Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Ilmu: Rational and Irrational

Samingkin banjak terbitnja boekoe- boekoe ilmoe pnegetahoean, semangkin besar lagi faedahnja bagi orang- orang jang soeka membatja, sedeng tempo jang diliwatken boeat membatja poen, tida aken djadi terboewang pertjoema. Kerna dari itoe pembatjaan orang djadi taoe asal – oesoelnja itoe kaheranan dan kaadjaiban jang bermoela tida dikataoei

Translation: The more science books get published, the greater news It is for bookworms. Perusing time is never a time wasted. Through reading, people get to know the origin of wonder and things that once were unknown.

Excerpts from an antique book published in 1929 entitled Ilmoe Soenglap.

It seems this book talks about some how to's and strange informations that are often magic trick-ish. What's interesting is the book treats magic and science as one thing: ilmu

Ilmu as an Indonesian word is one interesting word. It has two stark different concepts of meaning. The one is something considered rational and the other is considered irrational. The first meaning of it is 'science' or 'knowledge'. It's basically information you get, what you know. Often in the sense that it is useful. While the other meaning has to do with magic. Especially black magic. When you say someone has ilmu or we Indonesians say berilmu, it can mean either that the person is smart or that person has magic skills.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

On David Bowie's Death: Is There Life On Mars?

I didn't know that "Life On Mars" is originally David Bowie's 'til he passed away and a cafè i went to played that song and i was like "This is not Yann Tiersen".

I wasn't interested in David Bowie nor in the trending news of his Death but knowing that he wrote this piece i wish he rests in peace, for now he is free.

I don't feel bad for showing condolence only after knowing this.

Monday, January 04, 2016


By writing i realized how layered even my thought is. I keep several blogs. This one is a neutral one. I don't really keep things in order here. Here is just like my daily journal i keep. Full of doodles, notes, and thoughts.

I keep one for keeping my poems and short stories, though sometimes the line between fiction and nonfiction of my writing is often blurred. I keep another one for expressing deeper thoughts. So deep that i don't intend to go public. Yet.

The reason why i like to keep my thoughts digitalized is because i like the idea of how i can change it anytime. How transient it is here. It's like a way to keep reminding me how unreal reality can be as if i need to be reminded.

I thought being a fairly stable extrovert makes me more open. Yet days went by i only find myself with another space inside me.

The difference is i don't see it as a hole anymore. I see it as unexplored part of me. Yet another phase of evolving. Another side i have to understand.

If there will come the day i find my inner core, i wonder if that will be the stop of my journey. It seems like it won't happen. For i always change and i always learn. It seems that it will always go deeper.

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

Train of Thoughts

That term "train of thoughts" was first used by Thomas Hobbes in Leviathan, Chapter 3: Of the Consequence or Train of Imaginations. But i don't wanna talk about his train of thoughts. This time, i want to talk about my train of thoughts.

I always have train of thoughts. Everytime. I can't stop thinking. How can someone not think? (and brain is never idle) but lately it seems that my brain is only full of stuffs, but they are not yet my thoughts. I haven't done anything with them. It's like, they are floating around inside, or scattered about. They are only perceptions my senses have been recorded, or somebody else's thoughts from book i haven't touched.

This term has been a busy period. I haven't stopped shifting from one task to another. There are many paper assignments, hundreds of words and kanji characters to  memorize, event planning to manage... these things have made my heart (even though this is just a term i use to refer the part of brain that controls emotion) idle for some while. I'm okay with that, cause being semi-emotionless is one less problem since i can keep being calm in stressing situations where all people are being emotional, stressed, and stuffs, but it also made me lose my train of thoughts. That's a problem.

"You think too much" i got that alot. And i've always been thinking it's not a problem. It's how i am. Sometimes i would stay up sleep deprived because my brain was too active i couldn't stop thinking. I never saw that as something bad. Actually, it made me happy. I really enjoy thinking. It's like a hobby. Now i don't have enough time to think to amuse myself. There are so many obligatory stuffs to do. I'm afraid that if this goes on my train will go rusty and it will stay forever in a... Town of Cats?

It's a story of Murakami Haruki. A story in a story. The story of Town of Cats was told by the main character whose father was a fee collector of NHK who said that he (the main character) was nothing.

Back to the topic, i'm afraid it will stay forever in a station. Not going anywhere anymore. I remember the quotes of Inception movie. That line about the train that goes faraway. The train which ends in we never know where. It is life as the journey of finding the truth and exploring questions. That's why the idea of halting in a station, or even slowing down my speed, is scary.

"When we say anything is infinite, we signify only that we are not able to conceive the ends and bounds of the things named; having no conception of the thing, but of our own inability. And therefore the name of God is used, not to make us conceive Him, for He is incomprehensible, and His greatness and power are unconceivable; but that we may honour Him."

Monday, November 16, 2015

Here Comes The Rain

Here comes the interval
bringing intermittent rainfall
washing away the colors so lurid
who realized it was all too avid?
here comes surrender
dissipated, a raindrop whispered
"Gravity, i give in"

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Friday in Paris: A Horrible Attack

On Friday i only have one class this semester: Indonesian People and Society. Most of the times i feel bored in this class. We get lectures about things we've heard before, and things we clearly understand. Maybe because we are learning about it as Indonesians. Yesterday's lecture was not different. The topic was what's been taught since elementary school: globalization.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Sunday, September 06, 2015

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Silver Dream

The anxiety lulled her to sleep so that she could forget about the world
Her dreams were silver cobweb jangling, O Slumber is such a sweet escape
Making her way to nowhere she didn't know when she fell
But through discordant sounds and dissonant chords she did
and she did well

Monday, August 24, 2015

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Friday, July 17, 2015

Gymnopédie No. 1

Gymnopédies are three piano compositions written by Erik Satie. According to Mark Prendergast (2000), these three pieces of atmospheric tunes are important precursor to modern ambient music.

To me they can find their way to give colors to many kinds of moments. I have imagined some scenes while listening to  Gymnopédie No. 1, from modern-lover-kind-of-romantic to war scenes, or banal scenes on the streets, and yes it sounds so much like lounge-music.

While listening to this, i made some pieces of thoughts. To me they are like crumbles of bread, or maybe crumbles of biscuit that will be used for the base of baked cheesecake. Whatever.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Tonight's Companion: Camel and Desert

Tonight, i am woman in dunes. With camel and desert. With cart loaded with dusts. With the sky laid low. With the holes called stars. Because i just found this beautiful piece of a friend of mine. And i just read this poetry with the title "Desert" by Adonis. And for the first time in my life, i lose my voice. My throat hurts really bad. It feels like i've been walking down the desert for some times and i couldn't find any oase.

There's no oase down here, only mirage.


By Adonis
Translated By Khaled Mattawa
The cities dissolve, and the earth is a cart loaded with dust
Only poetry knows how to pair itself to this space.
No road to this house, a siege,
and his house is graveyard.
               From a distance, above his house
               a perplexed moon dangles
               from threads of dust.
I said: this is the way home, he said: No
               you can’t pass, and aimed his bullet at me.
Very well then, friends and their homes
                in all of Beirut’s are my companions.
Road for blood now—
               Blood about which a boy talked
               whispered to his friends:
                              nothing remains in the sky now
                              except holes called “stars.”
The city’s voice was too tender, even the winds
would not tune its strings—
The city’s face beamed
like a child arranging his dreams for nightfall
bidding the morning to sit beside him on his chair.
They found people in bags:
              a person                                                 without a head 
              a person                                                 without hands, or tongue
              a person                                                 choked to death
              and the rest had no shapes and no names.
                             —Are you mad? Please
                                                             don’t write about these things.
A page in a book
              bombs mirror themselves inside of it
              prophecies and dust-proverbs mirror themselves inside of it 
              cloisters mirror themselves inside of it, a carpet made of the alphabet
                             disentangles thread by thread
falls on the face of the city, slipping out of the needles of memory.
A murderer in the city’s air, swimming through its wound—
its wound is a fall
that trembled to its name—to the hemorrhage of its name
and all that surrounds us—
houses left their walls behind
                                               and I am no longer I.
Maybe there will come a time in which you’ll accept     
to live deaf and mute, maybe
they’ll allow you to mumble: death
                                                and life
                                                and peace unto you.
From the wine of the palms to the quiet of the desert . . . et cetera
from a morning that smuggles its own intestines
               and sleeps on the corpses of the rebels . . . et cetera
from streets, to trucks
               from soldiers, armies . . . et cetera
from the shadows of men and women . . . et cetera
from bombs hidden in the prayers of monotheists and infidels . . . et cetera
from iron that oozes iron and bleeds flesh . . . et cetera
from fields that long for wheat, and grass and working hands . . . et cetera
from forts that wall our bodies
               and heap darkness upon us . . . et cetera
from legends of the dead who pronounce life, who steer our life . . . et cetera
from talk that is slaughter           and slaughter         and slitters of throats . . . et cetera
from darkness to darkness to darkness
I breathe, touch my body, search for myself
               and for you, and for him, and for the others
and I hang my death
between my face and this hemorrhage of talk . . . et cetera
You will see—
                say his name
                say you drew his face
                reach out your hand toward him
                or smile
                or say I was happy once
                or say I was sad once
                you will see:
                                 there is no country there.
Murder has changed the city’s shape—this stone
                                                                 is a child’s head—
and this smoke is exhaled from human lungs.
Each thing recites its exile . . .                a sea
                                              of blood—and what
do you expect on these mornings except their arteries set to sail
into the darkness, into the tidal wave of slaughter?
Stay up with her, don’t let up—
she sits death in her embrace
and turns over her days
                                              tattered sheets of paper.
Guard the last pictures
of her topography—
she is tossing and turning in the sand
in an ocean of sparks—
on her bodies
are the spots of human moans.
Seed after seed are cast into our earth—
fields feeding on our legends,
guard the secret of these bloods.
                               I am talking about a flavor to the seasons
                               and a flash of lightning in the sky.
Tower Square—(an engraving whispers its secrets
                                                               to bombed-out bridges . . . )
Tower Square—(a memory seeks its shape
                                                               among dust and fire . . . )
Tower Square—(an open desert
                                                               chosen by winds and vomited  . . . by them . . . )
Tower Square—(It’s magical
                                              to see corpses move/their limbs    
                                              in one alleyway, and their ghosts    
                                              in another/and to hear their sighs . . . )
Tower Square—(West and East
                                and gallows are set up—
                                martyrs, commands . . . )
Tower Square—(a throng
                of caravans: myrrh
                                               and gum Arabica and musk
                                                              and spices that launch the festival . . . )
Tower Square—(let go of time . . .
                                              in the name of place)
—Corpses or destruction,
                  is this the face of Beirut?
—and this
                a bell, or a scream?
—A friend?
—You? Welcome.
               Did you travel? Have you returned? What’s new with you?
—A neighbor got killed . . . /
 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A game /
—Your dice are on a streak.
—Oh, just a coincidence /
                                   . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
                                              Layers of darkness
                                              and talk dragging more talk.


How can i not?

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Habitus and Point of View

"What's that? the opposite of 'make my day'?"

It ruined his day, he said. When he accidentally killed a bug just because he didn't notice that there's a bug on the sink when he turned on the tap. He said that he's never killed any mosquito. This conversation began with a topic about pig. He said that he's sorry for pigs. For they were farmed by humans to be eaten but there are some people who don't wanna eat them because pigs are considered dirty by certain group.

Friday, June 19, 2015


A lesson of Ted-Ed says that we are susceptible to earworms. Earworm is that catchy piece of music that continually repeats through a person's mind after it is no longer playing. [x] Many literature works have recorded the ideas about earworms. For example, the work of Edgar Allan Poe, The Imp of The Perverse (1845):

It is quite a common thing to be thus annoyed with the ringing in our ears, or rather in our memories, of the burthen of some ordinary song, or some unimpressive snatches from an opera. Nor will we be the less tormented if the song in itself be good, or the opera air meritorious.

Yes. Sometimes it's a jingle of an advertisement or the songs that keep on being played on the radio or even the song you really hate. The tunes are there in your head. Stuck.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Saturday, June 13, 2015

Sunday, June 07, 2015

Menthol Cigarettes

Listen to Pandai Besi - Di Udara while reading this post.
You can watch it here, minute 21:55.

I have a weird habit. Nah, i actually have tons but i want to talk about one particular habit this time. I like to sniff the smell of menthol cigarettes. I like to sniff the pack. I like menthol cigarettes.

That's not counted as smoking because i don't even light it. I'm not saying this to clarify that i don't commit any juvenile delinquency. No. I don't care about that. I'm not a child anymore and smoking or not smoking, whatever the gender is, it doesn't speak about morality.

Personality traits like extroversion, rebelliousness, antisocial tendencies, risk taking and social deviance are directly related to the occurrence of smoking behaviour and are more frequent among males than females (Grunberg, Winders & Wewers 1991; Waldron 1991a). I'm fine with someone smoking for the sake of image branding, social status, etc. Cigarette can be a symbol you use to translate the message you want to convey to people. But yeah, i think it's not worth it to smoke for image branding sakes since it's not good for your health. Why would you kill yourself to impress people?

I ever heard that most women who smoke, smoke menthol cigarette. I'm curious about that but i didn't find any statistic of it. Is menthol cigarette smoking behavior correlated with gender? Why? Is the market of menthol cigarette segmented? No. I don't see any cigarette advertisement that seems like targeting on women. Now that i mention it, the main character of most cigarette advertisements are men. I guess the prevalence of smoking behavior is really patterned by gender.

This is kinda interesting. I hope i will find the data later and i'll try to develop this post.


Saturday, June 06, 2015

Shozaburo Takitani

A senpai gave me a question on She asked people to try this quiz. I was too males to answer her question properly and i had no obligation to do so anyway.

But i have taken this quiz three times without remembering my previous answers and i still got the same one. I wonder if that answer kinda suits me.

Thursday, June 04, 2015

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Rather Be: How Banalities Turn Into Picturesque Scene

This morning my sister played a song through her iTunes. I recognized that song, Rather Be, but i couldn't recall the band so i decided to search it on YouTube and watched the music video. I've watched this video before, but i felt something new this time. This music video depicts how music can turn our everyday domestic activities into more enjoyable scenes.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Instant Crush

I got an instant crush on this song (and also on the music video). The oldish groovy music and the voice of Julian Casablancas (frontman of The Strokes) dance together, it got me feeling like dancing in an old bar with a jukebox. Though here his vocal doesn't sound really The Stroke-esque i'm good with it. It's Daft Punk afterall. This piece is included in Random Access Memories.

About the video, looking at the wax doll that looks like Julian made me think about Night At The Museum but no, some moments passed and i saw that it's more like The Steadfast Tin Soldier, a tragic love story between a one legged tin soldier and a paper doll ballerina. The story ends with them burning in fire and a heart shaped tin found on the morrow. In this video, the wax Julian and the cute wax dutch lady with full kissable lips melt together in fire just like the tin and the paper doll.  "A little time with you is all that I get. That’s all we need because it's all we can take." indeed.

I'm glad my infatuation with some heavy metal musics don't deprive me from enjoying this kind of piece. I always love this kind of song which has some specks of sentimentality yet can still manage the listener to dance it away. Both a mild sweet torture and a considerate companion for sentimental moment. That, or we can just listen to it to pretend that we are in the 80s, dancing in the bar with our fancy clothes as if we are a jukebox sweetheart.

My favorites lines are the chorus:

And we will never be alone again
'Cause it doesn't happen every day
Kinda counted on you being a friend
Can I give it up or give it away
Now I thought about what I wanna say
But I never really know where to go
So I chained myself to a friend
'Cause I know it unlocks like a door

The reason for any line to be my favorite is  always something personal...

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Friday, May 08, 2015

Saturday, May 02, 2015



My parents keep saying that as a kid i used to ask so many questions to people. I love to know about things. And then being enrolled at school i found that i even had to know things i didn't have interest on, like tenggang rasa, a value taught on PPKn (I never aced that subject, it's kind of disturbing for me). School provided a method to find things out in an organized way so that it can be systematically done. For example, on math we didn't go straight to algebra, matrix, function, but we learned about the basic equations first. The 1+1=2. We go from A to build B to build C. The basic information is the most essential, the basis, and therefore the hardest to be debated. You can't debate 1+1=2, the first thing you learned on Math. The basis. 1+1=2 is an absolute truth.

And then as i kept learning i stumbled upon theories. I was fascinated by them because i grew up with this mindset: "when something can be questioned, it can be explained". Then my interest shifted from outer space stuffs to human relation. Fun to know the reason why people act in some behaviors, the common things people do, so many whys to be answered.

But now i am over social theories. I can't believe them anymore. My attitude towards them will either be "that seems sound enough" or "that doesn't make any sense".

Last night i had a discussion with SGRC UI on our chatroom. It was started by a question about Antonio Gramsci's theory of Hegemony. And then the discussion went on to the next topic: theory and truth. Just like Gramsci's theory, to me it seems like social theories only provide reasoning about what happened in the past. Finding out the relation of the factors involved in one occasion. It's not as sound as scientific concept. And after reading some theories until now, i see that theory can only explain that one aspect makes something more probable to happen. For example, from functional structuralist perspective the end of slavery might happened for the sake of industrial development, in order to go on to the next level of technology and civilization. Not humanitarian at all. The theory does make sense yet it doesn't mean that the end of slavery really occurred because of that.

And then it's hard to see a social theory as a truth because in social event, even as the theory is in the process of being synthesized, things keep changing. It's so hard to make a perfect social theory because there are so many interrelated factors in it and in social event, even one person can make significant change. It's hard to find out the basic structure of human relations because it's rapidly changing and we are not fast enough to catch on.

Therefore, i think it's not a good choice to treat a social theory like a scientific concept. For example, using a theory to say someone's way of thinking or behaving is wrong. In that case the theory is just a tool to justify what you believe is right.

Recently, someone i know used a theory to judge people. This theory, even if sometimes sounds like prophecy because it seems like it speaks the truth, is methodologically weak and has poor statistical validity. Yes, MBTI. Only because based on the test i am dominant for N and T, that one forgot that i have emotions too. Judging that xNTx people are not sensitive.

But as an xNFx, you've failed to see that too. We are both not sensible enough to read the atmosphere. Because it's not about the type, dear. It's whether you want to or not. And in my case i actually want to but i have problems in expressing it, you know that.

And you chose not to care about that because you think you've been burdened enough by your own problems. As if it was my fault it happened to you.

"空気 can also be used to explain situation. Like, 「空気を読む」 or reading the situation.”




Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Saturday, April 25, 2015

Wednesday, April 22, 2015