Wedding Bell Blues

My little friend, Sabrina, happened to ask yesterday, via Instant Messenger, how she might convince a certain bule (a westerner) to ask her to marry. I answered that the man, no matter where he comes from, convinces himself by falling in love with the woman, and once that happens, he can hardly be 'unconvinced'. In short, he asks her to marry because he wants to marry her. 

To me, this seems like a no-brainer. But maybe I'm just old fashioned. I mean, to me, love is love, and if you love someone, you just naturally want to be with that person--the closer the better. Marriage would not seem strange or like going too far. It would be the arrangement most desirable. Am I wrong? 

Well, she explained that the man wanted to 'focus on his career' at this time. Yes, he loves her, but he wants to focus on his career and then marry 'at the right time'. 

Really? 

It seems like I married and had children and focused on my career all at the same time. Isn't that the way it works? How, I wonder, would a wife keep one from focusing on his career? Wouldn't she, rather, compliment his career?

So, to me, to be honest, this sounds like BS. Yes, I have several friends who have spoken of career first, and then marriage--but they are quite young, in their early 20's, while this bule boyfriend is in his 40's (and Sabrina is only in her early 20s). These young men understand, and I think quite responsibly so, that they will need to have a reliable means of supporting a wife (especially in Indonesia, where this is both the culture and the economic reality). But a westerner already in a career and already in his 40's? Nah. I'm sorry, Sabrina, but it sounds like an excuse, an evasion. And I told her so, as gently as possible, and with the caveat that I could be wrong.

Facial Recognition Disconnect

I had another of these facial recognition brain failures the other day. I was at Starbucks, sitting outside talking with Hendra during his breaktime. Hendra, as I've mentioned previously, recently broke up with his girlfriend, Ratih, and the three of us had very often sat together and chatted. 

Well, it happened that while we talked, Hendra connected with a young woman on video call, and he turned the screen to me so that I could say hi. 

"Oh, hi, Ratih," I said. 

"Pak Will! That's not Ratih!" 

I look again. And I say, "Yes it is."

Lol. 

"No, Pak Will!" 

"Huh? Really? Are you sure?" 

"Yes! I'm sure! This is Ayu."

Well, I muttered something about how all Indonesians look the same--quick cover-up for senility, I guess. 

The thing is, the woman really is not Ratih. She really doesn't look much like Ratih at all. So why has my brain jumped to the conclusion that Ayu is Ratih? Why has it not instantly recognized the difference between one woman and another? Is it because I am accustomed to seeing Hendra and Ratih together--like, if this is Hendra, that must be Ratih. Yet, how has my brain happened to skip over the evidence of my own eyes? 

Oh well. It provides a moment of humor. For others. 

Mouse

There's a little rat in my kitchen--well, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and call him a mouse--who seems to be on the road to becoming tame. At first, upon seeing me, he would run like he was being chased by the devil, but nowadays he seems to become ever more nonchalant, as if saying to himself "Meh, it's just that same guy again. Why get in a sweat?'

I was sitting at the table in the yard the other night and I noticed little scraping, tapping noises coming from the nearby cupboard. So I opened the drawer, and sure enough, there he is, just sitting there staring at me. Not running this time, no panic, no bother. "Peep?" he says. 

Now, I'm not conversant in rodent language or in any of its dialects, but I have the feeling that, combined with the mildly put upon expression on his face, Peep? may mean 'Would you please close the drawer so that I can go back to my business in private?'

Later that night, I saw him again--this time tiptoeing across the tops of the spice containers. Upon seeing me, he rather unconvincingly 'fled' to the hose which connects the stove to the gas cannister and serves as his stairway from ground level to mezzanine and second floor--and I swear, he kind of shook his head as he went, as if to say 'Okay, okay, I'll play your game--Yikes! A Man! I'd better run! Blah, blah, blah.' 

I'm not at all a fan of rats, or of mice, either; but this little guy is becoming so familiar, his presence so predictable, his attitude so polite and civil, that killing a pest begins to seem the same as murdering a neighbor. In short, he has become the mouse rather than a mouse--as if he were somehow my mouse! 

And I'm pretty well certain that this is his plan. 

Gempabumi

Two sharp earthquakes in Bali this morning, 6:30 am and 9:50 am. Actually, the epicenter was at the island of Lombok, north of Bali. Someone said they had been measured at 6.4. I happened to be lying in bed both times, and the feeling was like sitting in a boat on a quiet lake and then being rocked by the waves from a passing motorboat. I suppose that these are associated with the mood of the continually puffing and grumbling volcano up country down Karangasem way. Coincidentally, the ocean tides have been strange in Bali, with swift currents and sudden 'mini-tsunamis'. In short, the earth seems to have its nose out of joint about something. 

Waterworks

Last night, I heard a sudden crash, went to investigate, and found a hose-like stream of water gushing out the bathroom door. Above the basin where the faucets connect to the shower there had been one of those suction contraptions holding a container of shampoo, my razor and so on, and this had lost its suction, fallen from the wall and impacted the faucet. This would not have been a problem if the pipe itself hadn't been paper-thin, but as it is, this plastic contraption broke the pipe right in half, thus releasing a torrent of water. Only way to stop it, of course, was to turn off the water at the main source outside in the driveway. This meant no shower, no dish washing, no clothes washing, no nothing using water.

Luckily, I have a friend here named Samuel. Samuel can fix anything. He reminds me of my brother-in-law from my second marriage. Plumbing, cars, washing machines, electricity--you name it, he could fix it (whereas I am hopelessly stupid and can fix nothing at all, aside from grammar, that is.  It's a pleasure to watch Samuel work. He will take the thing apart, clean it, examine it, purchase the new "thing", place it in the wall, test it, take it off again, clean it, replace it again, ensuring that it is tight and functional and without problem. What would I do without Samuel? In Indonesia there is really no 'guy' to call, no official repairman, no white pages and no yellow pages. You have to know someone or know someone who knows someone. 

Nightmares

Another night-long night of nightmares. How strange. I reckon there must be something bothering me deep down, right? This one, once again, was about ghosts and hauntings. And it was really pretty creepy. The house I was in was said to be haunted. I was kind of trying to investigate what was going on, and while some things were explicable, others were not. Some things seemed rather obvious attempts by some trickster to make the place seem haunted, and some seemed actual hauntings. It was one of these dreams where you wake up and instantly know that you have merely been having a nightmare, but nonetheless must spend some time convincing yourself that there's nothing in the house to be afraid of. I got up and walked around and smoked a cigarette, and then when I went back to bed, naturally I reentered the same damn dream. Lol. 

So why is this house of mine being haunted? Who are the ghosts? Are they real or are they not? What do they want? 

Or, as Ebenezer Scrooge supposed, are these ghosts but bits of undigested meat? Are the nightmares simply dream depictions of the discomfort present in my body while I sleep? Are they merely telling me that I am in pain? Well, Jeeze, I already know that! 

Synchronicity

There's a strange synchronicity at work in the every day events and patterns of life, a meaningful acquaintance of seemingly unrelated tangents, a merging and meshing of coincidence which strives toward a knowledge which transcends and integrates the parts. You may find, for instance, that the novel you just happen to be reading seems curiously enough to be specifically addressing some trial or issue you are facing personally. The film or the TV series you have chosen to view may end up offering its own interpretation of what is currently transpiring in your life. You may find that the casual conversation has somehow of its own accord defined and focused an interior debate. Everything conspires together to leap toward meaning if only it will be seen, if only it will be heard. Synchronicity is described by Carl Jung as the meaningful coincidence of events having no causal  relationship yet seeming to be meaningfully related. That's one way of putting it. Another may be to say that synchronicity is the language commonly employed by the Holy Spirit.