Obat Rindu Tanah Air - Resensi Film Indonesia

Beberapa hari yang lalu gue nonton satu film Indonesia yang berjudul Cewe Matrepolis - atau Matrepolitan? – lupa deh gue, tapi gak penting kok. Intinya, gue nonton film Indonesia.

Bagi kalian yang mengenal gue secara intim namun higienis mungkin akan kebingungan. Kenapa bingung? Well, soalnya seorang Rima tidak biasa-biasanya nonton film lokal – yang untuk gue sih sebetulnya impor, gue kan gak tinggal di Indonesia lagi. Eniwei, ternyata nonton film Indonesia itu adalah salah satu obat penawar rindu kampung halaman akut yang teramat jitu, although, jongkok di pojokan dapur, ngulek sambel sembari menghirup bau terasi yang sangatlah menghipnotis (walau kadang mengakibatkan gue menderita malu fatal akibat lirak-lirik ganas para tetangga) diiringi alunan mesra melodi dangdut yang genit “jatuh bangun akuu.. mengejarmmuuuuu” adalah satu lagi obat kangen yang mantap-sumantap.

Ya temans, gue harus mengakui, gue yang sekarang adalah gue yang berbeda. Seorang pengoleksi film-film Indonesia dan tembang-tembang dangdut ceria. Jangan ketawa dulu.. ini adalah efek samping yang dialami banyak rekan kita yang telah lama tinggal di luar Indonesia. Setelah hampir 6 tahun menjalani hidup sebatang kara-berdua (?) di daratan Eropa yang ganas ini, gue merasa nonton film Indonesia, mendengar lagu dangdut, mencium bau petai dan beberapa aktivitas yang memiliki norak factor yang amat tinggi adalah satu pelepasan rindu yang terbukti efektif.

Koleksi film Indonesia gue udah lumayan banyak. Bukan untuk sekedar gagah-gagahan atau penghias lemari semata, tetapi benar-benar untuk bahan tontonan. Berikut akan gue tulis beberapa review pribadi gue atas beberapa film Indonesia yang telah gue tonton, plus rating-an gue. Sebagai bahan panduan, rating gue adalah sebagai berikut:

kondom bekas: ancur, range keancuran dapat dilihat jelas dari berapa angka di depannya, 1 lumayan ancur sampai 5 yang berarti ancur be-ge-te

kutang robek: lumayan. Antara lumayan jelek sampe agak jelek. Gak pake angka soalnya gak ngefek.

kolor emas: bagus, range kebagusan juga dilihat dari berapa angka di depannya, 1 lumayan bagus sampai 5 yang berarti bagus banget dah!

Nah, kalau kalian sudah merasa dapat memahami dengan jelas sistim rating gue ini, silahkan membaca ulasan gue di bawah ini, kalau belum jelas mengenai sistim rating gue, silahkan penjelasan tersebut dibaca kembali dengan baik, dua atau tiga kali agar benar-benar paham.

Realita cinta dan rock n’ roll – 1 kondom bekas
Dibilang lumayan jelek sebetulnya bisa, tapi ada satu faktor yang tidak memungkinkan gue untuk menghadiahkan sebuah kutang robek untuknya yaitu, ide cerita yang sangatlah bodoh tidak masuk di akal, sama sekali tidak berbau budaya kita, sok film indie ngamrik yang ber-setting di Jakarta dan berisi aktor Indonesia dan blasteran. Dua pelipur lara gue saat menonton film ini adalah Barry Prima yang surprisingly courageous membawakan peran seperti ini (doi mirip banget beberapa oma gue) plus bodi kedua cowo2 pemeran utama yang udah lumayan enak diliat, gak begeng kaya roy marten lagi.

Kejar Jakarta - 1 kolor emas
Agak kocak, membuat gue ingat masa kejayaan padhyangan circa awal hingga pertengahan 1990-an di saat mereka masih segar, lucu dan belum bau apek basi.

Gie - 2 kolor emas
Sebuah film Indonesia yang tidak mengecewakan.

Jelangkung - kutang robek
Film komedi horror yang tidak menyeramkan tapi malah lucu dan sempet membuat gue dan suami tergelitik dan kecepirit.

Arisan - 3 kondom bekas
Satu film Indonesia yang membuat gue ngakak terbahak bahak dengan memelas karena melihat tingkah polah para pemainnya. Film yang sarat dengan ke-over-acting/sinting/giling-an para pemainnya dan sutradara yang gue rasa tidak kalah miringnya. Which is too bad soalnya ide ceritanya agak solid dan menarik, yang apabila digarap secara sedikit lebih waras dan less-colorful mungkin bisa jauh lebih bagus, at least bisa gue anugerahkan sebuah kolor emas atau kutang robek.

Eiffel I'm in love - 2 kondom bekas
Jelek, kelamaan, terlalu borju, aktingnya kaku (kecuali akting cewe remaja yang utama, agak imut gue rasa), kelamaan, kelamaan, waktu tayang terlalu panjang, bikin ngantuk, kelamaan.

Ada apa dengan Cinta? - kutang robek
Film Indonesia pertama yang gue tonton setelah mungkin hampir 16 tahun. Gak terlalu jelek, agak jelek saja. Tapi gak bikin mata gue berdarah-darah menontonnya seperti saat gue menonton Cewe Matrepolis dan Virgin.

Ca bau kan - 4 kolor emas
Menurut gue ini adalah salah satu film Indonesia yang bagus dan powerful, layak untuk dikirim ke Oscar, terutama dari desain set dan kostum. Ferry Salim aktingnya bagus, bisa me-reproduksi aksen cino-suroboyo jaman itu yang begitu tepat (kebetulan gw kenal orang surabaya keturunan tionghoa yang kasih tau gue soal ini, gue bukan ahli dialek kok) dan lola amaria juga lumayan bagus aktingnya dalam film ini.

Cewek Matrepolis dan Virgin - 5 kondom bekas
Gue gak ngerti banget kedua film ini maunya apa. Njing. Nyet. Sat. Haram Jadah. Kampret. Diancuk. Jelek banget. Mata dan idung gue berdarah-darah, kuping gue gak berhenti berdengung dan migren gue kumat sesaat setelah kelar nonton. Untung ada bir dingin dan satu pint haagen-dazs yang mungkin sudah kadaluarsa di lemari es gue saat itu yang mampu mengobati sakit gue, kalau tidak mungkin gue masih diopname di rumah sakit sampai sekarang.

Sebetulnya masih ada beberapa lagi film Indonesia yang udah gue tonton, tapi gue gak inget judulnya, terpaksa belakangan review-nya. Ada beberapa juga film yang membuat gue agak bingung karena gue gak yakin apakah itu film Indonesia, film semi-indonesia atau film berbahasa inggris yang di semi-dub dalam bahasa Indonesia.

Gue tidak naif dan menganggap bahwa budaya Indonesia, apalagi di jaman sekarang ini, adalah masih sekuat misalnya, budaya jepang. Gue lebih sering berbicara dalam bahasa inggris, itu gue akui. Gue juga lebih sering menulis dalam bahasa inggris, karena gue merasa banyak kata dan frase dalam bahasa inggris yang mampu dengan tepat menangkap maksud dan keinginan gue dan seringnya lebih ekspresif dalam menuangkan isi hati (dalam tulisan ini, karena bahasa primer yang gue gunakan adalah bahasa Indonesia, sebisanya frase maupun kata-kata dalam bahasa asing gue tulis dalam huruf miring, yang mana merupakan praktik lazim dalam dunia tulis-menulis, kalau gue tidak salah) Mungkin hal ini terjadi karena gue mengenal bahasa inggris sejak usia kecil, tapi tetaplah bahasa Indonesia adalah bahasa utama gue, tidak seperti adik-adik gue yang bahasa ibu/pertamanya adalah bahasa inggris.

Namun, dalam film Indonesia sekarang-sekarang ini banyak sekali hal maupun dialog yang lucu, aneh dan cenderung absurd. Banyak terminologi dalam bahasa inggris yang digunakan, namun tidak tepat dan sering membuat adegan tersebut menjadi "too much gitu lowh." Seperti misalnya, di saat berada bersama sesama orang Indonesia apabila kita merasakan sakit biasanya akan berteriak “Aww!” atau “Aduhh!!” atau "Anjiiing!!" atau bagi yang latah mungkin ada beberapa oran yang melontarkan kata-kata yang menggambarkan beberapa anggota bagian tubuh atau alat reproduksi dengan jelas. Gue pribadi jarang sekali berteriak “Ouch!” kecuali memang lagi diantara orang orang berbahasa inggris, dan ini salah satu refleks verbal gue (yang memang agak aneh, tapi dari sananya sudah seperti itu, gue gak bisa jelasin kenapa).

Yang aneh, dalam beberapa film Indonesia, di saat para pemain film merasakan sakit (kejeduk misalnya) mereka berteriak “Ouch!”. Bener, sumpah.. gue gak bohong. Dan bukan hanya itu, sedikit-sedikit dialog dihiasi dengan kata-kata dalam bahasa Inggris, ataupun apabila bahasa Indonesia masih banyak dipakaipun lantas diperkosa, dimanipulasi, dimodifikasi, diganti dengan frase-frase (sok) inggris.

Atas dasar hal-hal inilah, untuk beberapa film Indonesia review-nya akan menyusul setelah gue berhasil mendeterminasi apakah film-film tersebut merupakan film lokal atau impor (sebetulnya film Cewe Matrepolis tergolong dalam kategori ini, tapi setelah pemikiran dan pengamatan lebih lanjut gue berhasil memutuskan bahwa ini adalah sebuah film Indonesia, walaupun hampir separuh dialog adalah bahasa inggris, tapi berhubung seluruh pemainnya berwajah gepeng datar dan berhidung pesek mungil khas Indonesia - hanya mungkin mereka-mereka ini tengah mengalami syok kultur kronis, maka gue masukkan dalam review film Indonesia gue kali ini)

Tapi all insults and complaints aside, film-film yang gue tonton (dan lagu lagu dangdut yang gue dengar) adalah kenikmatan nista (maksud gue guilty pleasure - ada gak sih padanan katanya untuk istilah ini?) bagi gue dan suami yang seringnya mampu meringankan penderitaan kita berdua disaat temperatur mencapai minus sekian derajat Celcius.

Kok bisa? soalnya film-film ini cenderung membuat otak kita mendidih saking kita jadi terjijay-jijay. Dan disaat heater kita tidak menyala dengan baik, mendidihnya otak kita itu sangat membantu proses penghangatan tubuh secara hemat dan efisien. Jadi, udah badan hangat, rindu pun terobati!

Opposites Attract.

`Smoking Kills! Are you illiterate? Can't you see the sign? It's written all over the pack for God's sake! Look, on this side it has the "smoking kills" sign. The other side says "smoking causes impotence". When are you going to stop smoking and stop burning money just like that?' my husband used to say repeatedly, like a parrot on dope. I would snap at him and say, 'Then you shouldn't smoke! I wouldn't want you to be impotent, as for me, I could never be!' usually, that would leave him with a puzzled expression.

I am a chain-smoker. Especially in front of the computer, whether surfing, chatting or writing. When we were first dating, he didn't seem to mind my smoking. I even smoked on his bed, after hours of `indoors training' and he still looked at me adoringly like I was the most beautiful Amazon queen he'd ever seen. Unfortunately men should have come with a warning label just like cigarettes. "Men bitch as much as women. They don't bitch too much at first, but when you marry them, they will drive you insane".

But come to think of it, when we first dated there were a lot of things he didn't seem to mind about me, and to be fair, me about him.

We've been together for a little over five years now. Dated for one and a half and married for almost four. A bittersweet merging between two people that - after a year or so into the relationship - discovered that they were total opposites. Well, there is a saying that says "opposites attract". The "Opposites Attract" campaign should've signed us up to be their posterboy and girl. Just like the memorable milk mustaches on those "Got Milk?" ads, they can make memorable ads using us and a little imagination. One that comes to my mind is that they can have us both walk side by side down the aisle of a chapel. He, dressed like a slayer shielding himself with a wooden cross; and I, dressed like a fabootyfulicious vampire, hissing and looking blood-thirsty. A pale ugly priest - almost zombie-like - dressed as Elvis, would be standing at the podium, waiting to marry us.

When I was living with my aunt and uncle, we used to have long talks about life and its meaning. My aunt, who is a very wise woman well into her years, would lecture me a lot and make examples from people (a polite way of saying "we gossiped a lot about other people") to make a point. Before I got married (for the second time, that is) I was a little frightened that my (future) Mr. me and I would not be a match made in heaven (but then again, who isn't?). We were in so many ways different that after sometime all we can agree on is how soccer plays an important role in both our lives. He seriously loves it while I seriously loathe it.

My aunt used to tell me that many couples are "setali tiga uang". An Indonesian proverb that would probably best be interpreted as "you might think it's opposite attraction, but when opposite attraction happens it's most likely that the two people weren't really opposites after all".

Is it true? I don't really know, but the more time we spent together, the truer it seems.

When my (chain-smoking) girlfriends met him for the first time, they were too, quite shocked. They thought that we were in no way at all alike. Of course I told them, `If we were alike what fun would it be? What would we fight about? How could we have the (amazing) make-up sex?' (Which to me is one of the most amazing things human beings have invented after internet and cellphones)

When my little brothers visited and met him, they were more amazed than my girlfriends. They tried to enlighten me. `Kakak, (an Indonesian term of endearment used for calling an older sibling) are you sure about this whole thing? I mean, he is sooo not your type! Not that we would know what your type really is, but really.. it cant be him, can it?"'

I told him what they said. Every time anyone opens their pie hole and says something unnerving about us I would run to him and pour my heart out. He used to say things like "dont worry" or "dont listen to them" but sometimes he would also make me mad by asking me whether I think we were a mismatch just like the rest of the world.

But there was one time when he said, "Honey, you shouldn't be upset. (Your brothers and girlfriends) love you, that's why they (want to) believe that they are protecting you by pointing out the differences between us. Think of it as a movie review. A good movie would stir up emotions, some would say it is a good movie, some would say it was bad. Not everyone can agree on the same thing. Just like us. Just think how boring it would be if we'd agree on the same things, it would feel like we were having a relationship with ourselves!" That was the time when I thought that he was my perfect match for saying what has been secretly lurking at the back of my mind.

I ultimately grew tired of people's opinions about us and started to root for the opposites attract campaign. I honestly think that all good, solid relationships are based on the differences between two people. So what if I smoked and he doesn't? So what if he is a serious person and I love goofing around? So what if he is a man and I am a woman? Those are the ingredients of a long-lasting marriage. I truly believe in that, and I think, so does he. And overtime we have found another thing we shared in common besides the soccer thing.

We love each other dearly.

I am not with the man I can't live without (I think the idea of that died when I lost my virginity), but I am with the man I can live with, whom I love very much. That is the kind of reality mature adults discover. The "Dont marry the man you can live with, marry the man you can't live without" kind of love that normally teenagers believe in, might be sizzling in the first few years, but after a while, it withers.

We got married March 2003. Contrary to popular opinion (predicting we wouldn't last for more than two months) we get along OK. It was - and still is - hard work, but I know every marriage is. After all, it is a unity between two very different people, from different families, background and values (unless we are talking about the disgusting incestuous marriages between cousins or siblings still practiced in some parts of the world). It involves a lot of compromise, understanding, giving and taking, loving, fighting and yes, (staggering) make-up lovemaking. So why complain?

This was written in March 2005. I quit smoking August 2005 and haven't had a cigarette since.

Happiness: Is it love, sex or money?

When the flick "Pretty Woman" was released back in 1990, I immediately rushed to the local theatre to see it. Everyone I knew did too. It became my all-time favorite and I have watched it no less than 20 times. I fell in love with all the characters. Edward Lewis, Vivian and Hector Elizondo's gentle "Barney" role (He reminded me of Dad). I especially liked Kit de Luca's "Cinde-fuckin-rella" blurt, that became the rave for many years after that.

The movie had a deep impact on me. It dared me to hope of love. But it made me wish to be stinking rich too, as did so many teenage girls who, reportedly after seeing the movie, wanted to become prostitutes in order to seek their own Mr. Lewis. Of course, I didn't dream of being a prostitute, I just dreamed to be married to a Donald Trump clone. I thought if I only had a fairy tale life like Julia Roberts in that flick (access to an obscene amount of spending money everyday definitely wouldn't hurt) I'd surely be a very happy girl.

`Love is what's important. It's a natural feeling and it has nothing to do with his good looks or money. I, for one, would never stay in a loveless marriage, and that (love) is the secret to happiness,' Grace, the hopeless romantic, whispered seriously to us while we were sitting in Bistro Garden Cafe in Plaza Senayan several months before I left for Brussels. Dewi, our famous sugar daddy chaser, added: `Nope, I seriously think love can be produced. It's not natural at all. I can fall in love just like that (while clicking her middle-finger and thumb to create a sound) with, hmm.. let's see ..that man over there.' (she pointed to the manager of the bistro who was, indeed, very good looking)

We were all having an early dinner that day just to get away from all the traffic and commotion outside our air conditioned heaven better known as "Plaza Senayan". There were already 5 of us, the other two (Tom and David, two of my very best gay friends) were running a bit late. Helena, who is a bisexual (though she e-mailed me last month announcing that she is now a heterosexual again having fallen very much in love with a successful Canadian old enough to be her dad - though I seriously doubt it because she is known for her falling off the hetero wagon one time too many) said, `I agree with you, Dewi, I do think love can be produced. But I agree with Grace too. For me, love can be naturally produced, come rain or shine, men or women, as long as it clicks, it clicks. And when that happens I am usually pretty happy.'

Listening to them ramble on and off about love and money made me think again about our favorite subjects. Can money buy love and happiness or can happiness survive without the existence of either love or money playing an important role in the background?

Ellen, who was an even bigger slut than all seven of us (by this time Tom and David had gracefully appeared and joined our table, both equally engrossed in the discussion), squealed with delight, `SEX! (this turned the heads of several people sitting around us and made Grace turn crimson) Now that's the most important element in happiness. Without good sex, there can be no love, money is number three, but without all three life would suck big time! I can fall in love with a bum if he knows how to send me to Kamasutra land! Seriously guys, he could be the Hunchback of Notredame (but then she would have to keep him locked in her basement because I doubt she'd be seen in public with someone remotely ugly) and I would have nothing to complain about.'

As if love and money weren't confusing enough for me to comprehend, she just had to add sex to the perplexity of the subject. I was toying with the three subjects in my head, the top three things almost all of us (except Grace, whilst I have not agreed nor disagreed) agreed on, as key elements in search of eternal bliss.

`Whatever happened to true love? Whatever happened to prince charming whisking us away and rescuing us from the big bad dragon?' asked Grace innocently (rather too innocent, I thought, because I knew for a fact she was seeing a married guy who just bought her those Prada shoes and matching tote, and he couldn't have been poor to buy her such extravagant gifts). To which, David, the queenest of all queens immediately replied, `Daaaahh-leeng...get real, will you? Prince Charming hey? Name one prince who hasn't got a gazillion dollars in his private account, and if his name is Charming, then he would certainly not be a double bagger!' And with that remark, Tom added his two-cents, `Yes, and if you truly, truly love him, cross my heart so help me God, than the sex wouldn't matter, would it? From my experience, sex is the best when you do it with the one you love.'

(Double bagger /'dabl baeg(r)/ n. a person so ugly that when you sleep with him/her you have to put a bag over his/her head and yours in case his/hers falls off)

I was stuck throughout the evening discussing the three subjects. Love, money and sex. I developed a headache thinking about it as then I haven't yet all three but just one (will keep you guessing which one it is). We ended our get-together at 10pm and we did not agree on anything. Everybody had their own theory of happiness, except me.

That night I went straight home while the guys went to "CJ's" (I didn't want to go, plus, I was still blacklisted from the place since the "Puking Kirsten" incident) and when I arrived home, I showered, put on my pajamas and watched "Pretty Woman". Again.

While watching the movie, I had an epiphany. Sure, I believe that money can help many people, but I've seen a lot of people with money that are unhappy. And as for sex, I don't think sex is an equation (along with money and love) to happiness.

By the time the movie ended, I have downed half a pint of my strawberry cheesecake Haagen-Dazs, and smiled dreamily, happy. Which was funny because at the time I had no great love, I had no great love who had lots of money, and as for the other thing, well, that was the only one I had plenty (so much for wanting to keep you guessing, huh?). But I was happy.

I honestly think that being content with what you have and have achieved is the answer to happiness. I suddenly remembered a string of words (or lyrics to a song? I forgot) "And if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with". That my friends, is the true key to happiness.

Men are from Mars, women should all come from the Victoria's Secret Catalogue!

Warning: Do not read if not open-minded, do not possessive a dark sense of humor or not a chick-lit fan!

Ever since I was a little girl I have loved reading Cosmopolitan, Vogue and other women's magazine. Well, not so much read as to look, but the point is, all the women looked so glamorous and pretty, I wished I could be one of them. I especially loved reading Vogue's stories on the lives of socialites, movie stars and models. It all just brainwashed me into thinking about what real women should look and be like. (Little did I know, I grew up opposing almost every perception on what a woman should be like, although I still subscribe to both magazines just to laugh at the shallowness of it all)

While growing older, I started to read and admire stories and autobiographies of successful businessmen, (not women, because as we all know, the top 40 in Forbes are still until today, mostly men) and admire their key to success, and how they have applied their business minds into their everyday lives. But all the page-flipping made me question: Why do beautiful and successful women (sometimes) marry less-prettier men than they are? And why do men (no matter how ugly they are) when they're rich and successful, marry only the prettiest money can buy?

Why the double standard?

My theory is that while men are known better for their logic and ratio, they have one weakness. Their (rather large) ego. Not penises, just plain, old-fashioned, ego. While women, in my opinion, are known for their great strength: Their emotion. They also have a weakness. (Again) Their emotion. (Yes, this sucks big time)

Women have big hearts. They can fall in love regardless of the appearance of their subject of desire - though not all women, but many - and when they do, they fall hard. Grande, petite, fat, slim, ugly, pretty women crave love. To be cuddled or not to be. That is the question (for all of us women). While (most) men have one thing on their mind. They want it ALL. They want power, success, money, and most of all, they (all) dream to have trophy wives (with the exception of Jon Bon Jovi and Sting whose wives are as plain as Kahlua sans cream.) A wife so beautiful she looks like she came straight out of the pages of Victoria's Secret catalogues, better if she really did come out of one, it'd be good for the "competition" with their friends (Why men love to show off their pretty wives is beyond me.)

The following are examples of beautiful and successful women and their not so successful or beautiful husbands:
1. Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett. (No question there.)
2. Beyonce and Jay-Z. (Does she not know that she is one hot mama?)
3. Courteney Cox and David Arquette. (He is not totally ugly, but a bit on the quirky side. But, she makes waaaay more "dineros" than him)
Etc.

While these are examples of (ugly) powerful and rich men and their magnificent trophy wives:
1. Donald Trump and Ivanna, Marla and the last one, supermodel whatsherface. (Who would consider the pouting, crazy haired Trump attractive minus his billion dollar asset, casinos, hotels, buildings and God knows what else?)
2. Rod Stewart and Rachel Hunter. (He: successful, rich, ageing, ugly rock star. She: beautiful, vivacious supermodel)
3. That bald Jewish lawyer in Sex and the City who ended up with Charlotte. (I know this isn't real, but it represents many couples alike.)
4. Prince Charles and the late Princess Diana. (Oh who are we kidding here, he is also an exception. His true love was never Diana. It's that God-awful Parker-Bowles. Ugly meets ugly. Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-B. Needn't explain, they truly deserve each other)
And the list goes on.

(Although there is one couple which category I can't really pin-point. "Beauty and the Beast." Do they belong to the category of a rich homme with a tres jolie lady, or more to the beautiful woman with a pure soul that could see beyond the looks of a man? You tell me, this one's a bit confusing.)

See the MO? The richer the man, the prettier the wife. The richer the woman, the more naive (= stupid) she gets when picking a husband. She relies on her heart and not her eyes. While men are all eyes and (more often than not) no heart. (And even when he's married, his eyes - and often, also his "willy" - still wander around.)

I once even went as far as experimenting on babies. Baby girls don't mind being picked up by all sorts of men, as long as the men give them a feeling of security. Ugly men, so-so men, good-looking men can pick them up and they will go `ga-ga, goo-goo' and giggle happily. Whilst baby boys smile only to prettier women and will cry when picked up by a not so hot female. (I kid you not.) It was an interesting and legitimate observation as I did it with lots of babies, both Indonesian and European babies.

What is it with men? Are they just so naturally shallow (since birth) they can easily be hypnotized by gorgeous women? (And when they actually marry one, they will start preying on other Venus look-alikes. A solid proof of how the grass is always greener on the other side for them.) And why are women so stupid sometimes they're afraid to seem shallow when attracted to (only) dumb hunky male?

I guess the two are just different in nature. While men are creatures that react to sight (they get turned on easily by the slightest vision of, say, Baywatch girls giving CPR or cheerleaders bouncing up and down.), women are rather complicated. They are (exquisite) creatures that respond to touch, love, understanding, cuddling, security, conversation and appreciation, to name a few (see what I mean by complicated?) Women posses a more laissez-faire attitude towards their beau's appearance.

I am now wiser and could (largely) accept the painful truth about the differences of men and women, and I know one thing for sure. Women in love will see the object of their affection as the best looking man in the world. (That would explain the Julia Roberts-Lyle Lovett phenomenon.) And men should learn more from women about using more emotions rather than logic. (Or in laymen's term: Ego.)

In conclusion, I sure am glad I'm a woman. I don't have to deal with the pressure of having to compete with my friends on who has the better looking husband. With men, they have that kind of pressure. They need to have the most prestigious accessory of all, what's in their arms: Their "little lady". For me, I would be equally proud to walk with a husband who's tall, dark and handsome; as well as one who's short, stubby and unattractive. When a woman loves a man, he will be her very own Brad Pitt (minus the gazillion dollar paycheck). And that, my friend, is what sets a woman apart from a man.

Sex and the Weary

SEX. One of the most controversial topics ever.

I think sex itself, as an activity, is very natural. It's something (that should be) done by two people that care very much about each other, at least at the moment it's performed. It's also something beautiful, at times almost magical, and is an activity that beats sitting around watching TV or checking your e-mails. But there are days when I prefer shopping for new boots or bags than to greet Mr. Willy LeGrande with open arms, (and legs of course) which for a length of time, agitated me quite a bit.

Sex used to be something that was very taboo to even talk about, especially within the eastern culture. I am Indonesian, which means I come from a long line of people upholding the strong eastern culture and tradition who consider sex (both the act and topic) as "dirty", "shameful", "sinful", for those who were not married; "sacred", "a secret" and "have to be discreet about it" for those who were. Yet everybody loves talking about it regardless of the - supposedly - upheld traditions. When I was a young girl, the thought of asking my parents about what sex meant, would most likely raise eyebrows and resulted in my dismissal to my room with no answer (and dessert), which would make me all the more curious about it.

In the beginning I heard about it from all the wrong sources (read: friends.) They weren't smarter than I was, but at the time they seemed smarter and more experienced (in talking about it after peeping through a window when their older siblings watched R rated movies, not in doing the actual deed), so I trusted them completely. Stupid thing though, they were so ill-informed that I was terrified to even think of having to do it someday, as they made it sound so unpleasant and dirty.

Luckily, our family moved to New Zealand and we lived there for several years. There, we had Sex Education classes in our school and I had wiser friends who really knew what they were talking about. I also became wiser, and came to know that sex was not something dirty and disgusting, but a natural part of being human and something that was strangely exciting and wonderful (if done at the right time and age.) No more did I feel the need to ask my parents about anything to do with it.

I had my period when I was 10, which was just 5 months after we first moved to New Zealand, and I did not tell anyone about it. I bought myself some pads and carried on with life as usual. Mom didn't find out about it until a few months after my initial period. She was surprised as to why I didn't report the joyous occasion (she thought of my entering womanhood as a very joyous occasion, while I just thought it was a drag because I hated having to change pads every few hours and the cramps that came along with it.) I just didn't feel the necessity to do so, plus, I already knew how to deal with it having many teachers and friends who helped me grasp the whole concept of the woman reproduction system. And simply, because I thought they were much more experienced than "good old Mom."

When mom found out about my period, she sat me down for a woman to woman talk. So I sat and listened.

`You are now a young woman. And as a young woman, you cannot act like a little girl anymore. You cannot let a boy get too close to you, because it's dangerous.'

She didn't tell me why it was dangerous to sit near a boy or what would happen if I went ahead and sat beside a boy. In my head I laughed a little, because by then I had already known what sex was. I even understood about the consequences of unprotected sex. An older girl at school had to take a year off because she has gotten herself pregnant. But I said nothing about my newfound knowledge because I knew it would do me no good.

By the time I was eighteen and had committed some "petty crimes", (like getting busted petting or kissing my boyfriend on the terrace when I thought mom and dad weren't in the sitting room) mom was extremely worried about my well being, and she obviously thought that by then I had some vague idea about sex. She sat me down again one day to have another woman to woman talk.

`I know that you may now know about sex and may even be considering doing it sometime in the future (by now she knows that there was no way she could keep me a little girl forever, plus she had a friend whose 19 year old daughter Meita - a friend of mine - was knocked up when she was 17, the guy disappeared, leaving her with a baby girl that was later raised by her parents.) My advice to you is: Don't! Don't give in to the temptation. You have to think about it and you have to realize that sex is a sinful thing to do unless you're married. It would bring nothing but shame and regret for the rest of your life, look at Meita. You wouldn't want to end up like her would you? Plus, who would want a wife who's no longer a virgin?'

What she didn't know was that I was already having (protected) sex, with my (then) new boyfriend of two months, who I was convinced to be my soul mate (we broke up a couple of months after that, leaving him devastated, when I went to college and met another guy I was sure to be my real soul mate.) And I never bought her whole theory of men unwanting non virgins. Simply because by then, sex wasn't as taboo a topic as it was when I was 12. Almost all my friends had done it and many of my much older girlfriends were getting married despite not being a virgin anymore, and none of their husbands had any complaints.

During my early twenties I continued experimenting with sex but experienced a downfall of thrill over the years. What was once so exhilarating became a biological routine. A biological routine that was a mere regular pleasure rather than a series of spine-tingling episodes of ecstasy as I would much more preferred. That confirmed my worst fear: I was bored of sex!

I panicked and sought the help of my friends. This was the one thing I would definitely not ask my mom for advice. I couldn't have been bored of that? Or could I? Their response were disturbing. While I hoped for a logical enlightenment for my lack of anticipation for one-on-one action, they concluded that either I might be turning frigid or I might be questioning my sexual preferences. That was ludicrous! I know perfectly well that I'm only attracted to men and nothing else. Well, maybe I was attracted to money and power, but still men was still in the equation. But the question lingered, did I have a problem or was I just not that into sex anymore?

When I got married, (for the second time) my libido has found its own rhythm, a steady flow of increases and decreases (more often decreasing than increasing.) I had a steady group of married girlfriends most of whom were older than I was; in fact, all of them were older than me. I asked them if they had experienced what I have had. It turned out that almost all of them did and none of them panicked over it. They told me that it was natural for women to have "short-circuits" in their sexual urges. And one friend, Cathy, said that many people have such high expectations of carnal sensation and how it's supposed to be like, that when something like this happens, they react just like me, panic-stricken and worried. I had a sneaking suspicion that something had been wrong with me, but then glad that nothing was.

It's been sometime now that I have been able to accept that I was not going to be the face of "Wiagra" (my interpretation of Viagra for women) anymore, so I have put sex on a lower pedestal. It's not that I don't enjoy it anymore; it's just that I personally think sex is overrated. Yes, sex is quite overrated. I have put too much emphasis and effort into it, that I have forgotten that my body and mind can occasionally be tired of it and would want to have other pleasures like living, for example. I simply cannot understand people that are obsessed about sex, like the famous, or rather, the infamous, Hugh Heffner. I wish I can be like that; live, drink and be merry. But I'm a woman. It's different for us women. While men always have the desire to do it, they cannot always deliver. Women, on the other hand, can always deliver, but, sadly, don't always have the desire to do so.

About the Blog

This blog belongs to an Indonesian chocoholic writer who lives life a praline at a time in the praline land that is Belgium. She sometimes have too much time on her hands with a brain that won't stop leaking plus verbal and written diarrhea which brings us to this blog, the result of it all.

Her life is pretty much based on this motto:
"a mind is like a parachute, it only works when it's open," therefore she tries to be as open minded as she possibly can, although life itself is an ongoing learning process thus making her so-called open mindedness an ever-changing state of mind, nullifying her notion of being open-minded in the first place. A vicious circle she can't seem to escape from.

But enough of the philosophical mumbo-jumbo, this blog is filled with her thoughts and excerpts of her aptly exhibitionist life.

Blog Guoblog : An Introduction

I guess I am on the blog train just like everybody else.. At first, I wasn't even remotely interested to post my inner-most secrets and dark thoughts for all the world to scrutinize but then I thought that "it's ok, it's trendy, it's kewl, it's all the rage" paris, lindsay and nicole are doing it so why don't I?

... "here I am baby.. signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours!!" ... *grins*

Recently, having nothing to do in the office seeing that it's almost christmas and all, I have had a lot of time on my hand. Normally I spend precious time like that reading a book or writing lyrics and ideas for songs but this time I had a splendid idea on how to spend it "differently".. *EUREKA!*

So I spent my precious nothing-to-do time searching for long-lost friends and acquaintances on friendster.. Yes, you heard me right, I am that brilliant..

My quest to find old friends began with me searching for friends with one-of-a-kind names like "wulur" (a friend from junior highschool), "muce" (a friend from primary school) and "cipi" (a boy I used to have a crush on when I was so young, stupid and naive lol).. and Voila! I found them! I was so excited that I can see what they're up to, what they have accomplished and what they have become..

Then I got more creative and once I got the hang of find-by-name people searching, my searches became more specific, I started searching people I went to school with, primary, junior high, highschool, college and so on.. And I found a BUNCH of 'em!!

Cant describe the happiness I felt upon stumbling on one after another of my friends' profiles! It was so good to see that they were all doing well, so successful and so grown up. Each view set off a surge of happy memories, and each memory conjured another memory long forgotten - good and bad - and to that effect, invoking further names from my past. It was definitely a blast from the past.

So I started sending messages. Adding them. Trying to reconnect.

To my surprise, some did not remember me!

Dont get me wrong, as a child and in my teenage years, I was not one of those invisible nerds nobody noticed. I was a loud and opinionated tomboy who was a trouble maker (repeatedly called to the principal's office for the following activities: contrabanding pornographic materials, smoking, cutting school, fighting, cheating in a test - just a few of my "proudest" achievements lol) I was and still am "big-boned" -- therefore impossible to miss. I was talkative, popular (in all senses) and very - and I mean very - provocative - not in "I am blond, sexy and beautiful and I ooze sex appeal" kind of way but being an ordinary looking bordering on ugly teenager, I had to do things a certain way that was different and provoked adverse reactions, just to make sure that I will always be remembered. Little did I know, it didn't work as I have hoped.

They did not remember me. I dont know why, I still look the same, I think (Well.. not really people I knew back from highschool don't recognize me that easily.. but the change is not that significant). I have not had a sex-change operation nor did I have anything done, except for a mole removal surgery and losing weight. Maybe like jamiroquai said "time just wont wait for you" life happened, age happened and maybe that's what age does to you, well to some of us anyway, it masks or in my case, alters my looks to a point of unrecognizability.

My prior euphoria on the thought of finding old friends and my attempts to reconnect and possibly rekindle or forge some kind of friendship with all of these people I used to know are now just a series of unsuccessful shots of making new friends. Some might even think that I am a psycho stalker with mental issues and a problem of making friends just because I keep on sending them messages stressing that we used to know eachother, that we used to hang out with A, B and Z. All efforts to no avail.

But it really doesn't matter, because eventhough some insisted that they didn't know me, or ignored me despite logging on everyday making it impossible for them not to see my messages or friend requests, I am still happy to see my friends - or people I used to be friends with for that matter - who seem to be happy and in good health.

But seriously, I do not have mental issues nor am I a psycho stalker gone bananas. I am just Rima who went to SD Siemens, Kelson School - NZ, Karori Normal School - NZ, SMP 74, SMA PATRA DHARMA Balikpapan, FSUI, London Institute of Communications and Vrije Universiteit Brussel.

Add me, remind me of who you are and who knows.. we might end up hanging out again and having a good time!

(written early december 2006)