My iPod is possessed. One day, I was shopping for cheap clothes in one of those stores that sell merchandises which have been rejected buy regular stores because they were damaged (pairs of sandals that are both lefts or  t-shirts with only one sleeve). When I got back to my car bringing a mountain of clothes, I opened the back door and just dumped all the stuffs in there. I was trying to close the door when something seemed to be preventing the door from closing down. I thought it was the clothing, so I opened the door    w i d e    then SLAM! It still didn't close. I checked it out. It was my iPod.

Since then, my iPod has been giving me premonition. Every morning, I play my iPod in shuffle mode. The first song that my iPod chooses will describe how my day's gonna be. Yesterday, it played "Just" by Radiohead. Since it's one of the classics in my list, I thought it was gonna be a great day.

After being broke for months, I finally got a paycheck for a commissioned work. The amount was quite nice. It would enough to pay a year rent of a new house and for pocket money while I'm in Korea (read about this here). It would even be enough for a new cellphone. So I called my little sister Tia to accompany me to spend.

When we got to the first mall, we were looking for iPhone. But it wasn't out yet. So I bought some DVDs instead. I told her that our shopping plan wasn't successful since we only got three cheesy horror flicks on DVD. So we decided to to go to another mall to buy a new Sony Ericsson. I got get me a new cellphone!

"You know, it feels lighter to walk when you're loaded," I said. Tia was just giving me that look. "Why aren't you trying to stop me from getting a new cellphone? You know the one I'm using now is still new," I said. She just rolled her eyes. She knew nothing can stop me if I want to spend.

The cellphone vendor was on the 4th floor. We took the elevator but we stopped on the 3rd when I saw some nice black polo shirts. I tried one and it fitted perfectly so I bought two. I used my BCA debit card and the cashier swiped it on the little debit machine. When the print-out came out, we saw that the cashier had mistakenly put too many zeroes. To cut the long story short, it only left an amount in my account only enough to buy rejected underwear. The cashier tried to cancelled the transaction but failed. I called the BCA service center, the operator told me that they would file a report and they would probably be able to out back my money into my account after 14 working days. That means three weeks from now. While my trip to Korea will be in ten days, my house rent is due in three days. Meanwhile, Tia was laughing her guts out.

"I can't stop you, Brother. But the little machine can! Ha ha ha... Or is it God?" Tia said. I left the cashier and the manager fighting with the BCA operator. I said "I need a cigarette."

Then the song echoed in my ears: "you do it to yourself..."

Today, I'm wearing the most expensive polo shirt in the world. Wanna see?






P.S. Thing morning, the first song my iPod played was "Detachable Penis" by Flaming Lips.

Indonesia's most promising filmmaker, Edwin, is currently working on his his feature debut, "A Blind Pig Who Wants to Fly". I was so pleased to be able to observe the shooting last Sunday. This is truly guerrilla filmmaking at its best. Edwin shoots whenever he raises some money then stops until he raises some more. The say the story provocative is an understatement. The script is mind-blowing. Let's hope Edwin can finish this movie soon. It could be an antidote to the crass commercialism that's acutely plaguing Indonesian film scene.

It was a long weekend two weeks ago. Like all Jakartans who are desperate for a holiday, me and my friends went to Bandung, the capital of West Java. And like all desperate holidays, it was ill-fated. With the new freeway, it should've only taken two hours to get there. But since everybody was going there, it was long enough for me to see two horror films on DVD while driving. (I've developed an ability to have my left eye watch the DVD monitor on my dashboard while my right eye watching the road, seriously). And when I had to stop because of the traffic jam, I read the "Financial Revolution" tips on my cellphone again and again.

I began subscribing the service since the advertisement on TV says it will give you guides on "how to become financially secured in two years or less". It sends you one text message every morning and they charge you 1,000 Rupiah (US 13 cents) per sms. Since I always wonder how am I going to get or to save money to live the next month, I think 1,000 Rupiahs x 2 x 360 days = 720,000 Rupiahs is a nothing compared with the prospect of being financially secured in two years or less. Whoa... And they say that the guy who gives you the guiding words, Tung Desem Waringin, has been invited by big companies to give his words of wisdom to their employees.

I just finished watching the first DVD, a horror about sheeps that kill village people when the traffic jammed again. It was 1 am and all my friends were asleep. I stopped driving and read the sms from Financial Revolution:

"We can change our emotion to be better (sic) by sitting very powerlessly, then suddenly sit very straight as if we were 10 centimeters higher, look up and smile."

So I tried that. The car shook very violently and it woke my friends up. But they didn't know what was going on. "Go back to sleep." I said. My mood didn't change. So I watched another horror movie on DVD, this time about cows that kill, and drove on.

We arrived at 3 am, and checked into an over-charged hotel with towels not even big enough to wrap around my smallest friend's waist. When I wanted to go out of the bathroom to get something from my bag, I had to decide whether I wanted to cover my front or my bottom. Hera, who had to swallow all the complaints because she was the one who made the reservation, finally sulked. "Yeah, try to find the hotel next time!" she said.

The next morning, after listening to Bernie's complaints about us not having a schedule where to go, we decided to take his suggestion to go to this place called "Kavling Strawberry" where we could pick strawberries ourselves. None of us had been there but someone suggested that it would be a fun place. We immediately imagined the strawberry field in that karaoke video of the Beatles song.

It was quite a long drive. I received another sms from Financial Revolution. It read:

"Basically, it's easier to change our (body) movement than to change our feeling. By changing our (body) movement spontaneously, we'll be happier."

It was Jeffrey who was driving, so it was easier for me to do what the guide said. My hand was reaching out to scratch my head when I suddenly "changed the movement" and picked my nose instead. For the next hour, I kept changing my body movement spontaneously without my friends knowing it. I couldn't recall if I was happier then.

After several wrong turns, we arrived at the strawberry place which looked suspiciously... small. However, one of the employees told us that the actual place where we're gonna do some serious strawberry picking would be huge.

Each person who wanted to pick strawberry had to purchase a ticket. And the ticket was a plastic cup of strawberry juice. After we bought "tickets", a female guide gave us scissors and strawberry baskets. "No eating strawberries before we scale them," she said. So she walked us down the hill for five minutes. Then we arrived at the strawberry picking site.

In front of the strawberry fence, I squatted down. "I'm not going in there," I said. Everybody else was so stunned by the scale of the strawberry "field". One of us actually muttered, " I feel like such a loser." But then the laughter broke. Everybody seemed to be imagining that it was actually a huge strawberry field. To make the "field" looked wide, Hera was running forward and then backward.  Tatut was picking the strawberry which were quite hard to find in slo-mo. But the most diligent of us, as usual, was Priesnanda who searched for ripe strawberries to the very edge of the "field".

Meanwhile, I tried to read another sms from Financial Revolution:

"In order to be instantly happy, do the following: take a deep breath, arms wide open, face up, and smile widely."

So I tried just that.

We drove back to Jakarta that afternoon. Our car was extremely quiet and I was running out of horror DVDs. I turned on the TV but I was afraid that we could only watch gossip shows. The other day, it was about some celebrity who was supposed to have a huge collection of basketball shoes. Me and Hera counted them. Only ten pairs. Was it a rip-off or were we just guilty of having high expectation in the land of mediocrity?

I read another sms from Financial Revolution:

"To have a faster change, we have to master body movement (physiology), how to breath, and how to see.."

I didn't finish. I just type UNREG.








Oh... Jeffrey left his bag in the hotel lobby in Bandung.

There's always a price to pay when you're being a smart-ass.

A few months ago when I was shopping for cheap underwears, I received an SMS which sounded something like "So, shall I do it?"

I figured that somebody must have sent it by mistake. I could have replied and told the sender that he or she might have typed the wrong number. Or, I could have simply ignored it. But noooo... I must do something witty so I replied, "Please do." I immediately making up stories in my mind. The sender was a woman and she was asking her husband's permission to put on her sexiest lingerie that night. Or a boy asking his mother's permission to appear in porn.

What I didn't remember was that two hours ago a friend of mine borrowed my cell phone to talk to someone in the catering business about the possibility to order 1,000 boxes of food for an event.The next day, I was five millions Rupiah poorer.

***

Last year, in a bid to curve terrorism and cellphone-related frauds, the Indonesian government made a regulation that all pre-paid SIM card users must register their name and address by SMS. So anyone can still purchase a SIM card without ID, but before you can use it, you have to register. I thought it was just silly. There was no way that regulation could do anything good. So I registered my number under false name and address, just to spite it.

Last month, there was something wrong with my SIM card and I could make or receive calls. I couldn't just simply buy a new SIM card because then I would have to notify all my contacts. So I went to the SIM card center and asked for a replacement.

After waiting for almost two hours staring at one of those big digital indicators which display which number could go in to be served, it finally showed my number.

I was then greeted by a lady who, after a day long dealing with consumers' complaints, looked very bored. I told her about my problem and then she typed something on her computer. She deadpanned, asking for my ID. I gave it to her. Then she said, "Sorry the information on your ID doesn't match with what we have on our computer."

I immediately realized that I was in a deep shit. Not only I knew that registered under a false name and address, I completely forgot what name I used. So I kindly asked, "What do you have on your computer?"

She turned her monitor to face me. I read it in horror:
Name             : Brad Pitt
Place of Birth : Mojokerto (A very small town in Java)
Address         : Jl. Sawo Gang Jambu no. 2

"Why didn't you register under your name?" the lady asked.
"The card used to be... uhmm... my brother's," I said.
"Then he has to come down here to file the complaint," she said.
"He can't... Umm.. He is in... Russia," I didn't know what else to say.

I didn't know whether she was tired or simply didn't want to make me even more embarrassed, she just handed me out a piece of paper.

"Just make the statement here that this SIM card really belongs to you," she said.
"What should I write?" I asked
"I'll dictate it to you"
So I began writing what felt to be the longest line I had ever written:
"I hereby state that this SIM card belongs to me and that Brad Pitt is truly my brother..."

***

One time, I was so proud that I could get an unlikely production company to finance my film. It turned out to be a big disaster. But that's another story. In fact, this is just the opening for a book called "Things that Come Back to Bite You in the Ass" that I'm writing. :)

We live in a world which is heading toward moral decay. It used to be very peaceful and civilized. We knew no war (the story of Holy War was a well-planned hoax to be used later as an excuse Kingdom of Heaven), no barbarian, no murder between brothers (Abel and Cain were actually puppy dogs). Now we have prostitutes, women wearing short skirts, hoodlums, and riots. Blame movies for the declining values of human kind. The invention of movies is our biggest sin.

Thank God we live in Indonesia where the last noble, intelligent people gather in an institution called the Board of Censorship (LSF). They make sure we won't see people making love on screen, and protect us from the ugliness of western culture. Read about the board here. You can also read their brilliant guidelines in censoring film there which include one point which prohibit filmmakers from portraying bad things about government officials. They are our leaders. They must be saints. Many rooms in heaven have been for them.

I remember watching this film called The Last Seduction with Linda Fiorentino some years ago in the cinema. The film tells the story of a corrupt woman named Bridget who manipulates people to get what she wants. In the end, she gets away with everything. The board makes sure we don't get the wrong lesson so they put subtitles before the closing credits which says: "In the end, Bridget is arrested by the authority and punished for her crimes."

I just heard the news that they didn't pass Rudy Soedjarwo's horror flick called Pocong because it contains the story about May 1998's riot, among other things including violence. They told the producer that we shouldn't remember bad things like that. The board members are the most thoughtful people.

I remember having an argument with the board's chair woman, Mrs. Titi Said who is also a novelist, when they cut half a second of my movie Janji Joni (Joni's Promise) for showing two people making out in the cinema. The sweet lady told me that it was for own sake. She said that if they didn't cut it, some "militant" groups would take action on their own and attack the cinema which would play the movie. You see, they just want to protect us filmmakers. We have no law which forbids people from destroying other people's property. So they are there to keep it from happening. Mrs. Titi Said also motherly said that she was just being a mother to us filmmakers. I was shouting and banging my head on the wall because, like talking to my own mother, we were like doing a two-way monologue.

In the end, we just sipped our tea peacefully. Just like after everytime I had a fight with my own mother. Then she said she had a wonderful story idea from her novel which should be a perfect material to be considered for a movie. The story was about a woman who, after getting gang-raped by several men, goes out for revenge. I told her we could do it twice as extreme as in I Spit on Your Grave. She just nodded. Of course she never saw that movie.

This journal is getting absurd. I'm having a headache. Excuse me, I have to end this and watch the special edition of I Spit on Your Grave again.

My country is the best country in the world. The people are the best human beings in the world, the smartest. Crime rates are so low we love to to take a walk on the street, even at midnight, in dark alleys. Nobody would try to rob you, let alone kill you. Plus, we got the best, most honest police officials in the world. We've never heard of corruption. Our government officials are the best managers and the best workers. We never experience natural disaster. We never experience national disaster such as bloody ethnic clash because a small group of people decide to play a little game of politics. We are all devout Muslims. We don't have sex. Sex is bad. We don't kiss. Kiss is bad. We ban bikinis because bikini is the source human degradation. In short, living in my country means living the most peaceful life you can possibly have on Earth.

That's why you got to understand why suddenly our nation is shaken when one woman decides to be a contestant of Miss Universe. It's a beauty pageant, by the way. Her English is bad. And she wears bikinis! Oh my God! And she's supposed to represent our country, our people, our morality!

There is no one who hasn't received an SMS saying that how bad Nadine's English. Everybody has downloaded the video which showed Nadine answering an interview with her bad English. Everybody has showed everybody else the video. After living a peaceful life for too long without hatred, we are glad finally we got a common enemy. Her name is Nadine.

We finally have somebody to mock at. There is an article on a newspaper today that Nadine may face a jail sentence when she's back. Ok. It's not for her English, but for her wearing bikinis. And you know, bikinis are bad. They can make men begin to rape women, women begin to rape women, men begin to rape men. Worse, they can cause a national disaster. Oh, my mistake. They already did.

The truth is, we are glad because Nadine makes us forget about our own stupidities. If we are lucky, we can blame Nadine for disrupting our peace, for smearing our high culture. Plus, Nadine won't strike back by paying a group of people to attack your home, your TV station. Forget those violent religious groups, those powerful mob bosses. Let's not talk bad about them. Let's talk bad about Nadine.

I say, Nadine is a hero. Kartini of modern times, if you may. Another former winner of Putri Indonesia (some sort of Miss Indonesia) doesn't even dare to make comments on Nadine (presumably supporting her) because she is afraid that her fellow members of the Council of People's Representatives would be mad at her. And she's supposed to represent the people's voice. Her English is bad. So what? It's not our language. We still understand what she means. Everyday, I hear politicians talking in Indonesian and I don't understand what they say.

Nadine should win Miss Universe. If for nothing else, for being a rebel. And that, is not plain, that is not conservative. Now I have another ambition in life, to become a member of the jury of Miss Universe. To make somebody like Nadine win.

"I fall in love everyday, may be even twice. And you know, being me, it's very torturous."
Paul sips his coffee, Arabica coffee mixed with some exotic spice. And of course, he spilled some to his white shirt. He took some tissue and tried to wipe it off. And of course, the stain only became bigger.

But being clumsy is the least of Paul's problems. People say he got the ugliest smile in the world. His friends will never have dinner with him because when he smiles, they will lose their appetite. Some rumors said that the birds who lived in cages at his house stopped singing after he was born. Neighbors who came to see baby Paul were disgusted by his smile. Even his parents were disgusted. So they kept baby Paul crying all the time. When grew up, his parents always tried to make him depressed. The problem was, Paul was a happy kid. When his parents took away his TV, he started playing with imaginary friends. They were all clowns and the best jokers in the world and they kept Paul smiling. His teachers always made him sit on the corner and put the biggest kids in front of him so he would become invisible. Alienated from his class, Paul would write stories in his notebook. Funny stories. Sometimes, he could not help but giggling. And of course, by reflex, his classmates and his teachers looked at him. And of course, they would regret it immediately.

The first time I met Paul, I was at the movie watching an Indonesia horror film. The film was very stupid and people were laughing. But somebody right behind my seat was howling the loudest. When I turned my head, that was the real horror. The sound that the man was making was undeniably laughter but the face was so repulsive. Of course, being a collector of the grotesques, I immediately befriended him. He was sitting at the cafe at the movie theater, at the most secluded seat in one corner and I asked if I could sit with him. He was surprised but happy to have a friend. Since then, we always meet at that cafe to talk.

Paul never took his smile as a problem until recently. He started to fall in love. Everyday, he always meet a girl he will immediately fall in love with: when he walks on the sidewalk, when he buys groceries at Carrefour, or when he goes to the park to feed the pigeons. Sometimes, he succeeds at getting the girls's numbers. Sometimes after they talk for hours on the phone where he tells funny stories, they will promise to have a date. Paul will try his best not to smile. But at one point, he always does. And of course, the women will make an excuse to go the the toilet. And of course, they never return to the table. Paul is still in love with those girls, even though he can never contact them again. Some of them changed their numbers. Some of them moved to another city.

"But you know what? I found out a way to lose a feeling toward any girl I fall in love with." Paul raised his hand to a waitress and asked for another coffee. She never looked at his face.

Paul told me that now he always brought a pocket digital camera with him. With that, he would take pictures of the girls whom he fell in love with. With those pictures, he would plan the worst masturbation sessions. Sometimes, he would work out for five straight hours at the gym until his hands trembled. Then he would go home and jerked off to the pictures. Of course, his hands would be tired only after a few strokes. And he would have to quit while thinking that the girl was the worst lover ever. Sometimes he would masturbate five times in the morning before he went out of his house. When he met a girl he fell in love with, he would take their photos and went to a public toilet to stroke his penis. And of course, nothing left in his spurting system and his brain would think that the girl was the lousiest lover in the world.

This morning, Paul's mother called me to tell me a sad news.

Paul had fallen in love with a woman he met a movie theater. Soon, they started calling each other on the phone. They would talked for hours. She sounded to like him very much. She loved his funny stories. Of course, she had not seen him smile. The woman had asked Paul if they could go on a date. Paul knew that if they met, it would be the end of their relationship. Eventually, Paul told her that he got the ugliest smile in the world. The woman thought that Paul was only joking and Paul then tried to sound as serious as possible. They continued only to have a relationship over the phone.

One night, the woman begged Paul to go on a date with him. She assured him that she would still love him no matter what. Paul tried to convince himself that this woman might be different. After a while, he was sure that this woman was the woman of his life, the one who would be able accept him the way he was.

They met in persons on a Friday night at a restaurant that Paul never went to. They sat on a table right beside the window. The night was very beautiful and Paul tried his best not to smile. She became curious how bad Paul's smile could be so she started cracking jokes. Paul was still not smiling. Then, she said "I love you." Paul smiled. When he realized what he had done, Paul had become so worried. The woman shed a tear and told him that his smile was alright, and she would still love him. Paul cried. And more tears fell from his eyes when she excused herself to the toilet. And of course, she never came back.

Lucky for Paul, he had taken the woman's picture.

That night, he staged another bad jerk-off session. Since he felt very fit, he slice his fingers while masturbating to the woman's photo. But he kept on jerking off. In fact, it felt very good. He ejaculated gallons of sperm that night, mixed with blood, and he became even more in love with the woman. The next night, he tried another bad masturbation. He burned his dick with a candle while jacking it off. He still came with sheer pleasure.

Last night, Paul made a rope of his belt, hang it on the door, and put his neck in it. He masturbated while hanging on the door. His mother woke up after hearing Paul's feet kicking the door. When she entered, she found Paul was dead with sperm everywhere on the floor. His mother was shocked especially when she saw Paul's face. His smile was so beautiful.


-----------
By Joko Anwar. The Story of the Man with the Ugliest Smile in the World is part of the stories in 24 Frames per Heartbreak, a book about life and love in Jakarta.

Dari semua festival film yang saya ikuti, pengalaman di festival ini ternyata jadi yang paling inspiring dan membuka mata.

Saat tiba di bandara Durban, saya jadi lebih yakin bahwa bandara Cengkareng kita yang tercinta adalah salah satu yang terburuk di dunia. Durban disebut sebagai "playground" South Africa yang menjadi tujuan wisata terbesar. Kesan pertama saya adalah kekaguman.

I invented a game for movie buffs in 2001 and naturally, I named it "Joko's Movie Game". I can play the game with my friends forever and it helps to stay happy when you're trapped in Jakarta's ridiculous traffic.

Here's how to play it and it's very simple:

This is initially a two-players game although I guess you play with as many players as you want. One of the players will mention a movie title, then the other should mention another movie title which has one actor who is also in the first movie.

Example: You say "Pretty Woman", and your opponent may say "My Best Friend's Wedding" by using Julia Roberts. Then you should come up with another movie which has one actor from "My Best Friend's Wedding" but it can't be Julia Roberts. You may want to use Dermot Mulroney and say "About Schmidt" but it will be too easy because your opponent would immediately use Jack Nicholson to come up with another title. The point is to find the most unknown, obscure title so your opponent won't be able to come up with another title, and you'll win one point. You may mention Mulroney's 1991 unknown "Survival Quest".

Rules:
-The player who just wins should start with a new title.
-The new title should be a popular movie. For instance, if you start the game, you can't say "Killer Condom" because then you opponent will unlikely able to come up with another title.

Try it. It's fun. Guaranteed. And when you're having fun, remember who invented it, Baby.





Here's the transcript for a game I played last night with my friend Toni last night:

Me : Die Hard
Toni : Hudson Hawk (using Bruce Willis)
Me : Getting Wasted (using David Caruso)
Toni : What the fuck is that?

And of course, I won again.

I am sitting on my rattan mat, the same mat which I have been practically live on for five years. Five full years. For all this time the mat has been here in front of the door to my flat. Well, not exactly mine. If I ever admit that this is my flat, it means I lose and they win.

They burned down my house five years ago together with many other houses, they took away my land, and then they built this cheap nine-stories red brick apartment on it.
They did not give me any compensation money instead they gave me a flat on the eighth floor. But it can never be a substitute for my old house.

It is not because my house that they burnt was a big house. In fact, rich people would not even consider it a house. It was small with cheap wooden-plate walls and corroded zinc roof. But I built it with my bare hands. It was my masterpiece. The only masterpiece which I would ever made. I was only a pedicab driver then. There weren’t many chances for me to make a masterpiece.

My marriage is certainly not a masterpiece. My wife is stupid and I am stupid. We never know how to communicate right. We never went to school. May be that’s why.
My three kids are certainly not a masterpiece. My oldest son has already disappeared. He stabbed someone when he was fourteen and was arrested. I don’t even know whether he has been released from prison or not.

My second son stays at home, all the time. He is nineteen now and doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t go to school. None of my kids go to school. May be that’s why.
My seventeen year-old daughter, the youngest. Well, she is close to what can be called as a masterpiece. She has beautiful smile, dark skin, she is very pretty despite lacking skin treatment. What skin treatment, my family even struggle to get food.

My wife does laundry for several people live in the apartment. I never see her doing it but I guess she does it with her bare hands. Those people should be grateful because my wife is here so they can go to work without being worried about their dirty laundry.
Yeah, these people. They bought their flats cheaply from people who originally lived here. People from my old neighborhood and people from other parts of Jakarta whose houses were burned down, too.

Most of the original occupants have left, mostly because they don’t feel comfortable to live among these people who work in some offices. They do not know how to speak to this educated, rich people.

I could not help looking at their interiors sometimes. They got nice furniture, big televisions sets, refrigerators, even VCD players. The size of their flats are the same as mine, five by five meters with small bathroom and a tiny kitchen but somehow they manage to make them look luxurious. I never have the chance to arrange the interior of my... family’s flat. I never steps into the flat. Never. As long as I live I will never come in. If I do, it means I lose and they win. So I stay here on my mat. Once in three days, I will go dowstairs to have a bath in a public toilet. I also use the facility to do other urges of nature.

Sometimes I would take a walk but as days pass by I feel I’m become weaker and weaker. Now I almost bones wrapped in dark skins. My family still feed me and they still make me coffee and tea but I keep losing my weight.

People think I have gone crazy. My family think I have gone crazy. May be they’re right, I don’t know anymore. What I do know is that I have not spoken a single to anybody for five years since the took my property away from me.

Most people would pretend that I don’t exist. Many people would prefer not to pass my spot if they could and if they had to, they did not even have the courage to look at me, or may be the did not want me to feel embarrassed. Embarrassed? Yeah right. Those people who took away my land and house from me, they’re the ones who should be embarrassed.
However, I am sure that my family is embarrassed by me. Especially today.

My daughter has found a suitor. He is a motorcycle taxi driver in daytime and sells martabak on a wheeled-cart in front of the apartment in the evening.
He has been here several times. He is a short guy, has darker skin than most Javanese men do. He does not really have any quality which could pass him as a handsome man but he got a business. That’s good for my daughter.

He and his family are supposed to come to my family’s flat to ask for her hand from my wife and suppossedly from me. Since my family knew that they could not expect too much from me, so all they have been bugging me with is that I should be in the flat when his family arrive. But if I do, it means those people win and I lose. As long as I’m alive I can not do that.

“Just come in for a couple of hours. When they leave you can come back to your mat” my wife said again this morning.

My middle son was more harsh to me.

”Or may be you want to talk a walk when his family arrive,” he told me as if he could not see that I have been having a heavy fever for the last two days.

“Do it for your own daughter for God’s sake,” my wife added. She sounded more upset than ever.

My daughter. Yeah I love her. I always knew that she was the one who would turn out to be something significant. She will have a husband who owns a good business. May be he will be able to make her a wheeled-cart to sell martabak on her own. I can only imagine how much money they will be able to make everyday.

They will be able to afford a house, have kids and send them to school. Ah, what a bright future ahead of them. But first, they have to get married. This means that today’s meeting between his family and mine has to go smoothly. It means I have to come inside.
But if I do, it means those people who burned down my house win and I lose.

It’s two hours before my daughter’s future in-laws will come. I am still undecided. Is there any way that I can do something to help my daughter without giving up and come inside?
I can force myself to talk a walk but it will not look good, will it? My daughter’s future in-laws will wonder where I am. They will even think that I am avoiding them.

The clock keeps ticking. I can hear my wife cooking something for our guests. Once in a while she would come out to tell me to go inside and take a bath to make myself more presentable. I am still here, sipping my coffee from last night.

My middle son has also scolded me several times. Today everybody suddenly shows their annoyance of my existence. But I am sure my daughter will not be bothered. I know she will understand my persistence. I know she will be able to make her future in-laws understand.
I haven’t seen her since this morning. May be she went to a beauty saloon to make herself more presentable. Please, she does not need to go to any beauty saloon. She is beautiful already.

Finally, I see her coming. Yeah, she’s been to a beauty saloon. She even looks more beautiful. She walks very graciously toward me.

I know she will understand and let me stay on my mat during the meeting.

“Oh my God, Dad. You’re still here? What are trying to do, repell my future in-laws?” She sound angry.

I am so shocked. Even my own daughter who I have been very proud of doesn’t understand.
She goes inside. I can here her complaining to my wife. But I can understand her. Today is very important for her future and I should not be selfish. What should I do? What should I do?
Finally I stand up. I can see the sun shines brightly at the end of the hall way which lead to a balcony where I always look at the city once nad a while.

I feel weak but I force myself to go there. Slowly but I finally get there. Ah, it’s so beautiful today. This is a good to make a sacrifice for my family.

The rail is not that high. I can easily climb it. Woops. Now I’m up here. There’s no doubt. This is what I have to do. As long as I’m alive I will never comes into the flat. But if I’m dead, I will not know if they carry me inside, right?

One... two... three, I take the leap and I’m free-falling down from the eight floor. But everything seems to be in slow motion. May be because I am so light.
Do I lose or do I win? I am not sure. Either way, I don’t think that anybody will miss me.


(April 2000, For an old man who never steps into his flat)


By Joko Anwar. Previously published in The Jakarta Post

Last Saturday, after finding out that I have been robbed, I decided to sleep for a couple of hours since I thought my brain needed some time off. Everybody thought I was being weird because I just laughed about the robbery.

When I woke up at 8, I checked my car. Thank God they didn't steal my toileteries. I took a nice bath and drove off to a nearest police station.

Several people were already there to report that they had also been robbed. A man told me that it usually took three hours to go the process. When I asked how he knew, he told me that he was robbed every month and this month he lost his motorcycle.

I decided to leave my unlocked car at the parking lot at the station because I had to be on the set of "Koper" in one hour. Ironically, I would be playing a corrupt, bureaucratic police officer. The make-up artist put a fake mustache on me using some glue that burned my skin. I only one take for every shot and everybody seemed to be satisfied with my acting. May be it was the mustache, but finally I gave a good performance in my cameo career.

A friend of mine called me and asked me about the car. I told him that I left it at the police station.

"YOU LEFT IT WITH A BROKEN WINDOW AND A BROKEN ALARM SYSTEM? ARE YOU CRAZY?" he screamed on the phone.

He told me that police station was actually not the safest place and he had some experience that confirmed it.

I took a cab and went immediately to the station. Thank God my car was still there.

It was late in the afternoon and since my headlights weren't working, I didn't want to drive home after dark. But my friend who accompanied me told me that it would only took like 15 minutes.

Then I asked for a police statement for insurance purpose from an officer who typed at one character per second. It took one hour for him to type one page.

When I thought it was over, it turned out that I still had to go upstairs to file a report. When I entered a room, there was a boy about 18 years old struggling to walk while holding his pants which were hanging below his waist revealing his dirty underwear. It turned out that he was a thief who had been caught red-handedly and beaten by people while stealing a cell phone on a bus. His face was swollen with severe bruises. He was holding his shirt which was stained with blood from his nose and lips. He could barely open his eyes.

An officer then took my statement, also typing at one character per second. I also had to repeat my story because he always got it wrong. When he mistyped one word, he would delete the whole sentence. In the middle of the typing, he then discussed about why the color of his monitor looked funny with another officer for 15 minutes.

I told the officer that thefts often occured in the area where office was and said it might be better if there was a police patrol there.

He replied, "Even you who were there at your office didn't know that you were being robbed. How do you expect us to know."

I recall I didn't know how to respond to that.

Then an officer brought the thief back in and started interrogating him.

"Who are your accomplices?"

The boy didn't say a word.

The officer used his foot this time. He shoved the boy's face frequently with his sandal.

"You're going to jail," the officer said.

"Jail? Jail is nothing. You're going to hell!" shouted another officer.

Another officer who just woke up from his sleep walked toward the boy and gave him a fist and some kicking. Two high school kids who were there as witnesses laughed.

I felt that my stomach churned. Especially when one officer lighted his lighter and burned the boy's arm who already felt nothing.

I didn't know where to look. My friend who accompanied me looked very upset and his eyes began to look watery.

My officer was still taking my statement. Eventually he was done but when I learned that his jurassic printer also printed at one word per second. I felt so hopeless. It took us almost four hours before we could get out of that place.

Then I decided to drive home without my headlights. Three giant trucks almost hit me. But I just wanted to go home and forget about the whole day.

3.20 a.m.

I just got robbed. The person who guarded my office just told me that of the windows of my car had been smashed. When I checked, all the meters, AC, and CD player were gone. The thief just cut off the wirings. It was raining very hard and nobody heard anything. My car is dead. It won't start. Perfect. I just hope the insurance will cover everything 'cos I'm flat broke.

I was hanging out with my friends until 1 and since I have to be at Koper's shooting at 9 to do a cameo, I thought I just spent the night at the office. I should have gone home.

A few months ago, I almost got robbed, too. I was driving home at midnight at a very quiet street when a man on a motorcycle slowed down in front of my car. I didn't know what he was up to until finally he pretended that I had hit him. He got off the bike and hit the front of my car, shouting at me. One of his eyes was white. He was half-blind. He wasn't that big so I thought I could take him out. When I was about getting of my car, I realized about 10 men were already behind my car. Some of them had swords on their hands. They had planned the whole thing.

I stayed in the car. When I was going to drive off, a taxi came from the opposite direction, blocking my way out. I was thinking very hard how to get out of the shitty situation. The men were trying to open the door. I looked to my side, my laptop was laying helplessly on the next seat. I thought, if those guys took it, I would be out of job. Meanwhile, the half-blind man was still still standing in front of my car, banging on the hood. What should I do, what should I do? I hit the pedal and shoved the half-blind man to side and ran over his bike. One of the armed men hit my car. I floored the gas and took off, my heart was pounding. I was lucky then, I guess I am not as lucky this time.

I haven't slept for two days. My head feels like a smashed watermelon right now. Thank God I brought my bag with me into the office. And my iPod. Hmmm... at least I still got my iPod. And I still got to show up for the shoot. Damn.

I say the wrong thing to everybody all the time. When it happens, you feel like you're trying to claw your way out of the embarrassing situation. But the harder you try, the deeper shit you fall into.

A few weeks ago, I was meeting an old friend from college. He brought along four people. Two women and two men. We were recollecting memories about our old days when the others were listening to our stories. Everything was fine until I said:

"Hey, why don't you bring along your wife sometimes. I want to meet her."

My friend looked confused and said, "This is my wife right here."
The woman who was sitting next to him looked uncomfortable.

Damage control. I said, "Oh I'm sorry. You haven't introduced us."

He said, "I did. On our wedding there."

I shot my own credibilty and likeability on the head, very bloodily, with a shotgun.

Last week in a party, I met another old friend of mine. We used to joke that we were too ugly to find a good-looking spouse. In the party, I also met a pretty young woman that I got to know recently. So the three of us were joking around.

Finally, the woman said, "I have to go home now. It's getting too late for me."

Then my friend said, "I have to go home, too."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well I have to drive wife home," he said while laughing and putting his hand around the pretty woman's shoulder.

I thought he was joking. I said to the woman, "Wouldn't it be a nightmare to marry this ugly man?"

They were laughing at first. I laughed, too. Then he was trying to see whether I was being serious. Finally he said, "Dude, you know that we are married, right?"

I was still laughing because I thought he was kidding. Then his face turned serious. Then I knew I have said the wrong thing.

Last night, it happened again.

I was at a party when I met a female friend. All I knew was that she was pregnant with her first baby and she gained a few pounds from it. We and some other friends were chatting when I said, "I bet your baby is a girl."

"Yes." she said.

"Do you know how I know? Because you look prettier. When pregnant women looked prettier, the baby is a girl," I said. I was trying to give a compliment. I thought she was probably worried about getting heavier from being pregnant. I was trying to be a good friend.

"Thank you. But my baby was already born and I'm trying to lose this pound."

I was so embarrassed. I wanted to slap myself.

"Don't worry, Honey. You're the twentieth person to say so," she said.

I excused myself and heading to the exit. Several people were trying to talk to me. I said, "Don't ask me to open my mouth."

I got into my car and drove home very fast. On the highway, I rolled down my window and shouted, "I AM A JACKAAAASSSS...!!!"

I got home, entered the room where all my DVD collection is. I spoke to them, "Damn you all. I spend too much time with you I forget how to interact with living things."

I kicked the shelves and hundreds of DVDs fell on me. Nobody was there to help me. May be I deserve it. I will not go out for a long time.

I grew up wanting to be an actor. Well, up to my first day of elementary school. My teacher was asking every kid in my class what they wanted to be when they were adult. Everybody said that they would be a doctor or an engineer. When my turn came, I told my teacher that I wanted to be an actor. The whole class laughed. I didn't know why they were laughing, I thought that they were only being stupid. My older brother who was waiting for me outside the class saw the whole thing. When I came out of the class, he was laughing at me, too.

"You can't be an actor, you idiot," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"'Cause all actors are good-looking and you're not."

I ran home and looked for my mother. She was busy cooking when I did my best crying.

"Budi said I couldn't be an actor because I'm not good looking," I was sobbing my eyes out.

I thought she would be mad at my brother and get my father's leather belt and whip his ass. I knew my mom would support me. That's what mothers do, right? To keep their children's spirit up. I knew she would say I was the cutest kid in the world. But instead, she took a long breath and said:

"Well... you're not that ugly either." She wasn't joking.

That was when my dream shattered. I stopped crying and went to my room. I was then lying on my bed and staring at the spider web at one corner of the ceiling. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. My mother's answer did not kill me and it made me stronger. But it left a huge hole on my self-esteem system. Had I read all Barbra Streisand's trivia, I would have had an emotional connection with her. She was, too, told that she was ugly. The difference is, while she got over the trauma and co-starred with all Hollywood hunks, I still can't speak in public without sweating so hard. On the contrary to what my friends may think, I am a very shy boy.

However, I guess, my mom's remark made me divert my dream to becoming a filmmaker instead of an actor. I think I'm doing ok. But I always envy actors because they can be so relaxed in front of the camera. I was doing a cameo once in a film that I wrote and got one line. They had to retake perhaps 10 times because my face was sweating like it rained.

Last week, my friend Ochay was directing a TV series and he asked me to appear. I would have a bigger part than just a cameo appearance. At first, I hesitated but I decided to face my greatest fear: to act.

I memorized all the lines and rehearsed myself everyday for my three scenes. An hour before the take, I did everything I could to warm up from shouting to doing some push-ups. I thought I could drain up all my sweat so there would be none when they shot me.

When the AD called me, I still thought I was gonna be okay. But when Ochay called "ACTION!". The world turned pitch black and I forgot all my lines. I was sweating like a hog being chased by people with spears. We did several retake and when I finally got my lines, my eyes were wet and my body went limp. Ochay told me that my performance was good enough.

However, when I saw the rushes, it was obvious that I sucked. Now I know that my mom was doing me a favor by subtly told me that I shouldn't be an actor. Once again, my mother was right.

Everyday since last week several journalists have been ringing my cellphone, asking me what I think about the new draft about anti-pornography (don't ask me why).

"Have you read the draft?" they said.
"Well, yeah, since you guys never stop asking about it." I answered.
"How do you react to it?
"It's stupid."
There was then a long pause.
"And...?" they asked.
Then, there was a long pause again. I was madly trying to find a more intelligent answer. I said:
"It's... stupid."
I don't know why they kept calling me.

If the draft becomes law, it will be unlawful to portray people kissing on films. Inul may also be out of job. Since it's ridiculous to set a standard which act makes people horny or not, we will have to be careful to do anything since it may be sexually arousing to people. I know my friends in high school got aroused when watching my biology teacher writing on the white board. She may have to quit her job. Wait. I think she already quitted and began sending women to work in an Arab country.

Why some people have problem with people kissing? It's an act of love. It's just love. What are they so afraid of? In fact, why some people have to have problem with pornography? Pornography's good. If I don't browse naked pictures or read sex stories and masturbate to them, I would go ballistic. I would want to smash things. I would want to break some glass. I would want to kick people's asses in the office. I release my tension by jerking off. Thanks to those pornographic material, jerking off sessions feel better. So pornography's good. It's not like they make me want to rape somebody, or some thing. And who says Inul's dance is sexually arousing? My straight male friends never jerk off after watching Inul (at least, not that I know of). Who says all naked pictures are pornographic? If they are, so what?

See why I can't say that to the journalists?

It has been months since the last time I blogged. I guess because life has been good and I have nothing to whine about. Two thousand and five has been the best year of my life so far and most of it because I have the greatest friends anyone can ever hope for. We spent new year's eve at my home, doing barbeque at my tiny parking spot in front of my house with fireworks blazing in the background. I've also made friends with the geckos. They can now take over my house only when I'm not in. I know this because they always leave some trails on my couch: their gecko shit. One evening I drank up the coffee I left from the morning. It tasted funny and I realized that some gecko had dropped its dropping in it. But that's ok. I shouted to them "You fucker!". One of them made sound. I guessed it said, "Sorry. My bad." Apology accepted.

Apart from all the good stuffs, there was one thing that bothered me at first. Some people have been accusing me to be the one behind this blog which make reviews on Indonesian movies. The blog has been creating huge splash for its non-compromising comments. I love the blog not because it happened to give my movie a good review, but for its wittiness. I endorsed the blog in a newspaper during an interview. It turned out to be the biggest mistake. I recommended the blog. And I used to be a film critic. So it must be me. Funny. I don't have time to do my laundry. Or make some time to discuss with the leader of the geckos what they can and can't do in my house.

For a while, it really annoyed me. But then I realized, you can not prevent people from making bad comments about you. Who says the world is a friendly place?

I’m superstitious. It runs in my family. My father keeps a keris in his cupboard and I saw him talking to it in many occasions. My mom would not go out of the house until she whispered some words and click her heels three times. I’m sure it wasn’t “there’s no place like home”. 'cause she hates home. And she also made me wearing a huge anti bad spell around my neck. When I reached junior high, I opened it and found a tinily folded paper containing some magic spell in Bataknese and her scribble saying,”Why did you open it, you fool?!”.

When I moved to Lippo Karawaci, my landlord gave me two identical keys, only one of them opens my front door. So everytime I opened the door, I would ask a question like “Will I get laid tonight and not regret it two minutes after orgasm?”. If I used the right key, then the answer was ‘yes’. (Btw, I never get a 'yes' answer for that particular question).

However, after I picked up a copy of The Book of Answers from Aksara Bookstore, I can share my superstitiousness with my friends.


The book works very simple. Hold the book, ask any question, and open it. The book will give you an answer.

My friend Yose, treasurer at a film production company, quitted driving his car because now the gasoline is so expensive. He holded the book and asked: “Will situations get better next year in Indonesia?”

The book answered: “Absolutely not.”

He asked again: “Will Indonesia ever have a good president?”. The answer was “never”.

When Hera asked the book: “Will I ever lose weight?”, the answer was: “You must act now.”

My friend Ferdy asked: “Am I a whore?”. The book answered: “Make a list of why not”. I had to protect the book when Ferdy tried to burn it.

Chorie’s questions were much more ‘intelligent’.
Question: “Was Lady Di really killed?”
Answer: “It will remain unpredictable.”
Question: “Will Hughes ever get back together with Alvin?”
Answer: “Don’t bet on it”.

My friends didn't take the book seriously until two nights ago.

We were at a café in South Jakarta, very late at night playing with the book when one of us, Elan, got a phone call from his ex. He went to the backyard.

A friend of mine asked the book: “Will Elan's ex ask him to get back together again?”
The book gave the answer: “The answer is in your backyard.”

We were amazed. We looked at Elan who was still talking on the phone in the dark backyard.

When one of us asked: "Will Elan say 'yes'?"
The book simply answered: "Wait".
Right after we read the answer, Elan came back in and told us that his ex wanted him back but he said 'no'.

We were speechless and freaked out. We put down the book.

Elan who didn't know what had been going on took the book and asked:"I felt strange back there in the backyard. Is there a ghost out there in the back yard?"
The book answered: "Watch and see what happens."

All of us flew out of the cafe.

I was driving home and the book was on the seat next to me. I looked at it. I knew if I didn't throw it away, I would be forever dependent of the book to make any decisions because now I truly believed of its power.

When I stopped at a very quiet red light, I asked the book:"Should I trust you and keep consulting you?"
The book answered:"Ask your mother".
Wow, it knew that my mom would also believe in this kind of thing. So I keep it.