Nasi Padang

I never did get a handle on Indonesia. Well, Jakarta, that is. 

Like many, I thought I knew Indonesia just because I've been to Bali a number of times.

When I was in Jakarta, I felt everything to be very far from each other. Especially between the gilded rich and the ghastly poor. It's a huge gulf; and it's engulfing that one 'voice' I know that's dying to get out.

The one 'voice' of Indonesia.

It's said that one can suss out the ideals of a nation through its advertisements.

Well, in Jakarta I couldn't suss out even the idea of what's good to eat, never mind the ideals of the nation.

Actually, I did. Well, the food. Nasi Padang. That's all I seem to like. Even when I'm in Bali. Heck, even when I'm in Kuala Lumpur.

Anyway, I'm thrilled for one thing.

I was asked to write to some people in Jakarta about a regional posting. I wrote in a pertinent objective. To help unearth the 'voice' of Indonesia through advertising communications - much like how Thailand has done it. 

I wrote that I can do that because I possess a culturally agreeable disposition. I will never be a prejudiced, jaundiced, supremacist-minded expatriate.

I got a couple of calls.

I'll be heading to Jakarta soon for chats.

And maybe this time, I'll skip the Nasi Padang for something else. I don't know what, but the choices are certainly not few and far between.

Kampung Sireh, Kota Bharu, Kelantan

I was born here. It was very different then. Perhaps because I wasn't indifferent then.

The Sultan's palace across the main road was not only a humble yet palatial awe, it was also a playground for me - I was buddies with one of the Sultan's nephews (I still wonder why it wasn't his niece instead).

There was this Indian stall where the best 'nasi dagang' and kopi-o was to be had. Every morning. And late evening.

There was this sawmill a few hundred steps from the junction - I used to run here and kick sawdust into the faces of my friends.

Then there was the 'guava' tree fronting the gates of my house. I liked perching myself up there and whistling down on those walking by below. I also helped save lives from that 'high' position - I could see oncoming motor vehicles approaching each other from the blind bend and signaled for them to go slowly.

Then I got indifferent.

Everything became so normal. So familiar. So day-to-day.

Even the sight of the foreign backpackers who would stay at this traditional house turned into a lodge just across the little lane in front of the house.

Nothing was a novelty anymore.

Nothing.

Until I brought her back to my house on her first Hari Raya trip to my hometown - to be surrounded and bombarded with cheeky questions by my numerous relatives, all in good fun, and good faith, that she was the one.

That was a novel memory. It still is. And I know it will always be. And because of her, I grew to miss 'home' again.

Evil in the workplace

You can think of the many cliched non-pleasantries in the workplace.

Ungodly hours. Unreasonable deadlines. Irresponsible colleagues. Ungodly hours, again - though this may not apply to the public sector; here it's more about working bare minimum hours, and this is pretty gross in itself.

To my mind, what's really evil in the workplace is racism. And a sure sense of supremacist standing. And all this, while you're an expatriate. Working in a foreign land, but with prejudices and a jaundiced view of the local people.

These racists literally stink.

And most of them are people who've done things the same way all their lives. The consummate conservative. Ultra-nationalists. Bordering on fascists. Otherwise dumb.

When one is not open-minded, one is open to the fallacy of certainty.

And one is certain to always be wrong.

I don't know if any of you have had to work with  a stinking racist expatriate, but trust me on this one.

If the guy is so aggressive and abrasive about getting his way around, then just look at one thing. Look at the final work, the end result of all that insult and disrespect.

It'll always be mediocre and substandard.

You can't expect anything else. Certainly not from people who would die for process and procedures (no matter how outdated, dimwitted or inapplicable), and not for inspiration and the accident of new ideas.

These guys are afraid of new things.

They'd much rather win with a whimper, than fail (from time to time) but with great sensation. And, so sorry, they mostly wear ties, again.

They're not worth another minute of your cooperation.

Labour to live

I have a family friend in Laos. 

Well, technically I'm a friend of one family. They run a quaint, ramshackle but sturdy restaurant on the banks of the Mekong. I ate there a couple of times - the 'tam maak hung' and 'laap' are simply mouth-watering, not to mention eye-tearing if you can't take hot and spicy food. Well, I can. The spicier the better.

Anyway, the youngest daughter made my acquaintance. She's studying English, and she took the time to converse with me, so she could learn.

Now she's my pet sister.

And yesterday she sent an sms saying she was really sick. I told her to rest. She said she can't afford to miss class, nor stay away from the restaurant after that.

She has to work. Very hard. She stresses that if she doesn't, she will go hungry. And she will never be successful. She wants to be an accountant. She has to be an accountant, for her sake and her family's.

I told her to get some rest all the same. And in my heart, I told all spoilt and silver-spooned kids, never to take their current easy existence for granted.

Visits

Bangkok. It's time I went back again.

I've grown fond of the contradictions. 

Bargirls saying prayers as they go to work. Beggars saying prayers as they struggle past Buddha. Excesses against the teaching of moderation. Taxi drivers weaving in and out, and letting go of the steering wheel to 'wai' yet another Buddha shrine at the side of the street.

It's fascinating to say the least.

And the Thais couldn't really give a toss about what others think. There's no getting into their minds, really.

Oh, yes. The best thing of all about them is that there appears to be no stigma whatsoever with whatever. That's why they do some of the best TV commercials in the world.

Old Habits Die Hard

It really is the most fascinating time to be in advertising. Well, on a grander scale, communications in general.

People have gotten more expressive. And they're expressing themselves in a myriad of ways and media platforms. It's fascinating. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

And this also scares the shits out of the old practitioners.

And they're fenced in a corner that gets tinier and tinier by the day. It's not a very comfortable place to be in.

Which explains why they bark and bite. Even as we attempt to free them. Rather, their minds.

Cocksure

It's a tragedy. Or a tragic comedy.

The trouble in this world is that genuinely evil people are so certain of themselves, and the wise ones are genuinely filled with doubts.

This reminds me of the pseudo-intellectuals in the industry I'm in. While people in Myanmar, China and other recently devastated parts of the world immerse themselves with true thoughts of surviving, these wankers here immerse themselves in fake fingering and fornication of facts as to how people actually decide to buy things. Things like, cars.

I guess it's a delusion of their self-worth.

The Poor Don't Beg

Vientiane is nice and quiet. You'll be counting the minutes everyday. It's that languid.

I walked around Vientiane for 3 days in a row at one time. I saw everything there was to see. But unlike others, I didn't go ga-ga over the "famed" Mekong sunset - I remember the guidebooks saying the same thing about the sunset over Angkor Wat, and sunsets in Bali, and sunsets, well, pretty much everywhere in this part of the world.

No, I didn't go ga-ga over the sunset over Mekong. I've seen it all my life. I grew up by the river in a land conjured as 'the cradle of Mecca'. So I didn't see what everyone else sees in the Mekong sunset - but I see what the tour operators see in that, especially in Angkor Wat.

Anyway, the other thing I didn't see in Vientiane was beggars. The poorest country in Indochina, and there are no beggars - at least I didn't see any.

Maybe only the rich beg then. Because nothing is ever enough for them. So they beg for contracts and titles.

I wouldn't bother giving them anything any more. Other than my sympathies for their ailments. And their ungrateful children.

How well did they sleep last night?

I had a good night's sleep last night. I was just reading in bed and the lights went out. Mine, not the bedroom's. But it was good, and it was a long time coming. I woke up to the sound of the cat scratching at my door. Well, it was the cat scratching at my door. 

But in my head, it sounded like scratching of the least pleasant kind. It was the sound of little children and poor people scratching for food for the day, if they could last another day. I pray they would, because their hopes are bountiful yet. 

Will the robber barons of today please stand up, step in line, and prepare to be shot.

Pseudo-intellect

There's some serious over-intellectualization in the process of creating ads these days. But what's really strange is that, the end result still ends up mediocre, dull, ineffective and worst, insulting. Who let the academics out on art and craft? They're a fearful and self-preserving bunch. And if you notice, conservatives are actually full of aggression. And they're abrasive.

To do well. Or to do good.

I don't know about you, but I know that there really isn't a shortage in food supply, nor in fossil fuel. The tankers in the sea are moving. The petrol stations are not clogged up by cars. It's always those invisible hands. Respected and held in high accord by society just because they're educated and professional. And named. They don't just speculate, they manipulate. And they're totally, utterly selfish. Evil, even. And they're always in suits and ties and in cahoots with ultimate greed. I stopped by a beggar in the streets in Bangkok recently. I was carrying some packed lunch. She held out her polystyrene cup for coins. I held out my packed lunch. She dropped her cup and grabbed and chewed down my offering. Her coins roll out onto the streets, a meagre 10 baht's worth. She was oblivious - she had to live. And her coins were picked up by another beggar. I walked away, but not from the fact that the capitalist pigs are the ones killing people, one by one, day by day.