flirting with palmistry

I had my palm read by a masseuse at the shooting location. Background story for non local advertising people: ad agency people are usually treated like royalties during ad shoots here. The production house pampers us with magnanimous amount of food and little perks like massages to keep us from being too much nuisance on the shoot.



The palm reader only allowed us to ask one question and he would read the answer on our left palm. As predicted, the singles ask about love and the non singles ask about money. Whoever says each of us is unique must be shot in the head.

I asked the palm reader this: will I ever be rich?

I honestly don’t care about being rich (though I don’t mind being rich), I just thought it was a fun question to ask in front of everyone. Not that I take palm reading seriously anyway.

He pondered for a while, reading my palm I suppose, or thinking up some kind of interesting fiction in his head that will be entertaining for us all. I really can’t tell.

His answer was this: according to the lines on my palm, I was destined to be a huge success, and that includes financial aspect as well. I will gain the success by working for a company, not by building my own empire. But, in order to fulfill that destiny, I must use all my potentials and at the moment I haven’t used up all my potentials, I’m not yet the best I can be.

Of course after that my co-workers and I joked about maybe I have to plot a plan to take over the company that we work at.

But jokes aside, I started to give it a little more thought. Not the bit about me taking over the company, I can barely manage myself let alone a company, but about how I’m yet to be the best I can be.

Because, on some odd nights when my mind wanders and thinks about what I’ve done with my life sort of thing, as opposed to my usual normal daydreams about how to access my alter ego in the parallel universe (I am obsessed about things like this, it explains my fascination with anything mind altering), I do think whether is this really all there is to it.

I’m not stupid, that I know for sure. I know I’m quick on the uptake, but I doubt if I possess any discernible talents besides sneering and coming up with killer one-liners to shut up people whom I find to be annoying.

Writing I suppose is my one and only strong suit. It comes naturally to me. It’s been my outlet since as long as I can remember. If I have the faintest hope of becoming successful (or rich) I suppose it’s got something to do with writing. I have zero discipline in writing though, just as I have zero discipline in everything. I only write when the mood strikes me. I suppose my inability to give myself a push is the thing that stands between me and my success. Well that, and an almost complete disinterest of anything outside myself.

In my line of work I’ve met lots of wannabe novelists, those who dream about writing the equivalent of “the great American novel” someday when they can find the time. Now, time is never a problem for me. I am one of those freakishly efficient people who can easily multitask and compartmentalize my brain. My problem is that I have yet to come with “the great idea”. I don’t know what to write about.

When I studied creative writing in uni, the professor told us that to come up with something to write, we have to break the bubble, be somebody else, experience life through other people’s eyes. I think it was the best advice for anybody who wants to learn how to write. It has also been my excuse to live several kinds of life and to experience extreme emotions, it’s some kind of research for my unborn novel, because nobody wants to read about a contented person who is thankful for everything.

Will I ever find something interesting to write about and will my writing be my ticket to get out of this life as a downtrodden corporate slave? I honestly don’t know. The bad thing about being totally comfortable living in one’s own skin is that I can really live with my shortcomings such as my complete lack of motivation. I have no problem with that even it does sabotage my future success.

So even though I believe the palm reader didn’t really read palms and that he just made things up from thin air, I believe that at that precise moment the universe chose him as a medium to speak to me, hence gave him the inspiration to say that I haven’t used up all my potentials. He was totally right.

Well I hear you, universe. Here I am religiously writing one post after another. Maybe it’s the beginning of something great, maybe it’s not. One of the good things about being comfortable living in one's own skin is that I never view myself as a failure, even if I don't achieve anything :)

never too late to not be late

For us, lateness is a national disease. After all this is the country that invented the concept rubber time. I read somewhere the concept went way back to an era where most of people were still farmers, who viewed time as something fluid that flows like a river (huh???) rather than blocks of schedules and appointments to be filled. It’s the westerners who introduced the concept of “being on time” to us.

It’s so common here that 10 o’clock meetings start as late as 10.45. And the people responsible for that will stroll in leisurely, always blaming something other than themselves for being late. Now, I don’t want to be a prude here but I find that kind of irresponsibility really lame.

Blame it on my western education, blame it on my impatient genes (if impatience is gene-related like everything else these days) but I hate to be late. And hate it even more when people make me wait. And I never get used to the rubber time concept even though I spend the bulk of my life living here, in this country. I only lived abroad for three years out of the 36 years of my life so my “westernized” concept of time is not a product of my living abroad. I am just wired that way.

I do not understand people who are constantly late. Why? Because I always know when and why I am running late. It’s usually because I slack off. I wake up leisurely, I take my time sipping my coffee, I am enjoying my morning banter with hubby so much I don’t want to cut it off to get into the shower on time, etc. The point is: being late is a conscious decision. Unless an earthquake suddenly erupts as we are getting ready for work or for our appointments, the only thing to blame when we are running late is ourselves.

When I know I have a 9 o’clock appointment, it’s either I wake up an hour early or I cut those morning activities short to be able to leave the house at 8. Because I don’t want to be late. As simple as that. On the days I have no appointments or deadlines, I stop and smell the roses.

People blame it on the traffic. Now, how many years have we been living in Jakarta? Jakarta is always congested. Traffic is no news. It’s something that we have to anticipate. I have no car so I depend a lot on the undependable taxi service here. 80% of the time they never show. I know that. I have an option: I could take an ojek. Reliability: 100%. Comfort level: 0%. I will arrive sweaty and smelling like car mufflers. But I won’t be late.

So when I make that decision to wait for the freaking taxi instead of taking the ojek, I know I will be late. When I make that decision to wait for the freaking taxi, I am basically saying screw my schedules, screw the people who have to wait for me, because I don’t want to sacrifice my comfort in order to arrive on time. Because if I want to, I can actually arrive on time.

So moral of the story is: EVERYONE should be able to be on time. Yes, even those who are living in Jakarta. I can tolerate people who are late only if they have major drama in life: abusive husbands threaten to kill them, depressive wives hanging themselves or jump out the building, a dozen of hyperactive kids coming down with chicken pox at the same time, crazy ass mother in law chase them with an axe the night before… you get the picture. But the mortals, common people with common lives and common problems, should be able to be on time, like 90% of the time at least.

Now, there were times when I spent the night drinking and drugging myself into a stupor and there was no way I could make it to the 9 o’clock meeting. What did I do then? I quit my job to be a full time fuck up. That way, I won’t get in anybody’s way. That’s responsibility I believe. Now that I managed to get my act together, I got back on the game. And I arrive on time. And on occasions when I am late, I won’t blame anyone but myself.

If at first you don't succeed...

Try, try, try again.

I don’t know where the quote was originated from and I’m too lazy to google it. One thing for sure is that saying has been around way longer than I am.
It teaches persistence. It teaches us not to give up on the first attempt. It’s a positive message.

But if applied incorrectly, it could mislead us into wasting our time doing something we’re simply not good at.

It’s a fact of life that the majority of us are born without any discernible talents. There’s nothing wrong with it. Not everyone is meant to be great. I believe some of us are born to enjoy the simplicity of life. The task is to recognize who we are and which category we belong to.

Let me share this story:

My husband is a photographer/cameraman. It’s his passion. I think he is really good at what he does and he likes nothing else. Sure he plays sports and computer games, goes to the movies etc, but his passion is photography. I think he is very lucky to find such passion in his life.

He works at this TV station, as an associate producer for a news program. He started out as a news cameraman and he likes his job because there’s nothing excites him more than taking pictures.

Yesterday he got a call from his supervisor. He was to be assigned as a presenter in a new program, meaning he has to be in front of the camera, hosting a show and writing the script as well. He refused because he was never trained to be a presenter in his life and has no interest to be one. In fact he was quite pissed because he was assigned on something that wasn’t his expertise and thought that it was reckless of his boss to assign him on something which he knew he would fail.

One of his colleagues, however, told him that he should try it out first and told him to look at it as a new opportunity. My hubby, being who he is, flat out refused.
Now, his colleague saw it as letting an opportunity goes away and told him that he shouldn’t really pass up on a challenge without at least having one go at it, that he shouldn’t be afraid to fail. My hubby on the other hand knew that it wasn’t his thing and didn’t want to waste his time doing something he knew he won’t be good at.
I tend to agree with my hubby.

Some people are born multi-talented and can be trained to acquire multiple skills. Some are like my hubby, very focused in one particular skill. He’d rather spend his life polishing his one skill to perfection rather than learning one whole new animal that he is not even interested in to begin with.

I think we need to draw a line between passing up a challenge and knowing who we are. Saying no to something that we know we won’t be good at is not a sign of weakness like his colleague suggested. It shows that we know exactly what we are doing. It’s not that we are afraid to fail, we just don’t want to waste time doing something which we know we are going to fail. Isn’t it better to use the time to fail in something else, in something that we know we might be able to succeed someday?

People tend to be optimistic but in the wrong way. It’s good to see things as opportunity rather than threat, but then you have to be realistic and know your limit too. And to be honest, people who are optimistic all the time tend to exhaust me.

For me it’s ok to pass up on a golden opportunity, if you don’t see it as golden.

It’s ok not to try, if you think that it’s not worth trying.

It’s ok to bail on things, if those things bring out the worst in you.

Whether an opportunity is golden or not, is for you and you only to decide.

In the modern time people generally only live until 70 years old. Some are even shorter. Make a good use of every second of it. If you have the drive to be productive, then be productive until your last breath. If being productive exhaust you and you like nothing better than lying around wasting every minute of your life, by all means do it too. Just make sure you can pay your own way because having other people to pay for your shit is not the way to go.

Remember, it’s your life, not other people’s.

Which category do I belong to? I change my mind as often as I get hungry… which is very often. So I don’t know. Sometimes I have this drive to be fiercely productive, sometimes I am a lazy bum. I don’t care. I like it. This is who I am.

So if anyone is ever desperate enough to ask me the recipe to succeed in life, I have only this advice: Be Real.

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.