kurang lebih 1/2 kg), lebih baik repot sedikit memotong daging besar jadi beberapa bagian dan menyimpannya di freezer. Saya tidak perlu pusing lagi memkikirkan beli daging seminggu kedepan. Hal-hal kecil ini yang seringkali tidak disadari orang sini, karena terbiasa dimanja dengan berbagai kemudahan. Bayangkan saja, satu kali saya menemukan bawang putih halus yang dibekukan, benda ini disimpan dalam kotak-kotak kecil seperti dalam kotak es batu, jadi kalau mau masak tinggal dipencet keluar saja. Ya ampun, bikin pake blender juga bisa kaleee.....!!!

Menulis ini membuat saya kangen rumah saya di Indonesia. Kangen masakan ibu saya, kangen jajan di pasar atau di kaki lima saat malam hari, kangen hidup tanpa aturan yang mengekang. Disini sampai main bola saat istirahat saja dilarang di sekolah, dan beribu aturan lainnya yang konon membuat hidup orang sini lebih baik, tapi tetap saja terjadi tuntut-menuntut dimana-mana. Orang bilang saya disini adalah kesempatan hebat untuk membuat hidup saya lebih baik. Mungkin. Saya harus mengakui bahwa walau biaya hidup disini tinggi, kemungkinan saya bisa menabung lebih besar daripada saat saya tinggal dan bekerja di Indonesia. Tapi buat orang yang bilang saya hebat karena bisa tinggal di Amerika karena ini negara hebat, sori sori ya mas/mbak. Indonesia tidak kalah hebat kok dengan Amerika. Banyak hal yang Amerika lebih maju dari kita, tapi banyak juga kebijakan dan kebajikan Indonesia yang bikin kita lebih hebat daripada mereka. Indonesia tetap tanah air saya, tetap tempat yang saya cintai, sampai kapanpun jua. Yaaaaaaaaaay, Hidup Indonesia!!!

Survivors, not Losers: The Art of Understanding Poverty

Vegetable garden

In Indonesia we have a reality TV show called "Jika Aku Menjadi" or translated to "If I were a....". The show would have a young pretty city girl who would be thrown to live a life for a few days with a presumably poor man/woman with arduous job. The cameras will shoot the girls cracking rocks or collecting cajuput bark or selling home-made cheap snacks and all the hardship their host endure daily, including the almost-non-existent-and-usually-inedible food. At some point during the girls would always cried and said things of how pitiful their hosts' life is and they are very sorry for them and they wish them all happiness and an easier life in the future. And they would leave some money or gift afterwards at the end of the show. The funny thing is, as these city girls woe for their host's life their hosts usually will consoled them instead and looked just perfectly fine with their life. Don't you think it is fucked up? Don't you think it is so amazingly weird?

The truth of the matter is not everyone is unhappy with their life, no matter how hard it is. I wouldn't doubt the hosts' life were hard, but they probably didn't even feel that hard until some A-holes come around and say: 'Oh what a pitiful life you have you poor old old crone!'. Imagine taking buses all of your life, and you feel grateful that you earn enough to take the bus to work instead of walking all the way to it; then a person came to you and say: "You take the bus?! Oh honey the bus takes hour to get from your place to here and so unreliable and dangerous, you should use a car instead!" Imagine how you feel the next morning as you walk to bus stop: bitter resentment because you don't have a car and have to get up and go at 7 am for a 9 am shift when you can easily go at 8.30 instead with a car, and every time the bus stops to take passengers you mouthing silently "C'mon muthafucka I'm gonna be fucking late!", and when you come home at night you got all jumpy and see every other passengers as potential robber/rapist/criminal. To think that the other day you were so happy to be able to take buses, that you don't have to walk everywhere, that you have the driver's protection if necessary instead of going solo and so open at the road at night. To think that the other day you were content. Yes, compassion kills. 

Do you know what poverty is? It is more than just a skeleton-like child dying from hunger, it is more than just inability to eat decent food and get clean water, it is more than just statistic of living with $1 or less per day. Poverty is when you have 2 instant noodles worth 10 cent each for your family of 4 and called it a treat, and later all died because for some reason the noodles were contaminated. Poverty is when a 70 year old man died from shock when knowing his government assistance money of $30 was already claimed by someone, he was going to use the money to commemorate his decease wife's. Poverty is when a college student seriously think to be a prostitute just to be able to pay her tuition fee, as her education was the only chance she has for a better life. Poverty is when going to school is a luxury, and graduating from it was a miracle. Poverty is looking at your children and knowing for sure they would end up just like you, no education or other means of salvation to cut your children off of your horrible circle of life. Poverty is knowing no future lies ahead of you, no dreams to dream, no sweet hope to hold on to. That's what poverty is. 

What $1 lunch in Denpasar, Bali look like: 

Rice, veggies, a slice of meat, fried eggplant, and nut crackers

Yes, this is a luxury to some in Bali and many in Indonesia

Cut the crap, the tears, the 'politically-correct' language. Stop telling the poor that they are poor and you are sorry for them. Instead, think of them highly and appreciate their struggle. Don't weep and moan about their lack of food and decent life, stop looking at them that way. Stop looking at them with your sorry look just because you think they are deprived of the nice comfortable things you have. They are survivors, and the fact that they could keep on living without all the things you have should be a harsh reminder how strong they really are. Think of them as MacGyvers of the world, who manage to stay alive and do cool things just with a screwdriver and some other inconspicuous items. Think of them as the Mission Impossible teams of the world, who manage to do impossible things despite the odds (in which case, surviving in such harsh and difficult environment). Give them the standing ovation that these people deserves for simply surviving, instead of a pitiful glare that robbed them of their self esteem. Don't say (or think): "Dude, you are poor. Let me help you because I got more." Instead say (or think): "Dude, you are awesome. Here's something that hopefully can help you a bit."

This is not to say their pain is unreal, or their life is not hard. The pain is real, the despair is overwhelming, and life indeed is very very hard for them. But you know what's more painful? To know that there are people in developed countries who not only squandered and neglected the perks and luxuries they have, but also complains about them. As Suzanne Collins wrote in Catching Fire:

          "All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents can't give. More food. Now that we're rich, she'll send some home with them. But often in the old days, there was nothing to give and the child was past saving, anyway. And here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It's what everyone does at a party. Expected. Part of fun."

This is how I feel when hearing people complains what lousy education system they have. This is how I feel when hearing people complains how imperfect their healthcare system is. This is how I feel when hearing people complains of food prices when sporting high end cars and phones. This is how I feel when hearing people complains of how bad their life is, with all their social security system and all the rules and regulations to keep everyone's life a happy and dandy one. 

You could say: "This is MY life, and I'll do whatever I want with it!" Sure, do whatever you want. Just don't squandered it. Make it worth it, make it a significant one. Imagine what you would do if you are stripped bare from all the perks and luxuries you have now: internet, health access, education, food, clean water, accessibility, everything. Do whatever you want, but please, don't take all those things for granted. I can't think of any proof that this would directly help eliminate the poverty around the world. But I believe that compassion, empathy, and understanding would eventually put human in a better position, and this can be achieved by simply grateful to what you have and utilizing it to the max. We in the third world countries, we in the under-developed countries, we in the poverty-stricken countries may not be able to tap the resources you have, so do it for us. Please. Read what we can't read, know things what we will never have access to know, live your life the way we would with hope and dreams. And one day, we will share those knowledge with you. One day.

The Vast, Vast, Vast World

Have you heard about Transnistria, love?
Or the women waiting for customer on the edge of Polish's forest?
Do you still remember the bell tower in Piran?
And the cold majestic beauty of Prague?

The ancient beauty of Prambanan and Borobudur in Indonesia
The serene grace of Angkor Wat in Cambodia
The pointy stupas of Ayutthaya in Thailand
The shadowless Brihadeeswarar Temple in India

Enjoying the Sakura bloom in Japan
Celebrating Chinese new year in China
Drinking coffee in Vietnam
Looking at the world from Singapore flyer

And Africa, don't forget Africa!
And the cold Nordic countries of Europe!
Oh, and the warm countries in South America!
And yes, yes, the Pacific Island nations!

We are statuettes inside a snow globe
Protected from the world, protected from harm
Safe and sound till the day we die
But what do we really know about things?

Of bribe and trickery and lies and cutting the law
Of struggle to find clean water and nutritious food
Of the luxury of education and the privilege of dreams
Of the unknown future and the hardship of life

But love, what a life it was!
Each has a story to tell, a hardship to conquer
Each reminded us that our life is probably not that bad
Each spoke of the vast, vast world we have

INDOVISTA - one trip. two perspectives. from David Bertschinger Karg on Vimeo.

Too often we think how important our life is
Too often we think how miserable our life is
Too often we cuss and curse of the seemingly inequality in life
Too often we forget to live and simply enjoy it

Somewhere in this world, someone is sleeping at night
Somewhere in this world, someone is having breakfast
Somewhere in this world, someone is strolling out of work
Somewhere in this world, someone is making dinner

The world is so big, my love, so so so very big
You and I were merely a drop in the ocean
Let's stop being the citizen of our own little world
Let's start being the citizen of The World
The big, vast, beautiful world on the planet called earth
And enjoy it love, let's enjoy it!

The Parents' Prose: In memory of Rebecca Sedwick

"Her parents told ABC she was a loving, caring young girl who is not a bully.
'My daughter's Facebook was hacked, she would never write anything like that. She's not that type of girl that would just say something like that." - Read more here.

"The goblin/dwarf turf war had flared up again, and every morning hordes of angry parents showed up demanding the release of their innocent offspring...

They were on her like flies on stink-worm.
'My Grumpo is innocent!'
'Police brutality!'
'Officer, could you take my baby in his blanky? He can't sleep without it.'" - Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer, published in 2001

I looked at my little girl: she is the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I am so fortunate to be able to provide her with a safe, protected life, one that enables her to grow to her optimum abilities. She has admirers and loved by all, that is for sure. Why not? She is kind and strong, the epitome of all young ladies should be. She is the sun of my life, a tough person who can go and reach her destiny. How I love my daughter!

I looked at my little girl: she was the prettiest girl I've ever seen, and she still is even with tears in her face. I have strive to provide her a safe, protected life, one that enables her to grow to her optimum abilities, yet here she is, curled in pain. She was alone, but I loved her dearly. Why not? She is sweet and graceful, the epitome of all young ladies should be. She is the sun of my life, a gentle soul who touch others heart with her kindness. How I love my daughter!

The accusations were harsh, and so untrue. My little angel would never do such a thing to another person. She is loving, caring, wonderful! This squirmy little worm must have bring it on the herself, or organized by somebody who is jealous with my little princess. It does not matter. What matter is how my girl can keep on living and free from this terrible accusations.

The words were harsh, and so untrue. To be called with names, and to be disgraced and humiliated in public, my little angel would never understand why someone needs to do it to another person. She is loving, caring, wonderful! There is no reason to justify why she has to be treated so terrible, nor did she fake the attacks on her. It does not matter. What matter is now my girl has been freed from this horrible ordeal.

That cowardly fool! Children mock each other everyday, heart broken and then mended. There is no reason for her to end it like this. And blame my princess even. That stupid, cowardly fool!!

That wretched girls! Words and humiliation stopped being a game when they see the terrible effect on my little girl and yet still keeping it forward. There is no reason for them to keep hurting her. That terrible, wretched girls!

Don't worry my love, I will always be beside you and release you from the horrible jail. You are not to be blamed for the mistake a stupid fool who is too weak to defend herself. Cursed that cowardly weaklings!

Don't worry my love, I will always be beside you even though you have gone in to the coldness of death. You are not to be blamed for taking this way out. I am sorry I couldn't help you earlier. Curse my human weakness!

Now rest my love, my pretty girl, my dearest angel

Mommy is here by your side

Always

In memory of Rebecca Sedwick:
Rest in peace dear girl, no one will hurt you again.

More on bullying: http://kucinghitamjalanjalan.blogspot.com/2013/09/its-hard-to-be-different.html

Dear Washington Post: Grow Up, Please

APEC’s shirt tradition

It’s customary for world leaders to don traditional shirts for a group “family” photo at the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation summit. President Obama tried to do away with the ``silly shirts,’’ but this year, they’re back.

Thank you Washington Post for dubbing the custom shirts of the APEC country as silly. It gives me an immense pleasure to know that the even the so-called biggest nation on earth is not immune to dumb-witted and discriminating attitude. I guess us in the third-world under-developed country might have a chance to beat you in your game after all.

The so-called silly shirts are made from the fabric that has been worn by the countries for centuries. Each one of them is is a work of art and a pride to its home country. The Batik of Indonesia, for instance, have been designated by UNESCO as a Masterpiece of Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity on October 2, 2009. I am thoroughly convinced that it is not because of its "silliness", but more to do with the fact that the art making the fabric has been passed on for centuries and its beauty and variation expands and grew throughout times.

Some questions:
- If antiquity is a desired virtue (i.e antique chairs, antique tapestry) then why do you called our antique (style of) fabric that has been around for hundreds of years "Silly"?
- If art is a desired virtue then why do you called our ancient art that depicted in the patterns of our traditional fabric "Silly"?
- If "green" is a desired virtue then why do you called our all-green fabric which is made from natural ingredients is "Silly"?

Archaeological and culture studies are hip in US, yet you called our fabric "Silly".
People splash paint and made abstract images and called it art, yet you called our fabric "Silly".
A dress woven and colored by using all natural ingredients can fetch big money, yet you called our fabric "Silly".

The making of Batik takes a long, long time. The pattern has to be drawn on the cloth, and then portions of it would be filled with wax so when it is dipped into dyes only the empty spaces colored in dyes. After drying, the cloth then washed in hot water to remove the wax, then the process would be repeated for different colors. The more color you use in that specific cloth, the longer it take to completion. The patterns themselves are a work of art, coming from the people's imagination and perception of the world around them and also from folklore and myths and legends. Each pattern has a special meaning, and on the olden days the rules of who can wear a specific patterns was strictly upheld. It was much more than a piece of art, it was much more than a symbol of wealth, it defined who you are in the society. That is what our "silly" shirt is all about, and I think it can be said the same with all the "silly" shirt depicted in the Washington Post's article.  

Business attire: The United States hosted 2011's APEC summit for the first time since 1993 on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, from Nov. 12 to 13. President Obama, second from left on the bottom row, did away with the tradition of wearing traditional shirts during the summit’s group photo.

I apologize if I don't think much of the all famous white shirt with little crocodile emblem, nor fancy business suit that seemed to be favored by Washington Post. It baffles me why a cookie-cutter outfit that can be purchased and used by anyone, and I mean ANYONE, should be discussed in a much-approved tone than a shirt made with centuries worth of tradition and embodiment of a country's culture and history. I would wear my traditional outfit anytime because that's how I can held my head high: by being proud of who I am and my country and my culture. And at the risk of sounding biased, the Balinese hand-woven Endek and Songket is probably the most beautiful I've ever seen. Other countries, well I guess not so lucky.

Washington Post and other media and people that might buy into the "Silly" shirt stories, stop being such a discriminating jackasses. Each country is different and unique, just as each people is different and unique. Stop making fun of us just because we are different. Stop trying to making us feel so bad and inferior that we eventually leave our culture and follow yours (if you even have any). Stop being the mean girls in high school or the bully on the playground. Grow up, for God's sake.

Note: All photos are screenshot taken from the said article.

Shutdown 2013: Let The (Blame) Game Begin

The Washington Post just said what everyone is feeling

US federal government begins first shutdown in 17 years. Wowie.

Surprisingly, I think I've seen more articles and comments and reactions about Miley Cyrus VMA's act than the government shutdown, but it has only been 10 or 12 hours anyway. Unsurprisingly, the comments are distinctively: "It's all your fault!" and "No, it's all *your* fault".

The question is, do you really know whose fault is it?

The bigger question is, does it even matter?

You'll find pointing games in almost every aspect of life. You can find in in debate between religions (Muslim is the best! No, Christian does it better!), in music (Taylor Swift sucks! No, Taylor Swift is a true-blue-heaven-sent Diva!), in guns (Guns kill people! Guns don't kill people!), in vaccination (We need vaccination! No, Vaccination is unhealthy!), in food (Go go go vegans and save the world! I am not a bunny!), and now of course in politics (Republicans are at fault! No, Democrats are the goons!). In these discussions each side held their ground firmly and able to spout hard fact that establish/strengthen their opinion. But how reliable those facts were, anyway? 

We humans are short-sighted, and have a tendency to believe what we want to believe. It's like looking at a huge ship, we might not be able to see the whole ship on one glance yet we have our own opinion of the ship just by that small short-sighted glance. We might look at the barnacles on the bottom of the ship instead and deemed the ship is old. We might look at the rust on the side of the ship and deemed the ship is unsafe. We might look at the shiny white railing and deck and deemed the ship is majestic. We might look at how it floats and deemed the ship is graceful. Those who believe the ship is old and unsafe will not believe the crewman that said in terms of ship age it's still young and very safe. Those who believe the ship is majestic and graceful will not believe the boatyard crew that said it is just a big clumsy piece of iron. The fact is: The ship is just a ship, and only by understanding how it works in thorough can you get the correct description of what it really is.

Another good story is the one I found about a Christian mercenary who was killed in Sumatra a long time ago. The Muslim side of the story said that they had to kill the man because he was dangerous, and as he kept coming back after death they believe that they did the right thing by killing him and thus protecting their community. The Christian side of the story was that this brave man was killed for nothing and even though he was beheaded his head miraculously reattached to his body (even though he was still quite dead), thus proving how saintly and holy this mercenary is. One side claimed the attack as self defense, the other side claimed the attack as a martyr-like story, both used to further strengthen the claim that their side is better than the others. The fact is: a guy got killed. Whatever reason he got killed we will never know as it happens decades ago, probably even a century or more. All we know are stories and hearsay, and those can be easily tweaked to suit any side.

It doesn't take decades or centuries to tweak facts though. As a matter of fact we did it daily, either intentionally or unintentionally. The internet promise us (almost) unlimited information, yet it is far easier to take something that you have believe. We read and re-read things that we want to believe instead of looking farther away and see the whole picture. Our fascination on something can be easily fueled by more information that we found in the internet, or because we are actively searching for that information to justify our opinion. If you believe sugar is good for you, you can find numbers of articles that support your opinion. If you believe sugar is no better than crack cocaine, you can find numbers of articles that support that believe as well. It takes a lot of self control to step back and think: Is this true? Is this all there is to it or is it just something that I choose to believe, something that I want to believe? So very often, what you want to believe clouded your judgement and distracting you further from the real truth.

In the end, we can play Pointing Fingers all day long with this shutdown, but will it help the people? The company I worked with in Indonesia had one main rule: Always put out the flame first. In cases of emergency or a huge fuck-up the main goal should be to fix it right away in order to minimize the damage, i.e "putting out the flame"; the blame game can be done afterwards. It is relieving to be able to resound your opinion on this matter, expressing your belief that one side is to blame; yet observe carefully and you might find that, as always, all side share the blame. The real question is what will you do? A lot of people have expressed their concern though, and instead of doing the blame game they specifically wanted the congress to deal/stop the shutdown. In another word they demanded to put out the flame. This is how it should be, this is how it can help. 

I am not even a US citizen, and I daresay that the shutdown wont affect me very much. Yet I believe US has a great potential, I believe US can do so much better than to fall in another shutdown. Coming from a country where democracy is still a mere facade, it is a pleasure and a real treat to see how US citizens can held their representative responsible for their course of actions, to see real democracy and freedom of speech in action. People of USA have a great country, and a cozy one to live in as citizen. Let's not waste it.