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(Parangtritis, 2014)

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

Escape to the superficial city lights

It looks like an ordinary crossroad. But as the sky turns violet and grows velvety; it's magic.

It all starts with my monthly routine of going to Yogyakarta to see my violin tutor. Last week especially, had been a frustrating week, so I decided to postpone my lesson and just strolled around the city. Hint: I was not alone. I brought along my faithful travelling mate (a.k.a partner in crime), Fiona.

Along the way, I thought we were going to spend some time wandering around malls and streets with girly giggles and laughs. Another hint: erase the "girly" and "giggles". We roared.

The afternoon sun was warm and nice. It was around 3 p.m. when we drove across small, bumpy roads, to get our other friend, Yayang, to her practice hall (she is a great cellist, by the way). As we got there, we could see massive rice fields around the building. It was peaceful and soothing (I was thinking of bringing a picnic set and had some sandwiches. It would be perfect). Sadly we  couldn't stay long. So we waved goodbyes to Yayang, and went back into the city.

The city was crowded, as usual, as we drove to our next destination, Malioboro. People were driving motorcycle recklessly and there were street beggars in every stops. Guess everyone was out at that hour. Well, we did get lost two or three times but finally we made it! Malioboro! One of the places you should stop by if you are new to Yogyakarta. Ignore the heat, smell of horse poo, and crazy becak; you MUST go there. Tell the world you've stepped on Yogyakarta after you go to Malioboro. That's what I told Fiona by the way.

Since Malioboro is a long and crowded road, either on the main road or the smaller road in front of the street shops, we did not walk all the way from one end to the other. We parked beside Mirota Batik (it was the smallest parking entrance I have ever driven through, seriously, but strangely enough, every car gets pass that gate). Things went smooth inside; we looked around, shopped small stuffs, gaped at the 26-million-stunning-vintage desk clock, smelled some aromatherapy, giggled at the strange breast scrubs, and flipped through stacks of batik cloth. 

After buying some chocolates, we went out. I told Fiona that the view right on the crossroad is beautiful, and we should go there. And so we went. The sidewalk leading to the big crossroad is just perfect. Cool breeze blowing to your face, large trees above your head, and bright street light shining. There are some interesting things too; one statue that looks like a pair of feet (only), strange people in strange colorful clothes, and some juvenile teens hopping around, taking pictures aimlessly. As we got there, we crossed the main road, and took pictures in front of the gracefully-lit Bank Indonesia building. I felt happy, seeing so many old buildings still preserved and stand majestically in the middle of all the hustle-bustle of the city.

It was all perfect -until our phones caught little drops of rain. I thought right away, "No, Yogyakarta has never poured its rain on me, it won't." And I was wrong. It was raining hard that evening. So hard. We were running like mad girls. And we ROARED. Yes now you know why we roared. Though Fiona and I thanked the huge trees that held the water from above, it wasn't enough. We turned into two juvenile girls, counting one two three, and hopping from one tree to another, jumping around like chimps after successfully reaching our 'post'. I kept yelling, "Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, SH*T!" (I'm so sorry, but you can't expect me to say hallelujah in a situation like that), and Fiona kept laughing.

Suddenly, our savior, the blessed ojek payung (umbrella carrier) came and rescued us. And so we didn't swear as much after that. He came right in time! We can't thank him enough. I felt happy. But sad at the same time. I think he just happened to own a huge umbrella and saw us running in wet clothes, then offered his umbrella to us.

I saw his two little kids with their mother, curled up near their unsold goods. Fortunately the large tree is big enough to shield them from that large amount of water. It was not the rain nor the unsold goods that made me sad -I was wondering whether they go to school or not. It would not be enough just to sell drinks to send those little kids to school. Then I regretted giving him only ten thousand rupiahs. I should have given him more. But sometimes in times of anxiety and worries, often, we can't think of others aside from ourselves. We, selfish human. I promised myself as I drove away from Malioboro that if I saw that man again, I would give him some money. That's all I can do. It's frustrating how much things you want to better and yet, in the end, money is all you can give. It doesn't really fulfill my intention. Then I thought, what is so good about having rights and access to everything in this democratic era, when they only 'function' in the presence of money? I hope I can make changes in the future, especially that regarding children who couldn't go to school like the little kids of the kind ojek payung.

Anyway, after that we escaped to Ambarukmo Plaza and spent the rest of the evening there.

It was a fun trip. But on the other side, it's a different trip from many preceding. Yogyakarta has always become one of my escape venue, with only good things, superficially. But it showed me its different side that night. I'm guessing that there would be many others that will follow in my next visits.

Start Anew: Unveiled

My life as a writer begins with a sundry pieces of fragments, leading to assured strides of turning into a real writer

Start Anew

Yes, I am starting anew. I have been absent for approximately half a year and now I am starting anew. There is a major change of vision for my blog (will tell later), but anyway I am going to just start writing again -my long forgotten love. Writing is never an easy thing. Writing, considered as a form of art, requires emotion and a great deal of thinking. I have a problem with both, apparently.

My cancer constellation says that I am moody and sensitive. I have difficulties in keeping a routine and prioritising my assignments. In short, my mom would say, "Hey artist, drag yourself outta bed, start eating breakfast at 8 and not 11, and write something!" or "What's wrong with you? A second ago you were jumping all around like chimps and now you're as dead as a stone." Yeah my mom. The person who gives so much encouragement to my writing development and yet pretty much annoyed with the process.

The ability to think has been given to men by God, differing men from other species on planet Earth, and enabling them to develop themselves and carry out the duty of taking a good care of the mother Earth. A man without thoughts is no man at all. My problem is, I think too much. About the "wrong" stuffs. Focused thinking has been my long-standing problem. My mind is an eager traveller and it overtakes me. So writing a blog is difficult for me, because it requires you to sit down and think of what you are going to write, and to keep yourself focused (my attention span is awful; you can ask my teachers).

However despite all things, even with the mind of an eager traveller, I am ready to start anew, and to call myself a(n) (amateur) writer! Godspeed!

Love,

The eager writer

You and I are

Spotlight of the show
But chose the shadow
Glancing down to see
Thinking there'd be

A handful of dust
Among the velvet
Or faint fissures
Among the rubies

Nay
They say
"Gee, stunning!"
"Let's go dancing!"

One, two, three, four
Four counts to devour
The last moments
Of laments

Splitting the teens
Stumbling on the heels
Notes stop flying
Dead cables, lying

Raising fingers
Catching the last note that lingers
And singing to
the first vibrato

An Auld Lang Syne to Cherish

Continuities

by Walt Whitman
(1819-1892)

---

Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form--no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space--ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold--the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring's invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

This poem I first encountered in the movie "The Notebook" is indeed a life's representation of continuous hope and faith that all things will always come out good in God's time. When you feel lost; when you feel that you are just an object of disposal; or when you feel that you do not know who you really are in the midst of artificial society, you should not let anxiety overcome you. It is easy to be overwhelmed by your own fear and doubts. However, one thing that can help you find a turning point is hope.

Hope is what keeps human alive and "flame again". Hope is what motivates us to wake up every morning, knowing that the darkness enveloping us will be torn down and give rise to the sun. Hope motivates us to work things out in ways possible for us to do. Hopes without action is naught; it is a fresh seed left burnt and dead under the sun.

After hope comes faith. When you have hoped and done whatever is best for your hope to come true, faith comes in the form of believing and surrendering to God that all you have done will bear good fruits. To every "frozen clod" there will always be the return of spring's abundance and summer joy. To every obstacle there will always be enlightenment and at the end, an auld lang syne to cherish.

Life is a cycle of continuous hope and faith, and nothing is ever lost in that cycle. What you think is lost actually metamorphoses to a new thing through awakening life experiences. People say they loose money; they seldom appreciate the notion that by loosing money, they learn to be more careful. People say they loose their loved ones; it is just physical and nothing from their lovely memories will ever be lost. Maybe by loosing their loved ones, they acquire the enlightenment to make an effort to cherish the next in line. So many losts in fact give way to a better understanding of and better things to your life and others that intersect your path.

So never let yourself down in what seems to be a "shifted sphere", "dimming light", or "frozen clods" for shifted sphere will give rise to new lives, dimming light is just momentary, and that frozen clods will always melt and be green again.

Bright Saturday!

Today is an exceptionally bright Saturday for me. Up at 9.30 a.m. I feel so extraordinarily refreshed after a few days lack of sleep and overworked brain (I put all the blame on Freud!). I still have a few hours before 1 p.m., the designated time for my friends and I to meet up and go to Jogja to watch a concert, so I give myself a long, refreshing bath. After thinking for a few seconds what I'm gonna cook for today, I checked out my best friend's blog and saw her write about an awakening moment -and I do feel inspired at once.

(Check this out: Patricia Sugianto's blog)

This particular thing that she said, "The awakening moment begins when you start doing something different," is something that I realize I have been striving for these past few months. One of the most obvious is -see the word cook in bold in the last sentence above? That's it! Me, cooking? Yes, me, cooking. That is one different thing that has awed anyone who really knows me. By the way, I'm cooking fettucine carbonara and I will post the picture below for you to give you an idea on how much I love this new activity :D

Doing something different uplifts my spirit and I feel good, knowing that I am making a good change in my life. It also gives me a positive atmosphere because I get rid of my boring routine and stagnancy in my other aspects of life.

However, there is one thing that Patty said that got me into thinking, "Your tiny little details in life could bring to a journey that change other’s life."

I have succeeded in directing my life from a hazy road into a clear path through positive changes. So I am hoping I can make a contribution in someone's life that can help him/her get through their stagnancy or struggles. I have already had some close people in mind, and I know I have greatly contributed to the life of the people I love.

So one thing left to do is to stay committed to doing the best things for our life, while at the same time, spreading joyful positive ions that demolish people's negative ions and brighten both of our days!

Thanks my sist, Patty!