The fire never dies

Rowo, Petungkriyono - Semi-squatting on a stool in the semi-darkness of the kitchen lit only by a dust covered fluorescent tube and the flames from the wood stove, it seems that the fire here is kept perpetually alive, providing warmth, and more importantly, keeping a fresh supply of water boiling, and providing the necessary heat to cook the simple but eca cooking by Bu Bahu.

In a flash, it has already been 2 weeks since arriving in Rowo to carry out the Social Action Internship Program, if not for the fact that as sub-unit treasurer I had to keep track of dates to make payment for the living expenditure every fortnightly, I probably would not have bothered to count, nor realise how fast time is flying by. I guess having the days filled with activities (from construction of the simple prototype biogas unit, to having a hand at being a farmer, to being teacher to a whole gaggle of kids) certainly helps in the acceleration of the time spent here.

Life here has also somewhat adapted to the local rhythm of things. Waking up in the mornings to the chorus of crowing, birds chirping, etc, having breakfast together, then splitting up to run our various programs. Construction of the biogas unit has finally reached its apex, with all the physical components completed and now in place, all that is left is to start the process of mixing the cow dung and pouring it into the digester unit and wait 14-21 days to see if all the time, effort, and while not particularly large but is still money spent is worth it after all.

For the sake of our kind sponsors and donors, and also the people here in Rowo, I hope that it is a success.

Initial-P

Rowo, Petungkriyono - Twisting and turning through the mountain passes, I finally arrived at Rowo slightly over a week ago. It is hard to imagine that the number of days that had passed could still be counted with fingers from both hands, it seemed much longer than that.

While still essentially a traditional Javanese village situated high up in the mountains south of Pekalongan, technology had clearly made some in-road into even an area considered remote and isolated. Modern day things like television and to a certain extent mobile cellular coverage exist here. Electricity for Rowo is supplied through two main means, one of which is the national electricity grid (PLN), which has managed to lay power lines to at least this portion of Petungkriyono, and the other being clean-green energy from micro hydro-electric generators that were cobbled together from, I kid you not, scrap motorcycle parts. The village head (Kepala Dusun, or as they call them here, Pak Bahu) whom I am lodged with is exceedingly cordial and warm in hosting the gaggle of university students (i.e Us!) for two months.

Despite the unreliable electricity (Pak Bahu's house along with 8 others are wired up from the micro-hydroelectric generators - thus at the mercy of the flow of water in the river and also strong winds which affect the wires), ice-cold water to bathe in, sleeping on a bench and snuggled in a sleeping bag every night, it is here that perhaps I have truly experienced first hand what is called the "simple pleasures in life". It doesn't matter that the food at the table is the same at almost every meal, the freshness of the vegetables, and not to mention one of the tastiest sambal I've ever sampled, makes certain my stomach is never too far from hunger. Teaching and playing with the local children in the spare time outside of the physical infrastructure improvement programs remind me of something that had been long forgotten, what it was like to truly "just play". It has also made me realise how my viewpoints towards children have changed over the years, and perhaps more so, how it has changed recently.

That is all the time I have at the moment for an online update, so with this, I bid all readers sugeng sonten and hope I can post another one soon.

Inspirasi

I've always wondered why I seem to have the inspiration to write, and not just here on the blog but things in general, only late at night. Words for my thousands-of-words-target papers never seem to be forthcoming with the sun still up in the sky. Of course blogging is even easier with a glass of cold beer and some soul-wrenching music playing in the background. Lately I've been complaining about a lack of motivation to do alot of things, with sleep seeming the only escape from the doldrums that has pervaded just about every aspect of my life. Can it be true? That an artist really needs to be in constant contact with his muse or lose his inspiration entirely.

Truly

Truly (Lionel Ritchie)

Girl, tell me only this
That I have your heart for always
And you want me by your side
Whispering the words
I'll always Love you!
And forever, I will be your lover
and I know if you really care
I will always be there!
Now, I need to tell you this
There's no other Love like your Love
And as long as I live
I'll give you all the joy
My heart and soul can give!
Let me hold you
I need to have you near me
And I feel with you in my arms
This love will last forever!
'Cause I'm truly
Truly in Love with you, girl
I'm truly
Head over heels with your Love
I need you
And with your love I'm free
And truly
You know, you're alright with me!
Truly

Painted white lines

Lines. They mark and divide. But yet people do not necessarily heed them. Stepping over. Or stopping short. The recent "road improvement" efforts here in Jogja city seem to be centered on painting new markings on the roads. Not that it makes the traffic any more orderly, the same reckless overtaking, against the flow of traffic stunts still are a norm. So... what the hell for? This reminds me vaguely of irritating behaviour at train stations with commuters squeezing to get on even before those wanting to get off can exit the carriage. There are lines for sure. But for all intents and purposes, it could be painted on those inconsiderate people's foreheads. They can't see them.

Lines. They don't necessarily have to be physical in nature. Many exist in an imagined reality which only our minds can see. Invisible boundaries. Drawn. Re-drawn. Erased. Drawn again. A never ending process as we negotiate the uncertain pathway that we call life. I wonder when would come a time that a line, wrongly drawn, or not drawn, be the downfall of me.

Insomnia

I can't sleep. Try as I might, the comfort of nothingness just does not take me tonight. Somehow the feeling of loneliness seemed extremely strong, with music not even assuaging it. Looking out the window at the dark city, tiny points of lights left on here and there, the empty deserted streets. If I turned out to be last person alive on this planet, I wouldn't be too surprised. Writing this post on TextEdit made it worse, while I do not profess to be an internet addict, not being able to get a connection at this hour is extremely strange, it's as if the powers that may be have conspired to cut me off from communicating with anyone other than myself. Lately I have been finding myself in situations that I have something to say, yet I bite my tongue to swallow it back. What am I afraid of? This is a question I ask myself now as I reflect on it. Is it because that I have gained so much that I am afraid to lose it all? A high-stakes poker game some might call it, with all your chips riding on straight flush... but even that can be undone by someone else with a royal flush. As good as your cards may seem, there is always that remote possibility that someone will best you. Sigh. It's too early/late to be pondering on such. Sleep does not beckon, but I shall try nonetheless.

Are you afraid?

From the Cape No.7 sound track... a simple but meaningful song.

愛你愛到死

作詞 嚴云農
作曲 呂聖斐
編曲 呂聖斐

Oh Oh Oh
愛你 愛到不怕死 Baby
愛我 請你讓我瘋狂一次

愛是什麼東西 不過就是種遊戲
情是什麼玩意 不就是玩玩而已
Honey Darling Baby 或是叫我小親親
只要哄我高興 冥王星都陪你去

Oh 愛你 愛到不怕死
但你若劈腿 就去死一死

Oh Oh Oh
愛你 愛到不怕死 Baby
愛我 請你讓我瘋狂一次