Experience the Eruption

Afrinta Puspandari was lying down in her room; sight over tv, remote in a hand, leapt from a channel to the other and abruptly halted on a news. “The headline was about mount Merapi condition, that at the time has given a sign of nearly erupted,” she said while retrieving her memories of the volcano eruption back to September 2010. “The effect hasn’t shown up to my neighborhood yet anyway, so I could still manage myself to be calm”.  That night, this freshman of English Department of Universitas Gadjah Mada went to bed as the usual. The atmosphere was light until her boardinghouse neighbor shouting at her door “Fintaaa wake uppp!!!”

Heard her name being called, Finta rushed to the door and quickly opened it. It turned out the girl next door was about informing that the Merapi volcano had just erupted. Even from her boardinghouse downtown in Gejayan, the horrendous rumbling could make the neighborhood awaken. Terrified of another following eruption, that night the girls slept side by side, as if they were on a pajamas party. Pajamas party without the general excitement, but fear.

When they woke up the next day, Finta stepped on something dusty, smooth yet slippery. There was ash raining restlessly, from the volcano scattering to every direction, piling up on the ground, floor, and the windowpane. That morning she meant to get some water in a minimarket nearby. However, by such polluted air, with pyroclastic flow in a distance, Finta who wanted to breathe safely found no mask left. Thus, the girl chose to dip her handkerchief in a little amount of water, and wear it as the substantial mask. She then went by her motorbike, under 20 km/hours since the range of her view could only reach within 5 meter.

The next morning, there were a number of inboxes on Finta’s cell phone. The messages were generally inquires her condition during the eruption period. The other texts from her college friends informed that during the eruption, Universitas Gadjah Mada was set on holiday. The next moment occurred was that two of her friends, Maria and Fitri, called Finta, firmly said, “We’re going home tonight”.

Three of them then went to Tugu station that night. Once they arrived in the place though, a shocking sight had just greet them heatedly. The station was crowded with mass in a shapeless queue, long lining up beyond the ticket booth. Just as they tried to gasp for fresh air, a young average-height security told them that the queue had reached over two thousand people. After being in that seemingly airless place, they decided to come back the following day. But by the time they arrived at the station, even before the station staffs operate, the precisely similar sight of the day before appeared to haunt them, again. They looked at a huge monitor displayed the train schedule there, figured out that of the train they were going to go by, there were only five seats remained. “As I was the skinniest one, I stealthily cut the overrated queue,” Finta said vigorously. “Then head over heels I run towards the ticket booth,” she added. “Guess what. I made it. Three tickets to Bekasi”. And she grinned in her feeling of gratefulness.

Little Less Conversation

March 9, 2013

            It was half past two and I was so sleepy. The weather of Jogja was so nice, the wind blew its friendly chill air, the sky looked so bright and blue. At an instant, a sensation of whirling in my head plus the grumbling tummy shot me right on my nerves. I need to go the canteen soon, I thought. But then I had an assignment to do. An unusual assignment requires a bunch of guts if you show it publicly.

To talk to any object around you, the unanimated one.

For an assignment, this is pretty weird; but for me, it isn’t. It’s like an escapism from the real life I’ve been used to. So I decided to work on it; ‘the tummy can wait’, I said while stroke it lightly. Then I tried to find my object. Voila, my eyes abruptly stumbled upon some little creatures marching on a great, old wood.

Me:     Hello, little fellas.

Some of the objects just carried on to which way they were going, while saying back, ‘Ohaaai!’

Me: What are you guys up to?

The red little one lifted his chin, blank-faced, looking as tired as I am. In a deep low voice it said, ‘Sleeping.’

Me:     Nah. Don’t try to be sarcastic, you little ant. These past few months the weather has already done that.

Ant:    Well, you see. We’ve been working so hard while you sit there trying to chat with us…so.

Me:     I see, I see, excuse me then. Have you had your lunch yet?

Ant:    No time for lunch. We need to get these crusts to our home. Now you better get out of the way, otherwise we have to get the other way round twice as far.

Me:     Oohkay, I move. But please let me do a little talk with you. You can chat with me while you’re working on, okay? Puhleaaaase I need to do this for an assignment.

Ant:    The hell are you doing? Seriously? Begging to a little ant?

Me:     I think….so. Eh? This has gone far too absurd, but come on.. Let’s chat

Ant:    Try. Me.

Me:     I will. Um, what do you like to eat?

Ant:    Crusts. Of bread, of cake, of sweets, of fried egg, of tempe goreng.. Why do you ask so?

Me:     Let’s go to the canteen with me. I’m going to buy some tempe goreng there.. You may have some.

Ant:    And what would I pay it with? A leaf? Besides the canteen is way far from here. I’d rather work with my friends here, being independent, you know..

Me:     I’ll treat you. Look, the canteen is just a couple feet there. It’s within reach

Ant:    Well no, thank you. You forget of our size. We are the little one.. A couple feet for you means a whole day long journey for us.

Me:     Don’t be like that. I’m not…that big either. My friends often call me ‘Cil..cil..’ and it means my size is also below the average.

Ant:    *laugh his head off* You are. You’re different from the people of your lot.

Me:     Am I? In what way?

Ant:    Your size. As we are, you’re also the little one.

Me:     Shut it.

Ant:    Okay. Now you get mad. Guess our conversation is going to end soon?

Me:     I think so. But wait, I’m not mad. I'm just…

Ant:    You’re just tired.

Me:     I am.

Ant:    Then you’d better get a rest soon, little girl.

Me:     I will. But don’t call me like my friends do, you little ant.

Ant:    Why? Am I not one of your friend?

Me:     Yes you are. But it’s not like you’re any bigger than me.

Ant:    Yea right. Don’t call me little too then.

Me:     Fine, I won’t call you so. 

Ant:    Deal.

Me:     Good. Now I got to go.

Ant:    Me too. Now off you go.

Me:     Yeah you too. So long, ant. *wave goodbye*

He smiled gently, replied, 'See you later, girl.'

Malioboro

Who doesn’t recognize this legendary street? Well, if you don’t know, I suppose at least you wouldn’t really find it sounds much unfamiliar. It is Malioboro. This renowned trademark of Yogyakarta, Indonesia, is a main street located in the center of the town, also known as the kilometer 0. Most of the time, this main street is appeared to be pretty much crowded. On the main road itself, vary of numerous vehicles go by, and sometimes halted by a bit of traffic-jam. On the west side of the road, a great deal of tourists and vendors filling up the veranda of row of a number of shops. The sellers display their various for-sale goods or service, once in a while warmly offer them to the tourists with a hope that some would be attracted to buy. Meanwhile, the tourists are either consumed to buy the goods, or simply just go for window-shopping. Perhaps some are merely lingering there for the sake of enjoying the dense traditional atmosphere of the place. Some nights or days, groups of street artists would vigorously serenade their hearts out. 

That is what you will see of Malioboro these days. Have you guys ever wondered how this place looked like, years, or may be decades ago? Now let’s imagine we can travel back to this spot with a time machine. The time machine drops you to the exact location of Malioboro, many years ago, by the period of post-colonial days. And this is how it looks like

The sight of the street was blatantly different from Malioboro nowadays, don't you think? If the portrait were not in grayscale, guess the environment was a lot more greener, embraced with masses of high trees that greet people alongside of the street. One might say that the street was broader, but it’s not. It may appeared so, though. Actually, it was just way much cleaner, free of the crowd of vendors in front of the moderate number of the shops, of which influenced by dutch-architecture features. The street was much simpler in appearance, without advertisement all over the place, and the decorations there were not many, but still nice. The traffic of this street that laid from Tugu Station to the Yogyakarta Palace was also less arranged, without the street border, without traffic signs, without zebra cross, and without the one-way traffic rule as it is at this present time. The pedestrians, not as crowded as these days, were walking on the two sidewalks at the east and west side of the road. On the road itself the vehicles that pass by were mostly consisted of those eco-friendly one, such as bicycle, pedicab, and two or four-wheeled horse carriage. At the time, the cars that go by on the street apparently could be count by your fingers, and the appearance was like that of Mr. Bean’s car, the Morris Mini Cooper.

Now now, unfortunately our journey to the past-time Malioboro has reach its end. What do you think of 'the now and then Malioboro'? I think that would be soo nice if the good points of  this old street are combined with its current version. After all, Malioboro has always spread a friendly inviting vibe. It was beautiful. And still is.

The Way I’m Digging out Myself

            Who am I? How do I get here?

          These two ostensibly simple questions never really come out as trivial as it sounds. Somewhat it is what defines who we are today. This means our history. For me, these questions will always get me trace back to the first time I could freely inhaled my first air in this world. It would be a real long story, seriously; from the moment when they granted me the name Alia Arsy Arya Arga, to the journey of my wild high school times.

First of all, you probably get attracted to my full name. My parents had deliberately set all A’s as the initial four letters of each part of my full name. Weird, eh? Well, my creative Dad once admitted that he was mostly the one who took charge of its bizarreness. Yet beyond its oddity, Mom and Dad had enclosed some hope and prayers in it. The terminology of my first name, ‘Alia’, comes from an Arabic word means honored. My Dad told me that he formerly got the inspiration of my first name from a great airplane named Alia, when he first saw it landed on Halim Perdana Kusuma Airport. It turned out that the plane was a Jordanian Queen’s whose name is Alia as well. So yeah, basically, my Dad named me after the Jordanian’s first lady. The next one is my middle name. ‘Arsy’ is also an Arabic word that refers to the throne of God. Whereas ‘Arya’ is a word originated from Javanese which generally means a knight. The last but not least, my surname, ‘Arga’, is the Javanese word of mountain.

As if this overrated full name is not enough, my Dad had ever mentioned his secret intention of choosing my last name. I was like, ‘Wait..what? Seriously, Dad, this can’t be more intimidating…’. Oh, yes, girl, it can. Have you ever heard of Jayabaya’s prophecy? It’s an old Javanese prophecy that foretold if Indonesia would become a prosperous country someday. Maybe this is the first time you hear it, so let me explain. The prophecy said that Indonesia would be a great country someday with one condition: once it has already had been reigned by 5 Presidents whose last syllable of surnames met the requirement of ‘NaTaNaGaRa’. Can you get what I’m just saying? Because frankly I’m having a bit difficulty explaining this too, but I hope you guys could grasp what I mean. Carry on, so the last syllable of my last name is ‘Ga’. The point is, my Dad was secretly hoping that his daughter could possibly fulfill the fourth syllable of the prophecy. This also presumably means then, that he had already carefully calculated the time in which his daughter’s age would be appropriate to be a President. Gracious. I feel that this is pretty heavy.

Well, initially, I can’t deny that I felt so intimidated by my parents’ highly idealist hopes of me, by which represents through the meaning of my name. Fortunately, during the last year of my high school period—when I was so bewildered with the sophistication of the school and, to which path should I lay my feet on afterwards—my Dad reminded me again about the meaning of my name. Here came the moment when I was contemplating of my next step. Apparently, that time I got a revelation from my own full name. So this is a sort of unifying my parents’ hopes and prayers plus my love of language and culture: I have decided to be an Ambassadress in the future. I should apologize to my Dad later, since I'd rather choose to be an ambassadress instead of a president—sorry, Dad. To sum up, this whole story of my name, in some way, is what guides me to this place, to my first choice—English Department, Universitas Gadjah Mada. Therefore, thank you, Mom, thank you, Dad. I feel inspired. I feel grateful. I feel glad. And I feel blessed.