Jakarta is like a two-faced, backtabbing whore. It's like a grotesque version of Regina George. It is indeed the "queen bee" of Indonesia: Every other cities try to be like it, competing each other to reach the most modern technology or the latest cutting-edge trend. Of course, Jakarta is far too unreachable for them, her own face had been retouched and remodelled countless times with layers of botox that it's barely possible to reveal her true self anymore.
On one side, you can indulge yourself in the fabulous taste of luxury, the pleasure of being able to get anything you want. You name it: Latest fashion lines by world's famous designers, high-end restaurants serving food from all over the world, nightclubs ranging from sleazy to glamorous, over-indulgent spa boutiques that treat your body like gold, a shot of western lifestyle here and there. Every day a new plan to repaint Jakarta might be constructed, proofed by the growing number of glittery malls and other entertainment centers, which mostly could only be enjoyed when you have a thick wallet. Money does seem to make Jakarta go round and rooouuuuund...
With its flirtatiously promising manner, Jakarta lured 12 million people in search of happiness. Suburbans who are not happy with their little-income jobs as farmers or labour-workers came to Jakarta with nothing but hope for a better fortune, based on the thousand opportunities the city believed to offer. And where do most of them end up now? Below the conspicuous highways which hold the weight of millions of shiny, flamboyant cars passing nonchalantly every day, living in weathered cardboard houses and feeding off on less than $2 a day. Indeed, Jakarta's riches practically sway on top while the poors crawl around at the bottom.
Jakarta had turned its fake, plastic face on its believers. It is capable of lying without a tongue to speak, betraying without a heart to feel, knocking people over without eyes to see. And at night, not even one star is visible through the heavy combination of polluted grim and blinding city lights that suffocate the air.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
My lips upon Oscar Wilde.
This happened over a year ago, yet I can’t find a reason why I shouldn’t post it :)
On December 2008, my parents and I went on a vacation to France and Spain. On the very last day of our stay in the enchanting city of Paris, I decided to explore the city alone while my mom was attending a conference and my dad was too busy being a workaholic (He even brought his laptop so he could work long-distance).
After circling around Seine and Notre Dame area, I headed to Pere Lachaise cemetery to visit one of the greatest writers alive, Oscar Wilde. I remembered as a child reading The Happy Prince and Other Stories, and apparently it was the first book ever to shed tears from my eyes.
The cemetery was very large, and it took me a good two hours under the soft light of dusk ‘till I could finally find his burial site. The tomb was made of grey stone, tall and rectangular with some sort of Mediterranean statue attached in the middle. Almost every inch of the surface was covered up by writings and lipstick marks from his loyal fans. On the bottom of the tomb, I found a plaque stating the ban to vandalize the tomb (Evidently they don’t want another kiss planted after the thousands lipstick marks visible on the grey stone).
On December 2008, my parents and I went on a vacation to France and Spain. On the very last day of our stay in the enchanting city of Paris, I decided to explore the city alone while my mom was attending a conference and my dad was too busy being a workaholic (He even brought his laptop so he could work long-distance).
After circling around Seine and Notre Dame area, I headed to Pere Lachaise cemetery to visit one of the greatest writers alive, Oscar Wilde. I remembered as a child reading The Happy Prince and Other Stories, and apparently it was the first book ever to shed tears from my eyes.
The cemetery was very large, and it took me a good two hours under the soft light of dusk ‘till I could finally find his burial site. The tomb was made of grey stone, tall and rectangular with some sort of Mediterranean statue attached in the middle. Almost every inch of the surface was covered up by writings and lipstick marks from his loyal fans. On the bottom of the tomb, I found a plaque stating the ban to vandalize the tomb (Evidently they don’t want another kiss planted after the thousands lipstick marks visible on the grey stone).
Nevertheless I found a lipstick left anonymously behind the plaque. Not caring how many unknown lips had contaminated the red substance, I put it on thickly and then quickly planted a loving smooch on a clear spot on the left side of the tomb. So there goes my first kiss in Paris! <3>
I left with a broad grin and a bunch of stars twinkling in my eyes.
Origin
Why is this blog named as "Peter and the Outsider"?
First, it's the first thing that actually popped up in my mind :)
Second, I love Peter Pan. To be precise, I want to be like Peter Pan. In other words, I just like the idea of not growing up. Imagine if the world is filled with 95% of innocent, naive children and only 5% of adults, who would be too busy taking care of the children that they have no spare time to plan out the evil that would destroy our fragile morality, like they are doing now. By then the world would be full of glittering rainbows, fluffy bunny-shaped clouds, multi-colored balloons, shimmering sunbeams, flawless expansive blue skies, cute little grasshoppers hopping on the prairies, heart-shaped chocolate lollies, blossoming pink daisy-buds, and vivacious laughters which endlessly linger still in the sweet-smelling air. Happy, happy, happy. But then again, reality comes first, doesn't it? As time moves on, there's no way to stop the changing of our simple little minds into something atrocious, a mechanism so complex and unpredictable that every wicked thing is made possible by it. Ah, the false glory of being an adult...
Last but not least, I added the word "Outsider" because it... well, rhymed :s. Plus, I believe that sometimes we can't help but feel like a little bit of an outsider in our own lives: Indulgently sulking only on the outside, not knowing or wanting to know what's really going on in the inside.
First, it's the first thing that actually popped up in my mind :)
Second, I love Peter Pan. To be precise, I want to be like Peter Pan. In other words, I just like the idea of not growing up. Imagine if the world is filled with 95% of innocent, naive children and only 5% of adults, who would be too busy taking care of the children that they have no spare time to plan out the evil that would destroy our fragile morality, like they are doing now. By then the world would be full of glittering rainbows, fluffy bunny-shaped clouds, multi-colored balloons, shimmering sunbeams, flawless expansive blue skies, cute little grasshoppers hopping on the prairies, heart-shaped chocolate lollies, blossoming pink daisy-buds, and vivacious laughters which endlessly linger still in the sweet-smelling air. Happy, happy, happy. But then again, reality comes first, doesn't it? As time moves on, there's no way to stop the changing of our simple little minds into something atrocious, a mechanism so complex and unpredictable that every wicked thing is made possible by it. Ah, the false glory of being an adult...
Last but not least, I added the word "Outsider" because it... well, rhymed :s. Plus, I believe that sometimes we can't help but feel like a little bit of an outsider in our own lives: Indulgently sulking only on the outside, not knowing or wanting to know what's really going on in the inside.
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