A friend, in her article, said that Indonesians are a bit thin-skinned when it comes to criticism. Being a not-so-regular-anymore reviewer at the paper, I couldn't agree more with her.

Although they never say it to my face, I always heard that this designer, or that filmmaker(s) is not pleased with my reviews. As far as I'm concerned, my reviews have always been objective and never personal, so why do they have to be mad? Shouldn't they be glad to receive feedback?
Besides, compare to the style of foreign media when they give reviews, mine certainly are more mellow :)

I know a writer who never talks to his friend, a poet/writer, ever again as the latter wrote a negative review in a national magazine upon the former's theater production.

As for me, as long as it's not personal (like my weight:) ) I'm open for criticism. I'm used anyway to have my ass kicked or being yelled at by editors when I wrote crap.

Funny thing happened last weekend. Joko asked me to accompany him to a launching of the Indonesian film catalog at a bookstore. I didn't feel like joining the crowd, so I browsed the store instead and bought a book.
As we headed out of the store, Joko told me that film producer ML asked about me when she knew Joko was coming with me. I'd heard from some people that she and director RR (what am I doing here actually by giving initials? heh heh) were furious as I bashed their latest film. You know, that biopic about political activist *wink wink*.

Just when we walked out of the door, we saw ML in the parking lot, which meant it was impossible to avoid her. So, we greeted her casually. She, however, screamed in a rather high pitched noise, and pointed to us alternately "Hey, it's the bitches! The bitches! The bitches 01 (Joko) and the bitches 02 (me)! Or is it the other way around?" she shouted, while still pointing and shouted the b word.

We didn't know how to react, so we just grinned, while wondering whether she was joking or not. But then she cracked a laugh, and so did we.
See? We should just be able to laugh about it instead of shooting the critics and take it too seriously. Although, I bet Ms. ML still holds grudge, but I hope I'm wrong.

Posted by hera at 4:31 PM | Permalinks | Comments   

Rejection, rejection, rejection. It's like, deja vu high school. I mean, what have I done to deserve this? *self pity mode on*.

First, I failed the test to become, yes, a soap opera writer. A friend offered, and it's really good money, so I took it. I know, local soap opera is an insult to those who have brain, as well as to any creature, including the dead and ghosts. But I need the money, so spare me, people.

I was given a synopsis and was asked to develop it into a script. This should be easy, I thought. Since the story, a modern day Cinderella, like always, was really notorious and illogical. Although, it would have made any woman activist and child activist furious I bet. I was actually pretty embarrased with myself to have been involved in writing the story, even just for a test.

Guess what? I flunked because my script lacks of imagination. Imagine, what kind of imagination needed to write bloody sinetron??

And then came the second rejection, this time was from two banks I applied credit from. It began with our decision to buy a house, cause house price keeps increasing every three month and we already found the one we like. With only small cash available, we decided to pursue back-to-back credit: The house loan (KPR) and cash loan for the down payment.

Again, I overestimated myself. But to my defense, my salary is enough to pay the installment, my credit card history is good, and I've worked long enough, so why the hell did the two banks reject my proposal?? I guess the local economists are right. Local banks give credits to bloody conglomerates and businessmen but undermine small enterpreneurs. Whereas the former have bad credits and the source of ailing banks back in the end of 90s.

Anyway, the latest news is, I didn't get the job at that xx international news wire. Along with other applicant friends, we're going to form a band called xx rejects :)

However, except for the credit rejection, I'm actually relief I didn't get the rest. I'm a bit insulted for being labelled lack of imagination, but at least I don't have to carry a burden on my back for writing cheesy soap opera.
As for the job at xx, yes, I'm quite bummed. But it was more of I-never-like-to-lose thing rather than because I didn't get the job that I really want (FYI, I'm competitive:) and I hate to lose). Although I got pretty down because that means I'm not yet good enough to get the job. But I'm a bit glad because I don't think working with wire service is what I wanna do. As I told you earlier, there isn't much working opportunity yet out there but I don't wanna stuck in my current office.

I guess I have to learn to be a gracious loser. And I have to work really hard so that when opportunity knocks again, I'll be ready.

Posted by hera at 2:45 PM | Permalinks | Comments   

I have at least two love/hate relationships. One with my Dad, other with food. I'll keep the details on the former for my God-knows-when-it's-gonna-be-finished novel. Instead, this entry will be dedicated to the latter, especially about a food haven called Kelapa Gading (ooh, I'm drooling already).

When I officially moved to Jakarta five years ago, one of the highest obstacle was food. As I was accustomed to mom's heavenly homecooking (my body figure is the living proof hehe) and el cheapo yet tasty dish in Bandung, I was bummed to find that nothing (not even close) tasted as good as mom's or food sold around the hometown.
To sum it up, most food in Jakarta range from mere edible to suck, the vendors are just looking for cash and don't pay attention to the food, the restaurants (especially in South Jakarta) are pretentious, with that boring zen-ish interior and equally plain food. Yes, I know, there are some exceptions, but not really extraordinary.

That was until I set foot and belly in Kelapa Gading, introduced by my then boyfriend who lived there. Oh my God, even the food court at the gigantic mall comes with a large variety of meals, with very few junk food, and they're goood.
Not too mention the restaurants along the boulevard, the alfresco eateries, and those along Jl. Kelapa Kopyor.
Two days ago, for instance, I ate at the latter the byfar the best kwetiauw I've ever had in my whole life. Nyamm.

Diet? What diet?

Posted by hera at 12:52 PM | Permalinks | Comments   

That's right, I'm back in Bali. Except that now I'm all alone, working, and supervised by the very chief editor. Worse still, I'm staying at this two-story suite in five-star hotel -- all by myself :( I wish my friends and my husband were here. This suite, nice as it is, is too big that I couldn't sleep at night.

Again, I'm covering an international seminar, this time on interfaith dialog. Today is the second day. But boy, am I glad that the sessions are all closed for journalists! Otherwise, it would be Novotel nightmare all over again where I almost lost my mind for listening to people talking and talking.

The downside is that the convention center where the seminar is held is located by the beach in the middle of nowhere (meaning far far away from places to eat, and shopping, of course :) ). And the committee (ministry of foreign affairs that is) is too cheapskate to serve lunch that they only gave journalists *fanfare* one instant noodle cup!
The first day of the seminar was from morning too almost dawn. After filing news and all, I got so starving. Checking all my friends, they were all unavailable, so I then flew alone to (where else) Warung Made in Kuta. Nyam nyam.

Working directly with my chief editor, I have new respect for him. He's a brilliant guy, yet unlike the asshole editor who told me I was fat, he is nice. He wasn't run around just giving orders, but sat down and wrote the articles with me and our Bali stringer, and he even told us what the lead should be so that we could finish early.
Certain editor would be: "Think! Think of your own!!" or "So, what's the story? What's the story??".

I have one day left, I hope I'll find time for shopping! That's right, I love shopping. Yeah, I'm that shallow. I love to shop, I love Paris Hilton's Simple Life, and my infatuation for F4 and Meteor Garden turned out to be not just a phase (NOW I'm worried hehe).

Posted by hera at 10:21 AM | Permalinks | Comments   

How long is too long for a job? I've been thinking a lot about it lately.

This year marks the fifth anniversary of me working for the paper. Some said it's time to move on (or up) otherwise 15 years would pass and I'd become that grumpy, unproductive old lady who endlessly complains about the office but never has a gut to quit.
Others, meanwhile, told me to relax as the paper is a pretty good place to work, that other place isn't necessary better, and that what I need is to continue challenge myself and achieve more.

They are all true, which makes me even more confused, and scared. Why should I care about them, you're saying? Because I don't wanna end up as grumpy old lady. And I don't wanna be stuck in the same office because no better office wants me.
What I really want actually is trying different kind of jobs from time to time -- including waiting table, don't know why but I always wanna know what it feels like -- in different places, without worrying about money, plus I still can write :D

Since that is yet possible cause I'm still worried about money and security, I have to stick with this job, which I love actually. But it's been five years.. (annoyed already? :P)
Don't know why, but it's been sooo hard to quit the office and move to other place. I've already cancelled three offers, which I had actually applied to, just because I wasn't sure.

There was another vacancy opened too recently, and yet I had been indecisive about whether I should apply or not. That was before I watched Sex, Lies and Videotape last weekend. The DVD comes with the trailer, complete with commentaries from film critics like Time magazine's Richard Corliss and Rolling Stone's Peter Travers.
I was, like, what?? It's a 1989 film and both men were already film critics?? (Turned out Corliss has been doing it since 1973!).
Suddenly, it struck me badly. I don't want to work in the same place and doing the same thing for that long. Those critics are great, respected and all, and maybe I was just being silly. But still, I don't feel like working in the same place for that long.

And so I texted a friend and asked whether the vacancy at his office was still open. He called me instead, asked me to come by Monday morning for written test.
So there I was with my resume, rewriting two articles to be more concised and writing an article based on a report.
After spending 5 years of writing news everyday, I should've done it in a snap, right? Wrong. I got so self-conscious that it took me longer that I had expected to finish the test. Yeah well.

Apparently, several friends had taken the same tests. One said that he has been working at the same office for 7 years that he thought he needed some change. There you go again. Five years, 7 years, a decade, two decades... How long is too long?

Posted by hera at 7:01 PM | Permalinks | Comments   

A free internet IQ test I took a while ago says that I'm equally good at verbal and math (a bit of narcissism won't hurt, huh? After all, that's what blog is all about).
My math skill is hardly useful these days, but I'm pretty proud that I'm a trilingual :) although my English is still far from perfect and my Indonesian writings are so dull.
And I'm proud of being able to speak Sundanese both coarse and refine Sundanese, yet I don't have any trace of Sundanese accent when I speak Indonesian, although I was born in Bandung and continued to live there for 23 years.

Lately, however, strange things happened. When I woke up in the morning, still half conscious, I often found myself asking about time or other things to my husband in Sundanese, which, of course, was replied by "Huh?". I've also been speaking Sundanese more and more these days, peppering my talks with Sundanese words, or swearing like the truck drivers from the West Java coastal villages.
And boy, was I really ecstatic to meet an old friend who speaks the same lingo.
I once got embarrased, however, when my managing editor asked me about something, and I ended my sentence with the Sundanese expression (to emphasize something) "da". Of a Sundanese father, the editor laughed hard and mocked me about it.

I don't know why the Sundanese fever caught me. Maybe after 23 years of daily usage, and then was repressed for the next 5 years, the language fights hard for its way out.
Or maybe, I got too sad after reading a news about how Sundanese language is vanishing as few young people speak it.

I'm no anthropologist, so I don't know why, unlike Javanese, Sundanese are less proud of their culture although we occupy the same island. In Central and East Java, everybody practically speaks Javanese, even in big cities. But not in West Java. I remember my own relatives in villages far away from the capital of Bandung, who didn't teach their children Sundanese and speak with them in Indonesian (with thick Sundanese accent, unlike moi heh heh).
Whereas Sundanese, like Javanese as well, is a rich language given the levels of whom you speak with (children, older people, subordinates etc. a bit feudal, but it's a different case), really wide array of vocabularies, countless phrase and idioms, etc.

If I had children someday, I wanted to teach them Sundanese. But that would be really difficult. First, who would they speak it with aside of me while you'll lose a language when you don't use it. Secondly and most importantly, I don't feel like having children, so whom am going to teach? My husband's Sundanese is improving from time to time, but seems like what he's interested in is the profane languages :)

I just hope somebody will do something to prevent the language from vanishing.

Posted by hera at 12:24 PM | Permalinks | Comments   

No, I am not going to panic this time. I am not gonna run to the
nutritionist, accupuncturist, nor will I hit the gym frantically.
I am not going to be hysterical as the scale veers unhesitatedly
to the right.
I am not going to be hurt although that editor asshole smirks
and say "you're getting bigger" right into my face.
I am not going to get depressed as my diet scheme backlashes
and I gain extra pound instead of losing them.

I will just accept the fact that I gain weight easily than you can
pronounce the word 'fat' but I am not obese so there is no need
to be panic.
I will stop envying people with rapid metabolism who can gobble any
food they like without having to worry about gaining weight.
I will have to accept the fact that it takes hardwork to lose weight,
therefore I will exercise regularly and go on diet healthily.
I will just tell people who think of me as fat that I am pregnant
(which I don't so stop screaming).

And to my fucking editor: "Yeah, I eat a lot. I'm happily married!!"
(Ugh, I should've said that :) )

Posted by hera at 2:48 PM | Permalinks | Comments