to ink or not to ink

A brief discussion on twitter with a friend inspired me to write this post. We were discussing motives on getting tattoos.

For a lot of people, tattoos represent meaningful things in their lives. Now, for me, of course nothing is that meaningful. I am a very detached person, and that applies on my relationship with tattoos as well, even though they are permanently inked on my body for the rest of my life, or until the day I decide to erase them.

I restrained from getting a tattoo when I was younger because I didn’t want to regret it. I waited until I was mature enough to know that my desire in getting a tattoo wasn’t just a spur of the moment thing because I was desperate to be seen as this wild chick. Also, I wanted to make sure that I had already had enough money to laser it off should I regret having it.

I had tattoos not because of the aesthetics but for the pain. The design means nothing to me. It could be anything. In fact I once went to a tattoo parlor and just told the artist to ink me with whatever design he fancied.

Because by nature I have a dramatic disposition, I experience pain more often than what I would like in my life. What bugs me about pain is that it tends to come at random, usually at the time when I was enjoying myself. And I didn’t like being caught unprepared. But I guess pain is designed that way.

So tattoos, as well as piercings (I only have one piercing in my belly button, because my mom is scared of piercings and I don’t want to scare her plus it takes only about a minute to pierce, the hype is more on the moment leading up to it rather than the process, so it’s more about tension rather than pain), provide me an outlet to choose my own pain.

I get to choose when I want to feel the pain and where and for how long. I am taking control of my own pain. It gives me a sense of power, the ability to control my pain. I feel that I am the master of my own body and my own life. I decide.

Now, after relaying my motive on getting a tattoo to my friend I realized that it was indeed a bit weird. I mean do other people have the need to choose their own pain? I don’t know what it means from the psychoanalyst perspective, but I have a strong suspicion that maybe deep down I am a control freak even though I like to think otherwise.

And it got me thinking… there are a lot of things I still don’t know about myself. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ve known that I’m a control freak all along but I just don’t want to admit it because it doesn’t go with the “anything goes” image that I am projecting. I like to think of myself as this free spirit who goes whichever way the wind blows without a care in the world, but maybe I am fooling myself. Maybe the very reason I choose not to be attached to anything is because I don’t want to lose control of myself. Am I making any sense?

So, while tattoos for others might symbolize rebellion, for me they actually symbolize my imprisonment within myself as they serve the purpose of my taking control of my own pain.

Whoa, kinda heavy huh?
Here's a pic of yummy looking tattoo artists to lighten this one up. I'd kill for a tattoo by one of them. Any one of them.

a killer turning point

I’ve always had a very relaxed attitude towards money. I live quite comfortably according to my own standard and I can afford the lifestyle that I want to have. Never in my life had I had the desire to earn loads and loads of money because luxury means nothing to me.

But, there is one occasion where I wish I was one of those rich people. It doesn’t have to be Paris Hilton rich. Local celebrity or even president director rich is enough.

It happened in the beginning of this year. I was presented with a big dilemma. Now, don’t get too excited. This is my life we’re talking about and my life is frivolous. So of course my dilemma is somewhat frivolous as well.

Two of my favorite bands, The Killers and Muse were going to have concerts in Singapore and their concerts were only ten days apart. With my kind of income, I could only afford to go to one concert. Well technically I could afford both, but it would put a dent in my savings. Three years ago I wouldn’t have cared about dents in my savings but now I do. I’m older. I’m getting more and more boring and safe.

So anyway, after much tossing and turning at night, I chose The Killers. My consideration was that Muse does Asian concerts more than The Killers, so I might be able to catch Muse the next two years or so, whereas that might not be the case for The Killers. I was pretty sure I did the wisest thing and made the right choice. I bought the most expensive tickets for the concert, I booked the flight and the hotel in Singapore. I was ready to meet Brandon Flowers up close and personal.

But as luck would have it, The Killers freaking cancelled their Asia-Australia tour one day before I was supposed to fly to Singapore. I was beyond pissed. Had I known they were not serious about having this concert I would’ve chosen to see Muse instead! What a bunch of flaky bastards! Now, Sistic Singapore was going to refund the ticket money of course but I had to wait for about 2 weeks. Also, because I bought budget airlines tickets of course they can’t be cancelled. So I lost quite a bit of money, the money that could very well be used to buy Muse tickets. But of course by that time Muse tickets were already sold out.

That was the time when I wish I was rich. Rich enough to buy tickets to see both concerts. Rich enough to fly to Singapore back and forth in the interval of 10 days, or rich enough to afford staying in a Singapore hotel for ten days if I want to avoid flying back and forth. Rich enough to spend money on truly unimportant things like going to see my favorite bands whenever I feel like it.

People have turning points in their lives. I guess that was some kind of turning point in my life. The moment when I truly understand the power of cash. So that when life gives me lemon, I could go buy a bottle of tequila to drink it with instead of just making some lame tasting lemonade.

Oh and P.S to Brandon Flowers, if one day you are unfortunate enough to read this post, if the reason The Killers cancelled the Asian tour is because you guys are splitting up because you just had a baby and what not, I can only tell you that you need to learn a lot from Keith Richards. Women, marriages, affairs, babies, drug problems, depressions, nothing could slow him down. That’s why he’s still up there, partying and being the rock star that he truly is and you… well where are you now? Your solo album has better be something otherwise I would have to cancel my infatuation of you.

In my opinion, rock stars gone soft are worse than boy bands gone rough.

So there.

the great french wine debacle

Like Elizabeth Gilbert, I once came and stayed in Bali for a whole month to lick my wound. It was the end of 2005 and I just got out of a messy situation. Needless to say I was a bit of a wreck and hated everyone in my hometown Jakarta. One night at a friend’s house I was introduced to a guy who was high on weeds and he slurred that he spent a month or so in Bali doing practically nothing but lying on the beach or his cheap rented room getting high. He was my inspiration.

I booked my flight and kind of quit my job (yes, in that order). I was working freelance at that time so it was no big deal. I just told my boss that I needed to get away for a while and would give her a ring when I came back to town and see if my post was still available. Being in the state I was then, money was the least of my worries, let alone a career path. Next I asked around if people knew people who could find me a cheap rented room to stay for a month or so. One of my girl friends did. So I got the accommodation sorted out. Next I packed my bag and flew.

I didn’t know what to expect really, I never stayed in Bali for more than 5 days before that and it was always at nice hotels or villas.

Anyhow, for the kind of price I was paying, the place was not bad at all. It’s got air con, TV, a small kitchenette and a big comfy bed. But, the place being some kind of a guest house where people stay long term for a low price, you could expect to find some dodgy characters there.

On my first night, after I went out for dinner I walked towards my room after deciding to spend the first night staying in with a book rather than intoxicating myself. I walked past a room where two Caucasian guys and an Indonesian girl sat on the patio drinking and laughing. They must be my neighbors, so I waved a friendly hi. They waved back.

Now, on the risk of sounding snobbish and judgmental, to get a full picture of this story, you need to know that the Indonesian girl was what Singaporeans call “sarong party girl”, the type of local girls, usually from the small towns, who shag Caucasian tourists for money. Naturally, I never hung out with those girls because I didn’t even know where to find one in Jakarta. But it was Bali, the land of anything goes, and also I was game for adventure and I figured that I wasn’t the one to judge. She asked me to join her and the two Caucasian guys, whom I learned to be French guys, on their wine session.

Now, with a couple of French guys in the picture, I automatically assumed it would be French wine, so of course I said yes, somewhat gratefully, and sat down with them. On my first night and already got an offer to get drunk on exquisite French wine? Not bad at all.

So, the girl gave me a plastic cup and reached for the bottle of… not wine. What the hell? From the shape of the bottle I knew it wasn’t wine. I tried to read the label as she poured the foul-smelling liquid. And my heart sank. The drink was what we the locals call Anggur Obat or AO, roughly translated as Medicine Wine. It was an alcoholic beverage so cheap, beggars and street kids and homeless people of Jakarta got drunk on it.

Now, I couldn’t not drink the drink after I so gratefully said yes earlier, could I? So I took a deep breath and took a sip. The bloody drink burned my throat. It was so hard to swallow and I was sure my face went red at once. I suspiciously looked at the two French guys and wondered how the hell they could stomach the deadly drink when they’re used to French wine? But I figured that being travelers in Bali of course they were keen to try anything remotely local and “exotic”, the weirder the taste the more heroic they would feel.

So, being the friendly woman that she was, she kept pouring the wine and I didn’t have the heart to say no. Also, it was really entertaining to see how she tried to seduce the two French guys. It was quite an experience so I stayed on drinking with them for quite some times.

The next morning I woke up with the feeling that an elephant was sitting on my head. It was beyond horrible. Thank God I managed not to throw up because it would be even worse if I had to taste that deadly liquid on my throat again.

So, lesson learnt. Except for beers, never again did I accept an invitation for free drinks from questionable characters in the guest house. Ha!

family matters

Last Sunday I hung out with hubby's family. And his mom told us that the school where she teaches is organizing a trip to Bali. We thought she was going to be excited about it because she likes Bali a lot, but she told us that she won't be joining the trip. We asked her why and she told us that she feels weird about going on holiday on her own, with her own friends. Holidays are supposed to be with her family. By family she meant her children and grandchildren.

Hubby's mom is over 50 years old, so naturally she and I have different sets of values. Also, hubby's mom is very much a family-minded person, who puts herself only in context of her family.

Although I don't like to generalize, I guess it is safe to assume that most Indonesian older women, by older I mean one generation older than me, are like her. Their concept of happiness is not personal happiness but rather a collective one. Once they have children, everything has to be about the children. No more I, it's us.

For hubby’s mom, she can’t see herself as an individual being. She had blended into a family. Therefore the notion of having fun on her own, enjoying herself in the company of her own friends while leaving her family at home is not acceptable.

A concept that is entirely alien to me.

Now, I wasn’t brought up with traditional Indonesian family’s values. I am a product of mixed ethnics and interfaith relationship. My parents are truly individuals who never act like parents. They regarded my sister and I as individuals too, albeit individuals whose lives they financed until university.

When I was still living with my parents and sister, we were more like housemates rather than a family. There were no scheduled meal times, no family gatherings to attend, no obligatory visits to relatives, no religious celebration, nothing. Therefore I have no strong sense of family. For me, they are just people I happen to love. And it’s cool to have parents like them. They never questioned my decision in everything: the man I chose to marry, the career I chose, the life I chose to live.

From early on, I learned that they are just human like me, with their own portfolios of stupid decisions too. And it is comforting to know that, because it means that I’ve got friends in them instead of parents whom I have to perform duties to.

Like everything else in life, it has its own good and bad. The good thing is that I grew up to be a person who is very open to differences. I don’t really judge people. My judgment is usually based on whether they piss me off or not. Other than that, I have no opinion about anyone. Also, I am very quick in making decisions. I never over analyze and I never regret anything. I can easily shrug off a bad decision as one of my mistakes and don’t wallow over losses or setbacks.

The bad thing is, as my closest friends and hubby pointed out time and time again, I grew up to be a very self-centered person. When deciding something about my life, I tend to forget to take into account the opinions of those who care about me. Everything is about me, how I feel and how I would go about it. It sure is quicker that way, but only works if I am a hermit living in cave somewhere in the deep Borneo forest.

Now, marrying hubby who came from a close-knitted family who still live by their traditional values is a new experience to me. I learn a thing or two about being a family - about how to treat a mother, a father, a sister, a brother, a nephew – in the traditional sense.

At my age I get to experience what my childhood friends experienced, although I have it better because I can now experience it as a spectator and only participate in things that suit me.

I have my parents to thank for my individuality and I have my hubby’s parents to thank for this whole new experience of being a family member.

I always have everything in the end.

That’s what I love about my life.