In case you're wondering why it's been over four months since my last post on this blog, part of the answer is that I've been 'micro' blogging (or whatever term you want to call it) on Twitter. Then there's Facebook. I've also written several posts over this time period on my food blog: Cucumber Pandan.
So if you've been following me on Twitter or Facebook, you know that I've been alive and well (and writing) ... and like the rest of the world, my life did go on after the event I wrote on my previous blog post (ehm...).
And I have no intention of abandoning this blog, so keep checking back periodically!
Thank you, Michael, for singing me through...
Dick Clark once said that 'music is the soundtrack of our life'. Then if I rewind the clock back to the 1980s, the video montage of me as a chubby, nerdy (some things never change) adolescent girl will be accompanied mostly by songs performed by one artist alone: Michael Jackson.I was probably in 5th or 6th grade when I first saw Michael in his Beat It video (watched it on Betamax video tape. MTV was still non-existent in Indonesia back then and YouTube was a few decades into the future!). Then the Thriller short movie (or a very long music video, depending on how you look at it) came out. Oh my! I must've had worn out the tapes on those videos because I played them so many times! I couldn't get enough of this cute guy with an amazing voice, catchy songs and awesome dance moves. His music videos were like no other at the time, he made gangbangers and zombies danced with cool, crisp choreography... and he'd outdanced them all! (oh yeah, I studied and learned those moves, even the moonwalk ... and admit it, you did, too!).
Michael Jackson had completely captured this tween girl's heart. This was the first time I would seek music based on my own preference - I was just coming into my early teen years, so time for some independence, eh? My parents could hold on to their LPs of ABBA, Elvis and Boney M.
So I scoured music stores for his songs (those were the analog days before CDs, MP3s, iTunes - when you actually had to go to a store to buy music) and my cassette tape collection of Michael Jackson's music grew and grew: I started with Thriller, then every album all the way back to his Jackson 5 days. I loved them all. Hours flew by as I listened mesmerized and memorized the lyrics, even when I didn't fully grasp English back then.
Still, even with the language barrier, his ballads slayed me. Nobody could emote a ballad like Michael did. Nobody. His voice completely embodied the soul of the song. Even as a young boy in Jackson 5, he belted out soulful tunes like "I'll Be There" and "Who's Loving You" in his uncracked voice, possessing a maturity and polish way beyond his years. Any singer could do songs of romance or heartbreak, but who else beside Michael could also convincingly perform heartfelt odes to a pet rat (Ben) and a stranded alien who wanted to 'phone home' (Someone in the Dark)? He made those songs work. Beautifully.
Although I sought out as much information as I could about him, I wouldn't know what a global phenomenon Michael was until much later. Do remember, that back in pre-Internet 1980s, news, information and pop trends traveled at a much slower pace around the globe. But with whatever was available back then (cassette tapes, Betamax videos and a few magazine articles), I was already smitten with the Gloved One. Even when I found out that he was a mega-superstar and Thriller would be the #1 best selling album of all time (that record still stands), he was still my Michael.
His songs were so fiercely personal to me because they buoyed me through my teen years: the years when I was trying to navigate a rapidly crumbling foundation that was my family life. Cracks in my parents' marriage were already showing in those days in the early 1980s. Ultimately it would end up in an acrimonious divorce in 1985. The memories I have of those years are the sharp contrasts between the bitter awfulness of a broken home and the transcendent moments of joy that Michael's songs gave me. I didn't understand it back then, and I don't think I understand it fully even now, but he gave me a way to escape.
Also, that year of the divorce our mom took all three kids to the United States, further altering our world. On one hand, us kids were somewhat excited to move to America (oh, the youthfulness of our innocence...). But on the other, it was yet another difficult transition to go through. Through it all, when everything in my world was shaken and turned upside down and nothing was familiar, Michael kept singing to me. His songs that I knew by heart were among the few things I was able to carry from my 'old' life in Jakarta to this new one in Los Angeles (I had just turned 14).
They were the soundtrack of my life throughout those tumultuous years.
Now I'm back living in Jakarta. When I woke up to the news of Michael's untimely death just on the brink of his much anticipated global comeback tour, I was hoping against hope that it was an internet hoax. The wind was sucked out of me when I realized he was truly, forever gone. I was surprised at the emotions that flooded me, surprised at my own tears, even though roughly a quarter of a century has passed since that phase of my life. When I checked with my brother, he was going through the same thing.
We wept like so many of Michael's stunned and grief-stricken fans around the world. We mourned the loss of someone who wasn't even a personal friend or a family member, but in many ways, he had touched us much deeper than any other human beings ever will.
It is a testament both to the power of music and also to Michael Jackson's incomparable artistry.
There will be no other like you, Michael. Thank you for singing me through that season of my life.
"When someone in the dark reaches out to you[To my readers: even though this was a 'bittersweet' piece for me, I'd like to leave you on a happy note. The video below is from one of my favorite songs by The Jacksons (thank you, YouTube!). It harks back to 1978. Just try not to grin from ear-to-ear or move your body when you watch Michael, along with his brothers Tito, Randy, Jackie and Jermaine, as they blissfully boogie down in their disco-garbed, Afro-topped glory!]
And touches off a spark that comes shining through
It tells you never be afraid
Then somewhere in your heart you can feel the glow
A light to keep you warm when the night winds blow
Look for the rainbow in the sky
I believe you and I could never really say goodbye
Wherever you may be...
I'll look up and see
Someone in the dark for me..."
Photo of MJ above from RollingStone.com, additional design by me.
Of Bibliophiles and Bookworms
Butterfly in the sky, I can go twice as highTake a look, it's in a book
Reading Rainbow...
I can go anywhere!
Friends to know and ways to grow
Reading Rainbow...
I can be anything!
Take a look, it's in a book
Reading Rainbow...
Those are the lyrics from the theme song of "Reading Rainbow", a long running American program for children designed to encourage them to read. I watched that show almost everyday in the mid-to-late eighties. I was already in high school then, way older than the program's intended demographic of 4-8 year olds, but those were my first few years of living in the United States and the show (hosted by LeVar Burton, that's 'Geordi La Forge' for you Star Trek fans!) became one of my favorite ways to absorb and learn English.
I could put a more contemplative, erudite or witty quote from a famous author about the importance of books and reading, but I found that that simple song and the accompanying visuals of the show's opening sequence so perfectly captured the essence of why I have been a bibliophile (a book lover) and a bookworm (an avid reader) for as long as I could remember.
I remember going to a book fair at Jakarta Convention Center when I was in elementary school. Just a kid, I jostled my way through the crowd of big people to get to the shelves holding my favorite detective series by Enid Blyton (anybody remember reading Lima Sekawan/Famous Five and Sapta Siaga/Secret Seven?), Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie. My parents told stories of how if my nose was buried in a book, they had to call my name repeatedly to get my attention before I would hear them (hey, I was totally engrossed in the story, what can I say?).
When we moved to America I found my 'bookworm heaven': the public libraries! During my high school years, my most favorite summer vacation activity was to indulge in reading stacks upon stacks of books and magazines that I checked out from La Mirada Public Library ... all for free! (oh, how I really miss public libraries...). Almost three whole months devoted to blissful reading, uninterrupted by homeworks!
When I was still single, I'd spend most of my free time in bookstores, usually hunkered down at the in-store cafe, a pile of books and a cup of coffee keeping me company (by the way, have you noticed this blog's header up there? I chose that image for a reason...).
As we were preparing to move from California to Jakarta, I insisted on shipping almost all of my book collection also (to my husband's chagrin, because books are heavy for their size and the shipping company charged by dimension and weight!). I'm still dreaming of having a personal library one day with an armchair in the corner. That'll be my haven.
Even until now reading is still my #1 hobby, but nowadays I do most of it through the computer/Internet. Although I like the Internet because it provides me with a mind-boggling breadth of reading materials that could not be found in a brick-and-mortar library, the bibliophile side of me still misses sitting down with a good book (not much opportunity to do that now).
Reading a book is visceral. Your hands cradle it, feel its weight; your fingers trace the paper, flip the pages, maybe dog-ear the corner; your nose may even pick up the 'new' scent of a book with crisp pages, or a musty one from leafing through sheets yellow with age; and your eyes trace the words on the matte surface of paper, not from a flickering, glowing computer monitor. A properly cared book keeps for decades or longer, it doesn't need an upgrade every few years.
I'm all for technology, trust me. Those of you who know me know that I'm no Luddite. But I just hope that even with the burgeoning number of e-books and the gadgets to read them (Amazon's Kindle looks amazing!), real books will still thrive for a long, long time!
So are you a bibliophile, a bookworm, or both?
Above: My first-ever set of J.R.R. Tolkien's books(these are the three "Lord of the Rings" books).
I had fallen in love with Middle-earth long before the movies came out.
These books had accompanied me for more than two decades
and moved with me halfway around the world.
Below: my humble, yet prized, collection of Tolkien paperbacks
with dog-eared yellowing pages and cracked spines from age and use.
The super thick book at the bottom is the newer
"70th Anniversary Edition of Lord of The Rings":
all three books in a single volume.
Love so Amazing, so Divine...
I love contemporary Christian worship songs. I listen to them, I sing along with them at church and at home, I 'make music' with them and I used them when I was leading worship.
But on a few occasions, only hymns that have stood the test of time could properly express the depth and significance of a particular facet of God's glory.
One such hymn has had a grip on my heart ever since I heard it several years ago. "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" dates back from 1707 and it was written by Isaac Watts. Most of you probably recognize it from a contemporary rendition by Matt Redmand and Chris Tomlin (although personally I prefer the more poignant version sung by Selah).
I invite you to read the lyrics below. Read it slowly, for there's eternal beauty in the sheer poetry and eloquence of the words. Maybe the centuries-old English syntax sounds awkward to you, but read it anyway, it'll make sense. Let the images evoked by the unflinching lyrics sear your heart and soul.
I still get goosebumps no matter how many times I listen to it or sing it slowly. This song unfailingly would 'lead me to the Cross where we first met', a sentiment penned by a modern psalmist named Martin Smith.
Yes, we're approaching Easter/Passover as I write this. And what better song can remind us of the greatest act of love anyone has ever done for you, for me? (and it just drives the point of how the 'bunny' is so ridiculously irrelevant to Easter...)
"But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8).
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Oh, by the way ... here's a thought: how many of today's contemporary Christian 'hits' will still be sung 300 years from now?
But on a few occasions, only hymns that have stood the test of time could properly express the depth and significance of a particular facet of God's glory.
One such hymn has had a grip on my heart ever since I heard it several years ago. "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" dates back from 1707 and it was written by Isaac Watts. Most of you probably recognize it from a contemporary rendition by Matt Redmand and Chris Tomlin (although personally I prefer the more poignant version sung by Selah).
I invite you to read the lyrics below. Read it slowly, for there's eternal beauty in the sheer poetry and eloquence of the words. Maybe the centuries-old English syntax sounds awkward to you, but read it anyway, it'll make sense. Let the images evoked by the unflinching lyrics sear your heart and soul.
I still get goosebumps no matter how many times I listen to it or sing it slowly. This song unfailingly would 'lead me to the Cross where we first met', a sentiment penned by a modern psalmist named Martin Smith.
Yes, we're approaching Easter/Passover as I write this. And what better song can remind us of the greatest act of love anyone has ever done for you, for me? (and it just drives the point of how the 'bunny' is so ridiculously irrelevant to Easter...)
"But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8).
WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
Oh, by the way ... here's a thought: how many of today's contemporary Christian 'hits' will still be sung 300 years from now?
For the thrill of soaring...
When I'm asked if there's one song that could serve as my life's 'song' (or at least the one that defines a season in my life), my answer would be "For Such a Time as This".
It's been ten years since I first listened to this tune out of Crystal Lewis' "Gold" album and it has stayed with me ever since. As far as I know this song is quite obscure to the public, since it never received a lot of radio play. I don't think Crystal ever made a music video of it either.
But there's something in the lyrics, for they speak to me like no other song has. The lyrics' beautifully evocative imagery are powerful and moving, but beyond that, they have challenged me, chided me, encouraged me and given me hope.
You see, by nature I'm not a risk taker, and when I do take one, you better believe I have researched, calculated and weighed every options. I want to minimize, if not eliminate, the unknowns. If I take a leap, there better be an enormous safety net waiting to receive me!
But life (a fulfilling one) doesn't always work that way, and running toward the vision and destiny God has put in my heart means I have to put my faith in the Lord more than in my own calculated sense of security. As for that 'safety net'? He means for us to "mount up with wings like eagles" (Isaiah 40:31) and soar instead!
So, where are you now for such a time as this?
If you'd like to hear the song, you can click this link. This version is done by John & Anne Barbour (she's the songwriter), not Crystal Lewis.
It's been ten years since I first listened to this tune out of Crystal Lewis' "Gold" album and it has stayed with me ever since. As far as I know this song is quite obscure to the public, since it never received a lot of radio play. I don't think Crystal ever made a music video of it either.
But there's something in the lyrics, for they speak to me like no other song has. The lyrics' beautifully evocative imagery are powerful and moving, but beyond that, they have challenged me, chided me, encouraged me and given me hope.
You see, by nature I'm not a risk taker, and when I do take one, you better believe I have researched, calculated and weighed every options. I want to minimize, if not eliminate, the unknowns. If I take a leap, there better be an enormous safety net waiting to receive me!
But life (a fulfilling one) doesn't always work that way, and running toward the vision and destiny God has put in my heart means I have to put my faith in the Lord more than in my own calculated sense of security. As for that 'safety net'? He means for us to "mount up with wings like eagles" (Isaiah 40:31) and soar instead!
FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS
Written by Anne Barbour
verse 1:
I built my house here, along side this mountain
This rugged mountain that stands so tall
I've had a good life above the lowlands
It's more than I'd asked for, but less than I dreamed
I've often heard a voice call down to me,
"If you'd climb higher you'd find wond'rous things to see
But the way is steep and a storm may come... "
chorus:
For such a time as this
Isn't it much to great a risk?
I've never flown from the edge of a cliff
Never walked on the water
But if I turned away
How would I know what I have missed?
Have I waited all of my life
For such a time as this
verse 2:
I've been content to not ask those questions
That stir the rivers and move the waves
The windless waters are so much more peaceful
They calm my spirit in silent song
I've often wondered what's eluding me
The yearning meant to free me from complacency
But the way is steep and a storm my come...
bridge:
Sometimes the thrill of soaring
Has to begin with the fear of falling...
So, where are you now for such a time as this?
If you'd like to hear the song, you can click this link. This version is done by John & Anne Barbour (she's the songwriter), not Crystal Lewis.
Let's clean up our act (literally)
When I first arrived in Jakarta over a year ago, one of the things that shocked me most was how filthy the city was. Garbage was strewn along the streets and it was clogging the rivers, canals and gutters. It was an immediate, inescapable visual assault ... not to mention the health hazards and a major contributing factor to flooding!
About a month later, I began to understand the reasons for Jakarta's trash-littered predicament, beginning with an unforgettable encounter at Mangga Dua. It was my first time shopping there and as I was walking along the narrow and crowded aisles, a lady crossing my path casually threw the plastic wrapper of her snack down on the floor. It landed near my feet. She just continued walking like nothing happened.
I was so flabbergasted I didn't know how to react. I was furious, too, but yelling at her in English wouldn't do anyone any good, right? I could not (and still can not) believe how thoughtless and inconsiderate that act was. "What is wrong with her?" I fumed, "couldn't she find the nearest trash can?"
But sadly, as I keep finding out, this lady's behavior is far from unique.
Over and over again I witnessed people treating the streets and other public places as a giant trash can. Pop a gum? Drop the wrapper to the floor or sidewalk (or straight into the gutter). Done cleaning the hand or nose with that tissue? Just let it go. Took that last drag from a cigarette? Just flick the butt away, who cares where it lands? Got that receipt from the toll/parking booth attendant? Just crumple it and toss it out of the car window. Huh? Is the wind going to carry into to the waste basket?
Would you commit such a careless act in your own house? Or while visiting a friend's home? (I'm sure you won't be invited back...)
And what's more heartbreaking is that I've seen this thoughtless littering being done by many people who should know better.
So here's my plea to all of us: let us be a positive influence to others around us on this issue of putting trash where it belongs. Be an example at school, in the office, on the streets and even when hanging out with friends at restaurants and the malls. Yes, even in Mangga Dua. In most instances all we can do is do the right thing, but if the moment is right or you're in the position to do so, you can also say something to the litterbug. If you are a parent, teach your kids.
An army of one million streetsweepers will not solve Jakarta's trash problem. A fleet of luxurious malls with a higher concentration of top designer stores than Beverly Hills cannot hide the third-world scene outside their marble-lined lobbies.
I'm not an enviromental activist. I'm just writing down what's been bugging me. I know Jakarta has much bigger problems, but we can at least contribute a solution to this one thing. It doesn't have to take a marketing campaign, a government edict or even a requirement to switch to a 'greener' product.
Just put trash into the trash can.
If my two-year old son can do it, then no one is too young, or too old, to learn.
About a month later, I began to understand the reasons for Jakarta's trash-littered predicament, beginning with an unforgettable encounter at Mangga Dua. It was my first time shopping there and as I was walking along the narrow and crowded aisles, a lady crossing my path casually threw the plastic wrapper of her snack down on the floor. It landed near my feet. She just continued walking like nothing happened.
I was so flabbergasted I didn't know how to react. I was furious, too, but yelling at her in English wouldn't do anyone any good, right? I could not (and still can not) believe how thoughtless and inconsiderate that act was. "What is wrong with her?" I fumed, "couldn't she find the nearest trash can?"
But sadly, as I keep finding out, this lady's behavior is far from unique.
Over and over again I witnessed people treating the streets and other public places as a giant trash can. Pop a gum? Drop the wrapper to the floor or sidewalk (or straight into the gutter). Done cleaning the hand or nose with that tissue? Just let it go. Took that last drag from a cigarette? Just flick the butt away, who cares where it lands? Got that receipt from the toll/parking booth attendant? Just crumple it and toss it out of the car window. Huh? Is the wind going to carry into to the waste basket?
Would you commit such a careless act in your own house? Or while visiting a friend's home? (I'm sure you won't be invited back...)
And what's more heartbreaking is that I've seen this thoughtless littering being done by many people who should know better.
So here's my plea to all of us: let us be a positive influence to others around us on this issue of putting trash where it belongs. Be an example at school, in the office, on the streets and even when hanging out with friends at restaurants and the malls. Yes, even in Mangga Dua. In most instances all we can do is do the right thing, but if the moment is right or you're in the position to do so, you can also say something to the litterbug. If you are a parent, teach your kids.
An army of one million streetsweepers will not solve Jakarta's trash problem. A fleet of luxurious malls with a higher concentration of top designer stores than Beverly Hills cannot hide the third-world scene outside their marble-lined lobbies.
I'm not an enviromental activist. I'm just writing down what's been bugging me. I know Jakarta has much bigger problems, but we can at least contribute a solution to this one thing. It doesn't have to take a marketing campaign, a government edict or even a requirement to switch to a 'greener' product.
Just put trash into the trash can.
If my two-year old son can do it, then no one is too young, or too old, to learn.
Describe it!
The teacher announced to our tenth-grade English class that the assignment was to write a one-page descriptive essay. I had only been in the United States for almost two years at that time and this was the first 'real' English class I had enrolled in (as opposed to English-as-Second-Language courses that I took prior to my sophomore year).
So I went home and wrote a full page of descriptive essay (or so I thought). I picked a subject I knew best: Indonesia (and who else in my class would write about Indonesia? It pays to be unique, right?) and boy, I sure packed in a lot of 'descriptions'. The following day the teacher picked a few of the best essays and read them aloud to the class. Mine wasn't among them. I didn't think much of it until she called me in private and told me that what I wrote was not a descriptive essay. The page I had turned in was technically full of information (ie. "Indonesia consists of an archipelago of 17,000 islands", "The founding fathers declared independence in August 17, 1945", etc.), but it read like an entry from the encyclopedia! It was detailed, but not emotive... informative, but not evocative.
In short, it didn't spark the imagination.
My matronly English teacher patiently explained (again) what the exercise was all about. She knew I was a relatively newcomer to the country (and to the English language), so she was more forgiving and gave me another chance at the assignment.
I still picked Indonesia as my subject the second time around, but I narrowed it down to Bali and what I remembered from a vacation there years before when I was only in the first grade. Narrower still, I wrote from vivid memories of Sanur beach at sunset... of finding translucent jelly fish in the crystal clear water along the shoreline, of soaring bird-shaped kites silhouetted against the rosy sky.
I nailed it this time. It still wasn't the best of the bunch, but my teacher was very satisfied with my progress.
Fast forward several years. This time I was already working and one of my tasks was to write articles for the monthly 'missions' newsletter. The annual summer mission to Indonesia had just wrapped and I was supposed to write up something based on a rough journal/log kept by a member of the mission team.
You'd think I'd remember the lessons I learned in high school. Wrong.
After I turned in my first draft, my boss called me in to say that the piece was very boring. Ouch. He pointed out that I had written a chronologically accurate piece of the team's journey (it was based on a log, after all), but there was little to attract (and retain) the reader's attention. My descriptions were not engrossing enough. There was no 'story' for the reader to be immersed in. It might be sufficient as an official report to be filed away, but it was definitely lacking for a piece meant to be read by the mission agency's donors, who, understandably, were very interested in how effective their gifts were being used.
So back to the word processing program I went to figure out how to 're-tell' the story in a way that made the reader experience what the writer (or in this case, the missions team) had experienced, and not just gain a new piece of information.
And that lesson in descriptive writing has been ingrained in me ever since. I hope time does tell that I've learned it well (and I'm still in learning mode), thanks to a few mentors who had given me a lot of chances and constructive criticisms along the way!
So I went home and wrote a full page of descriptive essay (or so I thought). I picked a subject I knew best: Indonesia (and who else in my class would write about Indonesia? It pays to be unique, right?) and boy, I sure packed in a lot of 'descriptions'. The following day the teacher picked a few of the best essays and read them aloud to the class. Mine wasn't among them. I didn't think much of it until she called me in private and told me that what I wrote was not a descriptive essay. The page I had turned in was technically full of information (ie. "Indonesia consists of an archipelago of 17,000 islands", "The founding fathers declared independence in August 17, 1945", etc.), but it read like an entry from the encyclopedia! It was detailed, but not emotive... informative, but not evocative.
In short, it didn't spark the imagination.
My matronly English teacher patiently explained (again) what the exercise was all about. She knew I was a relatively newcomer to the country (and to the English language), so she was more forgiving and gave me another chance at the assignment.
I still picked Indonesia as my subject the second time around, but I narrowed it down to Bali and what I remembered from a vacation there years before when I was only in the first grade. Narrower still, I wrote from vivid memories of Sanur beach at sunset... of finding translucent jelly fish in the crystal clear water along the shoreline, of soaring bird-shaped kites silhouetted against the rosy sky.
I nailed it this time. It still wasn't the best of the bunch, but my teacher was very satisfied with my progress.
Fast forward several years. This time I was already working and one of my tasks was to write articles for the monthly 'missions' newsletter. The annual summer mission to Indonesia had just wrapped and I was supposed to write up something based on a rough journal/log kept by a member of the mission team.
You'd think I'd remember the lessons I learned in high school. Wrong.
After I turned in my first draft, my boss called me in to say that the piece was very boring. Ouch. He pointed out that I had written a chronologically accurate piece of the team's journey (it was based on a log, after all), but there was little to attract (and retain) the reader's attention. My descriptions were not engrossing enough. There was no 'story' for the reader to be immersed in. It might be sufficient as an official report to be filed away, but it was definitely lacking for a piece meant to be read by the mission agency's donors, who, understandably, were very interested in how effective their gifts were being used.
So back to the word processing program I went to figure out how to 're-tell' the story in a way that made the reader experience what the writer (or in this case, the missions team) had experienced, and not just gain a new piece of information.
And that lesson in descriptive writing has been ingrained in me ever since. I hope time does tell that I've learned it well (and I'm still in learning mode), thanks to a few mentors who had given me a lot of chances and constructive criticisms along the way!
"I've seen fire and I've seen rain..."
Both a raging inferno and a fast-rising flood marked our first year anniversary of moving to Jakarta and our sixth year wedding anniversary. If that sounds like an exaggeration to you, trust me, it's not.
The photo of the fire is from Jakarta Post.
The photo of the flood is taken by me,
that's how the street in front of the house looked like on Monday morning.
January 18, 2009 began and almost ended just like another pleasant Sunday. My husband and I went to church in the morning, then had a delicious lunch at a nice Indian restaurant with a superb service. We had a couple of things to commemorate: on this date in 2003 we pledged our love and lives to each other before the Lord and a church packed with families and friends, then in 2008 we said tearful goodbyes to our dear friends as we boarded our flight to Jakarta from Los Angeles International Airport.
We were spending a quiet evening at home with the boys when my father-in-law called around 9:30 PM to say that there was an explosion at a nearby fuel depot. My in-laws live in an area of Kelapa Gading that's closer to the explosion, but we didn't feel or hear anything at our house (several kilometers to the east). We immediately went outside and looked northwestward. Sure enough, although we couldn't see the actual flames, the buildings were silhouetted against an ominously glowing red sky. Bern quickly drove the car to the nearest gas station to fill it up. The fire was raging at Pertamina's vast fuel depot complex that supplies most of Jakarta and there was a potential fuel shortage if the situation worsened. He called me as he neared the station to say that there were already 20 cars in front of him and an even longer line growing behind him.
At home I kept scanning the TV channels for news on this, but there wasn't any yet. Then around 10 PM everybody from my in-laws' household (my parents-in-law, sister-in-law and her husband, their 7-month baby and their maid) arrived at our home.
My in-laws described the moment of the explosion as they experienced it: first they heard a very loud bang and then "whoozzzhhh!!" as the powerful shockwave rushed through the house like some kind of a supernatural force. They thought it was an earthquake. When they went outside they could see flames licking the sky a few kilometers away. Then shortly after, the streets in my in-laws' neighborhood started filling up with hordes of people who were evacuating on foot. These were the inhabitants of the immediate vicinity of the enormous fireball. They were terrified, many were crying and carrying whatever possessions they could carry on their back.
Seeing the growing chaos and fireball my in-laws decided to evacuate to our home which is several kilometers east farther from the 'epicenter' (the Pertamina fuel depot is in an area called Plumpang in north Jakarta, the same district as Kelapa Gading). They left so quickly that they didn't even bring spare clothes.
One of the TV stations finally put a 'breaking news' broadcast of the fire. For the first time we saw footage of the inferno, captured from about 500 meters away. We were glued to the TV, desperate for any development, but details were still sketchy. It was reported that almost two dozen firefighting units from all around Jakarta were dispatched to Plumpang, but they were hampered from getting near the blaze because of the throngs of 'looky-loos' packing the area! The anxiety level was rising because this had the potential to grow into a terrifyingly unthinkable devastation for the city. Picture this: a gigantic fuel tank containing enough gasoline to fill up 500 tanker-trucks is fueling 100-meter high flames, burning out-of-control. This massive ball of fire is surrounded by another 23 (yes, twenty-three) other fuel storage tanks of similar size (that's a lot of fuel, people!), the nearest one was only 50 meters (164 feet) away! Moreover, this huge complex of highly combustible material is immediately surrounded by a densely populated area, very tightly packed with houses and huts (mostly of slums illegally built on land that was supposed to be an empty 'buffer zone' surrounding the fuel depot complex. But that's another topic.). And this isn't southern California where the 'wild fires' blackened mostly non-inhabited areas of dry brush and vegetations. This was right in the middle of a densely populated city. It was really horrifying to think what would happen if one spark fell on the houses nearby, how the fire would race to engulf the tiny, tightly packed houses like matchsticks. Then it's just a skip and a jump to Kelapa Gading!
Then there could also be a fuel shortage in Jakarta if the other tanks went up in flames. That, in turn, could spark other dangerous situations in this era of economic and political anxiety (2009 is Election Year in Indonesia).
Now do you see how precarious the situation was?
We kept watching the red sky and the TV. By this time it had started to drizzle, which was good news for the surrounding homes, but not enough to put out the uncontrollable blaze. Being a gasoline fire, it had to be extinguished by a chemical retardant, not water.
It was almost midnight when I took the kids upstairs to sleep. Everybody else was still watching the news downstairs. Firefighters still could not get the upper hand, they could only make sure that the other tanks and the roofs of nearby homes didn't catch fire. By this time it was also raining harder.
At 1:30 AM Brennan woke up wanting to drink, so I carried him downstairs for a cup of water. I could see that my father-in-law and brother-in-law were still watching the news on TV because the fire was still raging, but still contained within that one tank. The rain still poured down. From the second floor window I could see that water already covered parts of the street, which was quite normal given the amount of rain. We went back to sleep.
At around 2 AM there was a little bit of commotion outside our bedroom because the leaks on the second floor were getting very bad. Then it leaked in our bedroom, too. The maids and Bern were busy mopping up the floor and placing buckets. The rain was now coming down in torrents. I stayed with the kids and tried to get back to sleep.
I suddenly woke up around 3 AM, this time the whole house was abuzz. FLOOD! The water level had somehow increased swiftly and there was about 15 cm (almost 6 inches) of water inside the house already. Everyone downstairs was busy moving things onto tabletops, chairs, stairsteps, etc. My poor in-laws, they came to our house to escape the blaze, only to get flooded here several hours later.
In the midst of this frenzy we were suddenly plunged into darkness! There was a short-circuit somewhere in the house, cutting off the electricity. The damage control continued in the dark, aided only by candles and flashlights. With flooding and leaking, no lights, no A/C, it was totally miserable. I kept fanning the kids to ward off the mosquitoes and the stuffy humidity that was building up.
And even in the midst of the pounding rain we could smell a whiff of gasoline in the air. Plumpang was still burning.
I kept praying for the rain to stop. There was no telling how much worse it could get (it got very bad in 2007 when the water was 60 cm [almost 2 feet] inside the house!).
Then at a quarter to four, it started to subside. At a little after four in the morning, two things happened that cheered everyone: the rain finally stopped and the electricity went back on! We all breathed a sigh of relief. The ground floor was still covered in floodwater, but at least it had stopped raining.
I tried getting some sleep along with the kids. By the time I woke up shortly after sunrise, the water downstairs had receded, leaving behind a muddy mess inside the house.
The streets were another story. It was almost knee-deep in some spots. The water level there slowly dropped throughout the morning and by late afternoon some of the street's surface were dry (but full of pot holes... again!). My in-laws drove back home when the water level got low enough for their car to safely pass through (thankfully their home wasn't flooded).
On this waterlogged Monday morning we also found out that the inferno at Plumpang had raged all night and was only extinguished shortly after 6 AM.
I told you I wasn't exaggerating.
Shortly after dawn, photographed from the second story balcony.
You see that minivan on the lower right?
At its highest level the water was up to its headlights
and covered the top of the planters that run along the length of the fence.
My father-in-law checked the cars for damages
(thank God there was none, other than the missing spare tire cover
on my brother-in-law's car.
Most likely the surge of water washed it away).
As you can see, the courtyard was still covered in a little bit of water.
Left: Although the water inside the house receded quickly,
it still left a muddy mess
(this was after the initial mop-up,
it took many more mopping up to totally clean it!)
Right: the 'river' right outside the front step.
Every time a car passed by, it sent a tidal wave of floodwater
back into the courtyard (and the driver usually stepped on the gas
to get through quickly, creating even bigger waves!)
The photo of the fire is from Jakarta Post.The photo of the flood is taken by me,
that's how the street in front of the house looked like on Monday morning.
January 18, 2009 began and almost ended just like another pleasant Sunday. My husband and I went to church in the morning, then had a delicious lunch at a nice Indian restaurant with a superb service. We had a couple of things to commemorate: on this date in 2003 we pledged our love and lives to each other before the Lord and a church packed with families and friends, then in 2008 we said tearful goodbyes to our dear friends as we boarded our flight to Jakarta from Los Angeles International Airport.
We were spending a quiet evening at home with the boys when my father-in-law called around 9:30 PM to say that there was an explosion at a nearby fuel depot. My in-laws live in an area of Kelapa Gading that's closer to the explosion, but we didn't feel or hear anything at our house (several kilometers to the east). We immediately went outside and looked northwestward. Sure enough, although we couldn't see the actual flames, the buildings were silhouetted against an ominously glowing red sky. Bern quickly drove the car to the nearest gas station to fill it up. The fire was raging at Pertamina's vast fuel depot complex that supplies most of Jakarta and there was a potential fuel shortage if the situation worsened. He called me as he neared the station to say that there were already 20 cars in front of him and an even longer line growing behind him.
At home I kept scanning the TV channels for news on this, but there wasn't any yet. Then around 10 PM everybody from my in-laws' household (my parents-in-law, sister-in-law and her husband, their 7-month baby and their maid) arrived at our home.
My in-laws described the moment of the explosion as they experienced it: first they heard a very loud bang and then "whoozzzhhh!!" as the powerful shockwave rushed through the house like some kind of a supernatural force. They thought it was an earthquake. When they went outside they could see flames licking the sky a few kilometers away. Then shortly after, the streets in my in-laws' neighborhood started filling up with hordes of people who were evacuating on foot. These were the inhabitants of the immediate vicinity of the enormous fireball. They were terrified, many were crying and carrying whatever possessions they could carry on their back.
Seeing the growing chaos and fireball my in-laws decided to evacuate to our home which is several kilometers east farther from the 'epicenter' (the Pertamina fuel depot is in an area called Plumpang in north Jakarta, the same district as Kelapa Gading). They left so quickly that they didn't even bring spare clothes.
One of the TV stations finally put a 'breaking news' broadcast of the fire. For the first time we saw footage of the inferno, captured from about 500 meters away. We were glued to the TV, desperate for any development, but details were still sketchy. It was reported that almost two dozen firefighting units from all around Jakarta were dispatched to Plumpang, but they were hampered from getting near the blaze because of the throngs of 'looky-loos' packing the area! The anxiety level was rising because this had the potential to grow into a terrifyingly unthinkable devastation for the city. Picture this: a gigantic fuel tank containing enough gasoline to fill up 500 tanker-trucks is fueling 100-meter high flames, burning out-of-control. This massive ball of fire is surrounded by another 23 (yes, twenty-three) other fuel storage tanks of similar size (that's a lot of fuel, people!), the nearest one was only 50 meters (164 feet) away! Moreover, this huge complex of highly combustible material is immediately surrounded by a densely populated area, very tightly packed with houses and huts (mostly of slums illegally built on land that was supposed to be an empty 'buffer zone' surrounding the fuel depot complex. But that's another topic.). And this isn't southern California where the 'wild fires' blackened mostly non-inhabited areas of dry brush and vegetations. This was right in the middle of a densely populated city. It was really horrifying to think what would happen if one spark fell on the houses nearby, how the fire would race to engulf the tiny, tightly packed houses like matchsticks. Then it's just a skip and a jump to Kelapa Gading!
Then there could also be a fuel shortage in Jakarta if the other tanks went up in flames. That, in turn, could spark other dangerous situations in this era of economic and political anxiety (2009 is Election Year in Indonesia).
Now do you see how precarious the situation was?
We kept watching the red sky and the TV. By this time it had started to drizzle, which was good news for the surrounding homes, but not enough to put out the uncontrollable blaze. Being a gasoline fire, it had to be extinguished by a chemical retardant, not water.
It was almost midnight when I took the kids upstairs to sleep. Everybody else was still watching the news downstairs. Firefighters still could not get the upper hand, they could only make sure that the other tanks and the roofs of nearby homes didn't catch fire. By this time it was also raining harder.
At 1:30 AM Brennan woke up wanting to drink, so I carried him downstairs for a cup of water. I could see that my father-in-law and brother-in-law were still watching the news on TV because the fire was still raging, but still contained within that one tank. The rain still poured down. From the second floor window I could see that water already covered parts of the street, which was quite normal given the amount of rain. We went back to sleep.
At around 2 AM there was a little bit of commotion outside our bedroom because the leaks on the second floor were getting very bad. Then it leaked in our bedroom, too. The maids and Bern were busy mopping up the floor and placing buckets. The rain was now coming down in torrents. I stayed with the kids and tried to get back to sleep.
I suddenly woke up around 3 AM, this time the whole house was abuzz. FLOOD! The water level had somehow increased swiftly and there was about 15 cm (almost 6 inches) of water inside the house already. Everyone downstairs was busy moving things onto tabletops, chairs, stairsteps, etc. My poor in-laws, they came to our house to escape the blaze, only to get flooded here several hours later.
In the midst of this frenzy we were suddenly plunged into darkness! There was a short-circuit somewhere in the house, cutting off the electricity. The damage control continued in the dark, aided only by candles and flashlights. With flooding and leaking, no lights, no A/C, it was totally miserable. I kept fanning the kids to ward off the mosquitoes and the stuffy humidity that was building up.
And even in the midst of the pounding rain we could smell a whiff of gasoline in the air. Plumpang was still burning.
I kept praying for the rain to stop. There was no telling how much worse it could get (it got very bad in 2007 when the water was 60 cm [almost 2 feet] inside the house!).
Then at a quarter to four, it started to subside. At a little after four in the morning, two things happened that cheered everyone: the rain finally stopped and the electricity went back on! We all breathed a sigh of relief. The ground floor was still covered in floodwater, but at least it had stopped raining.
I tried getting some sleep along with the kids. By the time I woke up shortly after sunrise, the water downstairs had receded, leaving behind a muddy mess inside the house.
The streets were another story. It was almost knee-deep in some spots. The water level there slowly dropped throughout the morning and by late afternoon some of the street's surface were dry (but full of pot holes... again!). My in-laws drove back home when the water level got low enough for their car to safely pass through (thankfully their home wasn't flooded).
On this waterlogged Monday morning we also found out that the inferno at Plumpang had raged all night and was only extinguished shortly after 6 AM.
I told you I wasn't exaggerating.
Shortly after dawn, photographed from the second story balcony.You see that minivan on the lower right?
At its highest level the water was up to its headlights
and covered the top of the planters that run along the length of the fence.
My father-in-law checked the cars for damages(thank God there was none, other than the missing spare tire cover
on my brother-in-law's car.
Most likely the surge of water washed it away).
As you can see, the courtyard was still covered in a little bit of water.
Left: Although the water inside the house receded quickly,it still left a muddy mess
(this was after the initial mop-up,
it took many more mopping up to totally clean it!)
Right: the 'river' right outside the front step.
Every time a car passed by, it sent a tidal wave of floodwaterback into the courtyard (and the driver usually stepped on the gas
to get through quickly, creating even bigger waves!)
Rain, rain, go away!
I used to love rain.
I loved how its pitter-patter could lull me into a deeper sleep as I snuggled warmly under my blanket. I loved the grey and colder weather that it brought. I perked up whenever rain was in the forecast and happily anticipated the approach of clouds the color of gunmetal. I loved how even the air smelled freshly scrubbed after a lengthy downpour.
But that was then. When I lived in southern California where it's dry almost year round and a rainstorm is like manna from heaven.
Now in Jakarta, I dread rain.
We are smack dab in the rainy season here. I could and should have loved the intense tropical thunderstorms. It is an awesome sight to behold, it comes swiftly, dramatically ushered by strong gusts of wind that shake the tree branches. Then the heaven opens... and oh, how it pours! Sometimes it rained so hard and fast that it looks like sheets, not drops, of water coming down. I even could love the lightning and thunder, how the sky lit up for a split second, followed by a loud CRACK! a hearbeat later, then the air shakes with deep rumbles that you can feel in your chest.
But rain in Jakarta always precipitates a host of problems. You see, the area where I currently live is prone to flooding (and the city itself as a whole has suffered devastating floods in the past several years). Last year, barely two weeks after our arrival here, we got our first taste of it.
Moreover, any downpour in Jakarta would immediately seize up the already congested traffic, practically paralyzing many parts of the city. Even a short shower could flood many streets to depths from just inches to deep enough to stall motorcycles and cars. Then there are the gutters, canals and rivers. Back-to-back heavy rain in the past few days already filled up the canals running through Kelapa Gading. In some stretches of it, the water level is almost flush with the top of the embankment. Spillover is a matter of 'when', not 'if'.
Additionally, the house we reside in is an older type and there are numerous leaks whenever the rain got stronger than a gentle shower. Just a few days ago, in the midst of an intense storm, my husband and I woke up before dawn and scrambled to mop up the growing puddles on the floor, positioning large buckets underneath the leaky spots and shoveling water out of the second story balcony onto the courtyard below. The leaks were going fast and furious. When the sun rose we could also see that parts of the streets were under water. Thank goodness it soon drained away.
Pre-dawn storms that soothed me back to sleep in southern California now keep me awake as I anxiously listened to the drip... drip... drip... wondering and worrying if it would grow worse. I fall back to sleep only fitfully.
Friends have warned us that if a rainstorm stretches into many hours without stopping (like it did for 16 hours straight last year), it's time to move the furniture and valuables to higher ground or to the second floor (if there's any). Then make plans to evacuate. Yeah.
* . . . sigh . . . *
I used to love rain.
I loved how its pitter-patter could lull me into a deeper sleep as I snuggled warmly under my blanket. I loved the grey and colder weather that it brought. I perked up whenever rain was in the forecast and happily anticipated the approach of clouds the color of gunmetal. I loved how even the air smelled freshly scrubbed after a lengthy downpour.
But that was then. When I lived in southern California where it's dry almost year round and a rainstorm is like manna from heaven.
Now in Jakarta, I dread rain.
We are smack dab in the rainy season here. I could and should have loved the intense tropical thunderstorms. It is an awesome sight to behold, it comes swiftly, dramatically ushered by strong gusts of wind that shake the tree branches. Then the heaven opens... and oh, how it pours! Sometimes it rained so hard and fast that it looks like sheets, not drops, of water coming down. I even could love the lightning and thunder, how the sky lit up for a split second, followed by a loud CRACK! a hearbeat later, then the air shakes with deep rumbles that you can feel in your chest.
But rain in Jakarta always precipitates a host of problems. You see, the area where I currently live is prone to flooding (and the city itself as a whole has suffered devastating floods in the past several years). Last year, barely two weeks after our arrival here, we got our first taste of it.
Moreover, any downpour in Jakarta would immediately seize up the already congested traffic, practically paralyzing many parts of the city. Even a short shower could flood many streets to depths from just inches to deep enough to stall motorcycles and cars. Then there are the gutters, canals and rivers. Back-to-back heavy rain in the past few days already filled up the canals running through Kelapa Gading. In some stretches of it, the water level is almost flush with the top of the embankment. Spillover is a matter of 'when', not 'if'.
Additionally, the house we reside in is an older type and there are numerous leaks whenever the rain got stronger than a gentle shower. Just a few days ago, in the midst of an intense storm, my husband and I woke up before dawn and scrambled to mop up the growing puddles on the floor, positioning large buckets underneath the leaky spots and shoveling water out of the second story balcony onto the courtyard below. The leaks were going fast and furious. When the sun rose we could also see that parts of the streets were under water. Thank goodness it soon drained away.
Pre-dawn storms that soothed me back to sleep in southern California now keep me awake as I anxiously listened to the drip... drip... drip... wondering and worrying if it would grow worse. I fall back to sleep only fitfully.
Friends have warned us that if a rainstorm stretches into many hours without stopping (like it did for 16 hours straight last year), it's time to move the furniture and valuables to higher ground or to the second floor (if there's any). Then make plans to evacuate. Yeah.
* . . . sigh . . . *
I used to love rain.
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