A Visit to the Dentist

I have long had problems with my teeth, such that, at this point in my years, there are not all that many left. Teeth, I mean; not years. Who can say about the latter? Some doctors say that dental problems are associated with the neurodegenerative effects of MS. Some say not. In any case, I have lived a lifetime of struggle with ... dentistry.

Most recently, one of my top teeth, an old root canal job, came out with a Snickers Bar, while a bottom tooth broke off at the gum-line, for no particular reason. So, it's off to Kasih Ibu and their department of advanced dental technology - on the second floor, just next to the out-of-service bathroom. The dentist is a pretty, young Balinese doctor (well, I guess she's a doctor), whom I have seen before. She speaks no English, but we make do.

First off, she replaces the dead root canal job with superglue. Although it was she who put this tooth back in its socket the last time it fell out, it does not seem, this time, to fit. But, eventually, she makes it do so.

"You have strange teeth", she says.

Yes, indeed.

And now it's the turn of the tooth that must be removed.

"If you want, you can just leave it," I tell her. "Tidak apa-apa, ya."

No can do. Akan infeksi. Must go.

So she sets to work. Her assistant brings out of tray of instruments that look like an assortment of screwdrivers, icepicks and pliers.

"Will this hurt?" I ask.

"A little," she smiles.

What does that mean, I wonder. It's a relative term, right. A little - like a bee
sting, or falling ten stories, or decapitation? Which 'little' do you mean?

But I'm ready. I'm relaxed. I wait for the Novocain administration.

Which does not come. There is no needle, no little poke, no numbing sensation. There is only the jab of the icepick as she sets to work.

There are problems from the outset. This tooth just does not want to budge. She pries, pushes, wrenches and pounds, but the tooth stands its ground. .

"Hm, ga mau, ga mau," she mutters, frowning, eyes gleaming. The matter is becoming personal.

She reaches for the largest screwdriver, leans close, white-knuckled, and says something near my ear. I'm not quite sure what she has said. She talks very quietly and quickly. As far as I can tell, she has either said that it's a nice day outside or that what she's about to do next is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

Turns out to have been the latter.

Though she is prying and yanking at one tooth, it really feels as if the entire row of bottom teeth is going to pop off like a bottle cap, and leave my chin hanging in the air like the leftover strip of aluminum foil.

"Sakit?" she says.

"Yeah, a little," I gasp. And there's that relative term again.

And so she speaks close to my ear once more, wielding a claw-like metal object in her right hand. Again, I'm not sure what she has said, so quietly and quickly, Indonesian with a Balinese accent. I think she may have said, "You ain't seen nothin' yet, sucka."

After what seems hours of struggle - she grimly determined, I grimly clinging to sanity - the doctor triumphantly pulls the tooth free. I and my tooth, I think, are a milestone in her career. She admires what's left of the bloody thing at the end of her pliers, shows it to me, and then drops it into the metal basin, where it clatters like a silver bullet.

There is no tooth that can defeat this doctor. There is no tool that she will not employ.. This is the motto of Indonesian medicine. Just do it!

It's also the Nike motto, and that company has done pretty well for itself.

Here We Go Again

Once again (as seen in the Jakarta Post), Indonesia's game of six acknowledged religions rears its absurd, uncomely head. Every time this happens, I want to tear my hair out - and I would, if I had any hair to tear. Is there not one sensible person in the government who can explain this matter to the others? Sigh. Here goes again. You cannot have Islam or Christianity without Judaism. Neither of the latter two religions can have come into existence without the presence of the former. Therefore, you cannot recognize Islam and Christianity as religions without recognizing Judaism also. The God, events and people that these three religions share in common ORIGINATED in Judaism. That's where they came from. That's where Christianity and Islam got them. Okay? Do you see how dull-witted it is not to recognize the religion from which your own religion arose? If Judaism doesn't exist, then neither do Islam and Christianity - because, you see, you have removed the very foundation of their existence. And while we're at it, someone in government also needs to be told that Catholicism and Protestantism are not two separate religions. They are one. Namely, Christianity. You list them as two among your acknowledged six. How is it that a country can think of itself as a 'religious' country, and yet be ignorant of religion in general - and actually make a proclamation of that ignorance? Good grief. It's downright embarrassing. Honest to God ... if there is someone out there who can unravel this perfectly impossible contradiction, please enlighten me.

Evening

The woman in the kost behind our house is crying again and talking. Crying and talking. The invisible insects are making a singing, pulsating sound, like crickets, but i dont think they're crickets. The woman sobs and talks loudly between sobs. She is angry. Sometimes the man speaks. His tone is very quiet and seems either reassuring or apologetic. He doesnt want to make trouble. There is already trouble. For a moment he goes into the bathroom and begins to sing quietly, but then stops. The woman's voice follows him. Two little lizards chase each other across our kitchen counter. The insects sing. There are three pieces of clothing hanging on the line. A yellow shirt, a white bra and a pair of blue shorts. There's nothing else to look at. There is nothing else to hear. This happens two or three times a week. On the days the woman is not crying, she sings.

Renon Jam

Nearby my house in Renon, there is an intersection of two 2-lane streets, both of them often heavily travelled. When the hour of heaviest traffic arrives, lines of cars naturally form on each street, in both directions. So far, this is in line with predictable circumstances and, though unpleasant, not an insurmountable problem. Ah, but this is Bali, and these are Indonesian drivers, and there are no acknowledged nor enforced traffic conventions. And this is where the problem starts -- for, you see, those driving, or rather mis-driving the motorbikes decide that they don’t want to wait in line to get to the intersection, so they move forward and line up on either side of the cars. The motorbikes behind these motorbikes do the same, and so on, until you have motorbikes filling both lanes of traffic, as well as the sidewalks. Now, where is the oncoming traffic to go? There is no more street, you see. It is now a one-way street. At the same time, of course, the oncoming drivers have made the same decision, such that their street is now also a one-way street. You have arrived at a collision of two one-way streets. And from there on, it’s sheer chaos. And the strangest thing of all is this: everyone is smiling! Now, I admit that when I first came here to Bali, I found this sort of pandemonium mildly funny -- the way stupid things are always somehow mildly funny. But when stupidity becomes habitual, it’s no longer funny. It’s just … well, stupid.

Wildlife

I haven't written much here lately, because I've been feeling discouraged by the constant junk replies of my doggedly devoted spammer. However, it seems that he has suddenly disappeared. Maybe something I did, in the way of deleting, or marking as spam, or sending to junk folder -- or maybe he just got tired, or grew up and got a job, or died. In any case, I'm newly relieved not to be receiving 20-30 spam mails per day.

Truth is, I've been pretty much limiting my jewels of wisdom to Facebook posts, which actually get more response than posts on this blog get. Which I kind of fun. I always like to make a connection with someone, to know that someone has taken the time to read, and comment, or simply check 'Like'. Silence is not a big motivator. I tend to talk to myself all day long as it is, and don't really need to write to myself, too.

I had just now posted something on Facebook about rats who run straight up walls. Sounds ridiculous, I know. In fact, I didn't believe it myself when my son first told me about it. The wild imagination of a boy, I thought. Rats are not cockroaches, not lizards, not flies or ants or spiders. They simply don't run up 8 foot walls.

Ah, but they do -- for now I have seen it myself. Straight up the wall he went -- from the kitchen counter to the wall and then over the top. How can it be? I don't know. Perhaps the roughness in the cement provides just enough of an edge for their little claws to get a purchase. Or perhaps they have been bitten by a radioactive spider and now have special powers. In any case, seeing is believing.

Also saw a Tokek on the wall the other night. This is a medium sized lizard, bigger than a cicak, smaller than a buaya. I believe this particular fellow used to live next door, but now that the occupants of that house have moved out (perhaps three months ago), the tokek seems to have grown  lonely and moved his residence to our yard (specifically, behind the washing machine). He comes out only at night, so far as I have seen, and prefers the sink area. And he will sometimes hide in solitude and simply repeat his name, as all tokeks do, until he runs out of breath. "TOE-kay, TOe-kay, to-kayyyyy".

Just When You Think There's Hope

Just noticed an article from Jakarta Globe regarding the awarding of the Nobel prize to Malala, the courageous and outspoken Pakistani teenager who was shot in the head and left for dead by the Taliban for insisting on the right to attend school. Miraculously, she survived and lives, now, to champion peace and women's rights around the world. A feel good story, right? One that lifts one's hopes for the goodness of mankind. Well, think again. Upon reading the comments, I was s...hocked to find hateful, lunatic blatherings about how it didn't really happen - no, it was all a CIA plot to have this young girl shot in the head (for some reason), oh, but not badly enough to kill her. She's a fake, they say, an instrument of the imperialistic Americans, or what the hell ever. Hoping to feel good about people, I came away feeling sick at heart instead. Would that these soul-sick, brain-dead knot-heads themselves had been the ones shot in the head - every last one of them.

Praise Music

Just behind our house stands a four unit Kost-Kostsan. The back of this building faces the back of our house and in the wall, rectangular vents have been cut into the concrete for ventilation. Just beyond these vents are the bathrooms of the Kost units. This provides us with excellent acoustical seating for the daily showers and such-like; but, there is a little bit of a problem, in that one male resident in particular regularly makes the most God-awful noises throughout his ...daily bathing routine. It's difficult, really, to describe this combination of coughing, snorting, hacking, spitting, and perhaps vomiting that accompanies each shower. How can any one man contain so much phlegm? But the funny thing, and the more striking, really, is that in the spaces between these retching expectorations, the man will break out loudly in song - and I do mean 'loudly' - with a voice that is true and clear as a large bell, but for a little bubbling and gurgling mixed in here and there. I had begun to eat my breakfast at the outdoor table the other day, and then paused to allow the man to finish with his various bodily expulsions, when at once he began to belt out the song "Amazing Grace" with such clarity and assurance - even passion - that I could not help but immediately forgive all that was less pleasing in favor of the gifting of this heartfelt, irrepressible praise. What is truly beautiful so often stands alongside the less comely things.
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