Graduates: Holder of Degree or Dignity?

Floating mortarboards

Hundreds of awards

Colorful dresses

Joyful faces

Tears of victory

Grade: satisfactory

She throws her hands up

He calls his beloved up

Ella Summa cum laude (She graduates with a summa cum laude)

El suma dificultad  (He has so much difficulties to graduate)

Who knows

What each went through

She asks for consent

He fights for consent

She pleases with smiles

He gratifies in sweats

Both have degrees

But dignity bestows

Upon those with efforts

(A piece of thought from a night phone call:

Evaluating a case: a thesis presentation was held and the things that were questioned were mainly focused on the quantity and appearance of presentation and less on the quality of the written content: Were the examiner aware that graduates' dignity was at stake?

Proceeding the latter, upon hearing stories of those graduating from the above institution, which does not apply suitable standards for its graduates, a question regarding the purpose of graduating arouses: Is graduating just for the sake of a degree or for one's own worth of dignity?

(Un)Tranquil Evening

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. I was working on my literature thesis and I thought I needed some refreshing. I looked horrible. My hair was tied in a super messy bundle and my face was disgustingly oily. I texted my friend, Ivana, and told her to come over to my place. We chatted while I packed a huge pile of my read novels and unused books. Turned out that reorganizing your stuffs can bring a hint of freshness inside the room.

Satisfied with the new, refreshing atmosphere inside my haven, Ivana and I decided to hang out in a cozy restaurant-park in Ambarawa city. It was a 20-minute drive. Upon entering Ambarawa, we turned left to the northern (I guess) ring-road. On the sides of the road are immense ricefields -soo green and soothing.

Then we saw the entrance to the restaurant. The road splits into two and the one leading to the restaurant is just on the left. A big greyish gate welcomed us. Once again we passed through a huge ricefield, showing off their greens. At the end of the road is a post on the left where we paid the entrance fee, Rp. 5,000,- for cars. It's weird. Since the post is on the left, it was difficult for me to pay and communicate with the security.

Anyway, we turned right and immediately saw a spacious area. The area is divided into two main scenery. The first that we went was the floating restaurant, "Rumah Makan Apung Kampoeng Rawa"

To get to the restaurant, we have to cross the man-made pond using a roofed wooden raft that can carry up to eight people. The raft is secured by two ropes that function as a pulling mechanism. These rafts are able to float because of the blue plastic barrels supporting each raft.

Though it is clear how many people are able to get onto the raft, many just don't care anyway. I saw about 12-14 people getting on. I was just praying the raft won't overturn. The funniest thing was when one really fat guy got onto the raft that was already filled up with 10 people; the raft was jolted backward and the shocked look on everyone's faces was just priceless. HAHA! Then all the way through the 10-meter ride, the raft leaned backward... as if it was about to take off the water. What a view...

The restaurant, as you can see, looks traditional.. It is also sustained by a foundation of blue plastic barrels.
(The photo was taken when Ivana and I rode the raft heading to the restaurant.)

As I stepped my right foot onto the wooden floor, and was warmly welcomed by the waiters, I felt like I was a little jiggling. I thought it was the after-effect of the short raft-ride. However, the rocking continued even after Ivana and I were seated. It turned out that the restaurant sways because there isn't any firm foundation to the ground below. Soo, beware, this restaurant is not recommended for those suffering from severe vertigo or migraine because this restaurant rocks and jiggle all the way and gets even worse when there are people walking.

We ordered fried banana and stuffed tofu. I would recommend the tofu. My first bite was a mess. Turns out it is (too) generously filled with carrots, snaps, diced-chicken, and mini-shrimps. It's rich in flavor though.  We both thought that this place is just a perfect get-away until we heard the music surrounding the place. The restaurant put on some dangdut koplo pieces. Dangdut is an original genre from Indonesia, with great songs. However, dangdut koplo is another thing. It is often considered cheap and uneducated.

We were quite disturbed with the lyrics -but we couldn't help not listening to it. The lyrics are mostly sexist and sexual, and the video was showing an indecently dressed women, dancing seductively, showing off their curves too much. I wonder for what purpose is this genre for. Marx said that a work of art brings about societal issues but why does dangdut koplo present mostly sexual issues? Do the audience have issues on their sexual life?

When I asked those questions, Ivana said that dangdut koplo is a cheap entertainment, usually enjoyed by the male peasants as an easy way for men to get excited without spending too much money. Then I remembered a sermon where the priest said that men is usually weak on the eye. So I think, these singers are regarded because of their physical appearance and partly, their singing ability. Such a shame for such beautiful voices..

Well, we've strayed too far, fella. Anyway, what Ivana and I thought would be a tranquil evening was totally disrupted by the presence of dangdut koplo. I wonder if the restaurant expects its customer to be the audience of dangdut koplo. I remembered a lecture my friend Patty shared with me on room ambience for business that for restaurants, building atmosphere through music will determine who comes to your place and how much you charge for your products.

Despite the music, this place is a great place for family and for your own getaway. For those who are fond of fishing, you can go to the other main site which offers you fishing ponds and small cubicles to enjoy your cooked fishes.

And so we ended our sunday get-away with a discussion on dangdut koplo. We come to a conclusion that sexuality is always a societal issue regardless the social class. What differs is the attitude in projecting our thoughts regarding the issue and the moral standard used in dealing with these. Though what contains is similar.

Just a little heartily remark, I love hanging out and having discussion with Ivana. She is such a fun and open-minded woman :) You would know her better through -> http://ivanaamelliabudi.blogspot.com/

So here's our smiles captured together. Although we often met each other, this is the second time we took picture of ourselves (the first was in Jogja)

So there goes our (un)tranquil sunday evening get-away!

Date a Musician

(I was going to try to keep this gender-neutral, but the constant use of “they” bogged it down after a while, so I kept it feminine like the original- which is also fabulous, and right here, if anyone’s curious).

Date a musician. Date someone who spends her money on Bernstein and Karajan recordings instead of clothes, who has problems with bookshelf space because of all of her sheet music. Date someone who chooses Bach over Beyonce and Schubert over Shakira, whose JB is Johannes Brahms, not Justin Beiber.

Find a musician. You’ll know she is one because she’ll always have an etude book shoved into her bag. She’s the one whose fingers are tapping quietly on the table during class, refusing to pull themselves away from the snare drum part of Ravel’s Bolero, which, inside her head, she’s playing back in entirety to kill time before she can leave and practice. You see the weird chick on the subway, dragging around the mysterious black case? That’s her. She’ll drag it anywhere she needs to go, the looks of curiosity she’ll get from passersby will bounce right off of her.

She’s the one with the headphones and the study score, sitting alone in the coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek into her mug, it’s been empty for ages. In half an hour, she’ll leave for rehearsal, and that cup of coffee will get her through the day. But she hasn’t bothered to refill it- she’s following the score, lost in the world of the composer’s making. Sit down, if you’re feeling bold. She’ll probably glare at you, most musicians don’t really like being interrupted. Ask her how she feels about the piece. Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you think of The Rite of Spring. Ask her which is her favorite Beethoven symphony. Understand that if she says she listens to 12-tone serialist pieces for a good time, she’s probably just trying to sound cultured. Bring up Clara Schumann and prepare to have your ears talked off.

It can be pretty easy to date a musician. Buy her tickets to the symphony for birthdays, Christmas, and anniversaries. In return, she’ll give you the gift of music- whether it’s in the form of the collection of etudes she frets over daily, or the constant stream of recordings playing from her hefty iTunes library.

She’ll introduce you to Messaien and Mussorgsky, Schoenberg and Strauss, Ives and Ibert, Respighi and Rimsky-Korsakov. Let her pull you into her musical world. Embrace her enthusiasm. Understand that she realizes not everyone will appreciate Shostakovich the way she does, but also know that she doesn’t care. She’s got to get her thrills somehow, and if she can’t stick it to the man the way she wants to, at least she can live vicariously through the music of somebody who did.

Fight with her. Challenge her. Don’t tolerate her mood swings, pull her out of her artistic blocks. Give her hell when she won’t practice. Give her a challenge. Give her dynamics, give her modulation, give her passion. With even basic knowledge of music theory, she’ll know that the non-harmonic tones are the ones responsible for the beauty of every piece, that every suspension has both a preparation and a resolution, that sometimes the key changes will catch her off guard, but of course, since she’s known all of her scales and arpeggios front to back for years and years, she’ll be able to adapt.

Watch life fail her. Watch her lose the audition, watch her bomb her concerto competition, watch as her favorite orchestral solo is passed off to somebody else. Watch her reeds wear out, watch her strings snap, watch as her instrument cracks from the cold. Watch life drag her along for days in a minor key. Watch her wait, sitting with bated breath, holding on, just for the tiny possibility of a picardy third.

Why won’t she give up? Well, musicians may not be fearless, but they’re strong. They understand that the dissonance will do nothing but make the resolution more worthwhile, more touching or powerful.

If you find a musician, keep her close. When you hear her at 2 AM, sobbing over the one passage in the Mozart concerto that she just can’t seem to perfect, make her a cup of tea. Let her play it once more, and then take her out of the practice room and put on one of her favorite string quartets. Hold her. Watch as the music permeates her brain and her soul, watch it rejuvinate and reinspire her. Help her come up with a plan of attack for when she picks up the same piece again the next morning.

You’ll propose after an NY Phil concert. Or on the way to one of her gigs. Or perhaps very casually, the next time she finishes a practice session.

She’ll make you understand Berlioz’s idée fixe. You’ll attend every single one of her concerts, but recognize that not even you will be able to reach her when she’s wrapped up in her music. When she plays the New World Symphony, she’s homesick. When she plays Tchaikovsky, she’s gay. When she plays Beethoven, she’s deaf. When she plays Schumann, she’s bipolar and schizophrenic. She may sometimes be distant, transfixed on her work, or hard to understand, and at times her enthusiasm may be inaccessible to you. That’s okay. Perhaps, eventually, you’ll walk the cold winters of your old age together, and she’ll sing Winterreise under her breath as you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a musician because you deserve one. If all you’re willing to hear is pop and I-V-vi-IV, you’re better off alone. But if you want a life full of passion and music and unpredictability, go find an instrumentalist. Go date a musician.

Or better yet…become one.

Adapted from http://gershwinning.tumblr.com/post/55087147834/date-a-musician-in-the-style-of-date-a-girl-who