The Other Side Of The Coin

Deep in my heart I know this day will soon come. The day when my strength failed, and my body worn down to the bone. Juggling between different jobs and caring for countless of homeless animals aside from more than 15 cats in my own home required some kind of super human strength, and it is God's hand only that I survived that way for three and a half years.

Even so, I have never thought that it would be coming yesterday. My head spin, and I have difficulties staying awake, so I call my boss and ask for a leave. I was going to go home to catch some Zs I have been depriving myself of these past two weeks, and when I am back on my feet, will spend some time to finish my long forsaken schedule in finishing my website.

Alas, I took a flight down the stair, and the usually quiet and mind-own-business office gone chaotic. Within a few minutes a car was set and I was rushed to the hospital. The doctor recognize me and ordered that I stayed hospitalized for at least a week to see if my liver had gone back swollen like last time.

Well, not again. I have a ton of stray cats and dogs waiting for me on the street, and considering the stormy weather these last 6 months, the smaller ones won't even have a chance if I stop even for one night.

So I turn my creativity on and wait for the next visiting hour to drag my iv into the toilet, and took the needle off my vein. I put my own clothing back on, and slip out of the toilet like a normal visitor, and put myself in the next herd of leaving guests. I turn to the cashier, pay my fees, and go home with a bus.

Sounds like some thriller movie scene? Well, what do you expect of a detective novels addict? Besides, I am not going to pay yet another million to sleep uselessly in the hospital while animals are dying on the streets every second passed.

Naturally no one will ask when I don't show up in the office the next day. They all think that I am sleeping soundly in the hospital again ( I went to the hospital twice before) while I am going round the bank taking care of my stolen wallet, but that's another story.

Besides, my short, cheap stunt has nothing to do with this post. What I wanted to share is my experience during the three hours I spend in the ER.

I  was curious about the noises and cries from across my room that I peeked out of my bed, and saw three men been dragged in.

They are typical Bandung youngsters, with skinny pants taken down to the hip, so their underwear (or in most case, their black, smelly butt) will show when they bend down, goth styled T-shirt, and messy hairdo. It's a mix of Kanye West and Punk Goth rock band that haven't taken a bath for a year.

Looking at their burnt legs and arms, I first thought they got into accident while mixing alcoholic drink or drug (some times into toxic drink that killed the entire gang), or getting into traffic accident while strutting their home-made Harley Davidson. Unfortunately, however, both guesses were wrong.

Soon after they were brought in, a herd of doctors swarmed in with their pack of nurses and all sort of equipment, and their shirt been torn, and their heart examined, and one minute later I heard

“Number eight's gone!” and the pack that previously handled him dispersed and divided themselves to handle the other two. It happened automatically within a minute, that I was in shock of how such emotional moment can be handled like a lifeless routine.

It sank in almost immediately to me that the man has died, and my curiosity was further drawn to the other two. One has troubled heart, the other has slim chance of life.

One of the girls who brought them into the hospital sobs right next to me, not realizing that the bed next to her has someone sitting on it. She was all red that I didn't want to interrupt her river of tears, until the nurse who handle me came by and handed me over a pack of pills. “You should be laying down instead of snooping, lady” he warned.

“What happened? I nod at the three rows of bed across mine, not heeding his order.

“Working on electricity, and got shocked”

“All three of them?”

“Yes, well, people here are stupid. When someone got shocked, the other tried to tug them and got shocked themselves”

I  stay quiet, but talking about stupid, most people here are, and death like that is probably just a routine after all.

Maybe because of the cultural laziness of the Sundanese, maybe because education is not more important than looks and girls, maybe because of the economy, maybe because teachers here got paid so low that they succumb to corruption and care more of seeking additional sources of money than making better generation, discussing about whys can go on forever, but the sad fact is, despite living in a beautiful and fertile terrain labeled as “Paris Van Java” (yep, including the pretty and easily-taken girls), people's live here is not as pretty as it is said in the tourism brochures or government's websites.

If you got chance to come and visit Bandung one day, you will see people hanging on electricity pole only with rubber boots, if not rubber sandals that you would wear to the beach. You will see young guys mending air conditioner with shorts and tee, as if you would go surfing. You will see people digging holes on the street using helmet, but with bare foot and most of the time, bare chest.

I  don't know if they do it so they would look sexy in the eyes of the girls, just like some of those perfume advertisement, but sometimes they just don't wear protection because they think it hinders them from performing their task at best. Sometimes they think fixing electricity is as easy as pie, hence bare-handedly climb a bamboo ladder onto their roof and bravely peel off those big cables and stole electricity for their houses or hijack their richer neighbor's satellite TV in the hope they can peek on some of those HBOs without pay.

I  don't know if they just don't care, but people here go to Senior High School to laid or got laid by the first attractive opposite sex and those who got more money done that on college, drop school, got married, and have their parents pay for their household, and think of landing on any pitiful job only when they got babies and their parents had no more means to support them financially. That is, if one of the couple hadn't run away already.

I don't know if they realized that they would left their widow and children begging on the street if they died, because woman here is just like queen bee. They only want to stay at home, sleep, and bare children because being a career woman is a very tough thing to do.

But people do lost their lives doing those stupid things, and what I just saw is just a number among continuous column in a local newspaper that got skipped and especially skipped when Manchester United is playing because they (and most of them are young and poor and want easy and fast cash) bet on the match.

When I sneaked out of the hospital, I saw a rich lady coming toward them with worry hanging on her face, and I immediately feel pity on her, because I can imagine she would have to bare the loathing and swearing of the new widow and the family of the dead man, sometimes even people that has nothing to do with the case or the victim.

It's automatic. Here in Bandung, rich people are almost always the villain, because they are richer, they got better education, they get better means of life, and therefore, bear the biggest responsibility of everything.

It's probably never occurred that those richer people got their riches because they go to school and finish it, they done their homework, and they refuse to surrender to their lazier self, and therefore, it is not their fault that they got better off than their peers.

It's probably never occurred that those richer people didn't get to their millions like dry leaves fall down from a tree, and it's probably never occurred that richer people do advices, teaches, and equips, but regarded only as a passing wind by their workers.

What people know is pointing finger to those that are more able, without any inquisitiveness to look further.

And what men do to their own kind, they do it worse to the (said) lesser creatures.

So when a tree got tampered by the wind and fall down and create a traffic jam, other trees along the road will be cut down, while the actual cause is people burning their trash under the tree and kill its root. When little kids throw rocks to a dog, and the dog bites, people will bring their whatever weapon to the house of the dog, and demand that the owner kill the dog or the entire household will be executed, regardless of how mean kids can be. When crazy teens took small kittens from their mother and put them on the road to be crushed by passing vehicles they are forgiven because it is the obligation of the vehicle owner (who is richer than those kids, who went to places on foot) to care where they are going. When a horse carriage was overloaded and the horse could not carry it as fast as the owner wanted it, the horse was repeatedly hit by the back of a sword until it died miserably at the side of the street, and when I prevent anyone to be cruel to animals, it is my fault (who has a job, more money, and better social status than those abusers) and therefore they are justified to try to gang-rape or at least beat me up and teach me some lesson to first pay regard to the poorer side of humanity than the animals.

They should have learned that I am a Wushu world champion, though only the second runner up, but that ability to pay them back and beat them up instead is my fault too.

I don't know if this city is a true Paris Van Java, a tropical paradise as they say, but I know that there is always another side of the coin, and it is not always as pretty.

To Protect And To Serve

Whenever I upload my rescue story, there are always some readers who wrote me back and told me to report to local police. Even if I upload an abuse story, they still ask me to report to local police and have them do something despite my repeating answer that Indonesia doesn't have an animal welfare law, and the police is so corrupted that they won't care. Today I am going to tell you a story that will answer such request the best.

On a rare clear afternoon last Saturday, I went out to a cheap pharmacy near my rent to buy vitamins for the cats.

The pharmacy is on a heavily packed street, full with road-side merchant offering fake Louis Vuitton, China-made Chanel or hijacked Tommy Hillfiger; and since the road is packed up with people, it is natural that one man can brush the other's as they walk. A good setting for pickpockets.

It must be my lucky day that day because one of those thieves' target was me. People keep brushing me off, including some teenage boys who tried to touch my butt, and I was too busy skipping through people that I didn't realize my wallet was stolen, until I got into the pharmacy and dig into my pocket for it.

I  am sure that those thieves will be disappointed, though, because my wallet was empty. I was about to pay with a debit card that I left all my money home but my ID card and the debit card I was about to use, but none the less, it gives me extra work because I have to spend half an hour on my cell phone (here, cell phone rate is a lot lot lot more expensive than land line) blocking my account, and schedule a date to get a new card.

Naturally, I have to provide a police report about the stolen card, so on my way home, I dropped by to a small police booth at the area.

The view inside was uncanny. I saw some police officers play chess and laugh like a drunkard with their detainee, and on the bench near the entrance I saw someone with a face like a criminal reading a newspaper while the police on duty was watching TV.

Forget about that man with criminal look. He can be an undercover police (well, who knows? I am trying to be positive here).

I  called on the policeman, and he peered at me with one eye while the other stick on the TV, it was a gossip of two celebrities having affair. I told him that I want to report a stolen wallet.

He looked at me and ask “Got an ID card?”

“It's inside that stolen wallet I am now reporting”

He smiled, no, I think sneer is a better description, and say “No ID, no paper” and he went straight back to the gossip news.

I  was surprised that he noticed when I turned back laughing.

“What are you laughing about?” he asked angrily.

“Nothing” I said, still grinning.

“Well, you can ask your husband, or your boyfriend, or your brother or sister to come here and pick you up and file a report on your behalf” he said. He guessed my laugh right.

“With how much money?” I asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

Obviously he was so taken by my beautiful, pearly white teeth that he completely forget the celebrity news and face me seriously. “What did you say?”

Mind you that this is not the first time I lost my wallet. I have gone through stolen wallet stories more than five times during my three years stay in Bandung, and I always have to pay at least twenty thousand Indonesian Rupiahs although all of my money was inside the stolen wallet so I have to borrow from the office.

My grin is just getting bigger, though I am sure I will ever admit that I am all by myself in this city “Nothing, sir. Really, but thanks for your concern”, and I left.

Guess what? I was followed. That guy with the newspaper followed me and twice he got too close that I notice him. So went into the nearest mall, wander aimlessly and suddenly jumped into an packed up elevator just seconds before it's closed.

Do I need to remind anyone that I like reading detective story? And this time I don't have to worry about pickpockets because I don't have anything left to lose, so I slip though the crowd with ease and gone out from the other side of the mall, and walk home.

Since I got used to live without money, I don't have trouble on Sunday. I still have two packs of instant noodles that I promised my 'mother' I won't take, and the cats have their own food, so no problem.

On Monday I asked the office's errand boy to meet the policeman that the office paid to protect the office off the street punks (because there's a slum-full of thugs behind the office complex) and give him thirty thousand Rupiah to make a report on my behalf.

It was done in three hours, and when he handed it to me the errand boy told me that had I met the officer myself I would have had to spend more than fifty thousand because I am Chinese (sort of, my mother is of Chinese descent, and Chinese are usually richer than the natives). I smiled and give my errand boy ten thousand for his hard work, which he refused because I helped his family once.

Unfortunately I had to be taken to the hospital the next day, that I can't immediately get my new debit card, but that's another story. However, I hope what had happened can describe how police here protect and serve, and can give you an idea of how they would protect and serve the animals, who has no bills to give in exchange of their protection.

I  wish someone don't shoot me because my post is considered subversive.

A Personal note for my mama:

Thanks for the “Odd and The Frost Giant” you gave me. It really inspires my grin to the police, and to let him do what he wants to do. I love you dearly.

Lion Dance Magic

For Chinese in the world, January 23 is the most important Chinese holiday. It is the beginning of the new year of Water dragon.

Chinese New Year is the most important of the traditional Chinese holidays. In China , it is known as "Spring Festival," the literal translation of the Chinese name, since the spring season in Chinese calendar starts with lichun, the first solar term in a Chinese calendar year. It marks the end of the winter season, analogous to the Western Carnival. The festival begins on the first day of the first month in the traditional Chinese calendar and ends with Lantern Festival which is on the 15th day. 
 Chinese New Year is the longest and most important festivity in the Chinese calendar. The origin of Chinese New Year is itself centuries old and gains significance because of several myths and traditions. Chinese New Year is celebrated in countries and territories with significant Chinese populations, such as Mainland China, Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan, Singapore, Thailand, Indonesia, Malaysia, Mauritius, Vietnam, Phillipines and also in Chinatowns elsewhere. Chinese New Year is considered a major holiday for the Chinese and has had influence on the lunar new year celebrations of its geographic neighbors. In Indonesia, that fifteenth day or the Lantern Festival is call Cap Go Meh. Cap Go means 15, and Meh means 'night'.

During the Chinese New Year, lion dancer troupes from the Chinese martial art schools or Chinese guild and associations will visit the houses and shops of the Chinese community to perform the traditional custom of "cai ching" (採青), literally means "plucking the greens", a quest by the 'lion' to pluck the auspicious green normally 'vegetables' like lettuce which in Chinese called 'cái'(菜)that sound like 'cái'(财)(fortune) and auspicious fruit like oranges tied to a red envelope containing money; either hang highly or just put on a table in front of the premises. The "lion" will dance and approach the "green" and "red evelope" like a curious cat, to "eat the green" and "spit" it out leave it in a nice arrangement, like an auspicious character but keep the "red envelope". The lion dance is believed to bring good luck and fortune to the business and the troupe is rewarded with the "red envelope".

In modern day, however, people who come to watch lion dance can wave the red envelope in the air, for which the lion will come and, after “eating” the envelope, will bow down in gratitude and the patron (who give the envelope) can touch the head of the lion. Giving red envelope (containing money) to the lion and touching the lion's head is considered auspicious.

Now onto another story.

I once read an article by a Catholic Filipino lay missionary about “giving back to God” The impression that article left me is that if Robert Kiyosaki (author of Rich Dad, Poor Dad) said “pay yourself first” this Filipino evangelist say “pay God first” by giving a part of our income back to God through charity. He said in the article that most people think they are too poor for charity, especially those in debts, or with small wage who always worry about what to eat tomorrow. However, he believed (by citing some verse in the Bible) that giving back to the Lord is a great exercise to feel of “abundant” and that "God give enough" as well as training us to "cast our worry to God because He cares for us", and that the more we give for charity, the more God will bless us abundantly. Long story short, I promised God that I will give part of my income – regardless of how small – to Him, regardless I never have enough for the whole month, and I always take a few percent of my salary since then, and anonymously put it in the charity box at the church.

Partly, I felt challenged by St. Francis of Assisi's first student and follower: St. Bernard, a very rich nobleman who actually sold all his belonging, give it to the poor and live just by what people give him as he begs on the street with the poor. Stupid? surely, but I did it anyway.

Believe it or not, my luck changed since then. Before I set apart my salary, I have always run out of money, sometimes as early as the first week of the month, leaving me with meager to eat and none to spend for all other things; but after I start to set it apart, there's always something coming: a small donation, a pet store allowing me to pay on credit, a lending from one of my brother, or an order from the Whiskers' Syndicate's on-line shop. I always have nothing left by the last day of the month, but whenever the last dime were spent, and I have no idea how we are going to eat the next day, there's always something just enough to fill our stomach and therefore, to live another day.

Fast forward to now: Last week my half-dead rice cooker had finally gone over the rainbow bridge. I said it was half dead because it can still cook, though the rice it cooks is never well done (there are part of it that still half cooked). I have no money to buy a new one yet, and I promised one of my significant person that I would never survive on instant noodle and water again, so for several days I live with rice flour mixed with soy milk and made into a porridge. I got myself a severe diarrhea that way, so at the end I borrowed money and went buy one at the weekend.
I read it in a big advertisement on the streets that Bandung will celebrate Cap Go Meh 3 days in a row starting Friday (Feb 9) to Sunday (Feb 12) in an extravagant 70 lion dances, parade of the statues of Buddhist/Taoist/Confucianism Gods and venerated persons, as well as lantern festival from Temples/Groups/school across West Java. The parade will pass on every main street with major Chinese populations. That means detours, traffic jams, and waste of time. Worst part is, since my rent is in the city center, all main street around my area will be passed by the parade. So if I am to buy the rice cooker, I need to do it in utmost rush, or got caught in the crowd.

I was stuck in the crowd anyway, and ended up being pushed around to the front row of the sea of people that comes watching. Children were lifted up on their parent's shoulder, and some of them is crazy enough to step on the head of people below them, including mine. Bandung people has no sense of respect, that is ultimate truth, so I can't expect their children to be respectful to others.

At my side and front, Chinese with bundles of red envelope are waiting in excitement. It is auspicious to give an envelope to one lion, so I think it is naturally abundant to give them to all 70 lions. I sometimes give red envelope, when I have some change to spare, but that was long time ago.

Beyond my expectation, the lions, as well as the dances were skillfully beautiful, so as I watch the parade I keep groaning that I don't have any money left except for two thousand Rupiah, that will be spent when I took a the bus home. At one point, however, my attention was drawn by an elderly lady beside me, who open her purse in secret (there got to be more than a dozen freelance pick pocket there, I suppose) and wave her hand timidly. So shy that some of the lions can't see her waving and come pick her gift. She knew that I was watching her, so she told me, with a crimson cheek, that she didn't have a red envelope, hence fold the money and have the lion eat it “raw”.

It was certainly laugh inducing, at least for Asians who are familiar with the tradition. However, I was touched by her sincerity, and simultaneously remembered that I have a small envelope I keep in my wallet. I always keep one or two ready in case I need to leave the Syndicate's business card somewhere, or happen to pass an under-maintained church in need of charity.

It shocked me when I realize that there are 50 thousand Rupiah bill inside each envelope. I got 100 thousand when I thought I don't have even a dime left! It's a miracle!

Well, perhaps no, maybe it was just me, actually. I put that money there as the part of charity that I promised God, but I ended up giving my charity to a sick baby by a bank transfer last week, and I forgot that I put money in that envelope, but at that moment it does feel like a miracle for me: a good fortune fall straight from heaven as a reply from my endless groaning as each lion passed.

I was terribly thirsty for having to walk a long distant (the bus stopped halfway due to the crowd) So I slipped into the back, with much effort, and buy bottled water from a merchant with one of the 50 thousand, and the merchant gave me a lot of small change in return. He has a lot of bigger bills, and gawker merchant usually keep the small change for later transactions, but this one give me all his small change. A peculiar happening that I take as another divine sign.

I think you can guess where the change goes. To the lions. I don't have envelope, so I gave it to the lion “raw”, just like the lady, who was encouraged to give more because she is not alone.

It is ridiculous, really, to give part of my money to someone else when even I don't have left over, but lion dancers are all volunteers; they have never received payment, and all the money from the envelope goes to support the life of their group. I saw their eyes. Those dancers are tired, and hungry, and confused to be surrounded by such wild spectators (who most of them are not Chinese nor Buddhist but unknowing and often time disrespectful spectator of majority religion in this country), but they still move on. Throughout the dance they cannot drink or eat, and have to continue moving throughout the route: a long 10 kilometers (around 12 miles). A small change bill as a token of appreciation and respect is nothing compared to their dedication.
Besides, I felt that heaven is reminding me. Those dancers came from even the most remote area of West Java, some even comes from another island. Given the organizer pay their transport and accommodation, they still have a lot to pay from their own pocket, and they still perform their best do it in their faithfulness to their religion and belief. My tribulation is trivial in comparison.
I feel warm, actually, and less lonely. I don't feel like I am the saddest person in the city: away from family, in an unsympathetic town, defending a deviant cause, of little means, and definitely cobbling down confidence. For that time being those dancers and I, albeit strangers, are in the same boat.
So, I am doing it for the syndicate. Every time I “fed” one lion, I prayed for one mobster that had left me to the other side. Not to Buddha, to my own Lord Jesus. The lion is just a symbol, part of the tradition. I whisper the name of all my sisters and brothers who are no longer with me: River Phoenix, Edward, Trea, Koge Pan, Tanenah, Eden, Picassa, Kaitou, Orange Pekoe, and many other, and asked that God took care of them wherever they now are.
Every time I wave my hand to give another I prayed that He'd bless my service toward Him saving animals. Because I heed His word that, to the extent that we did kindness to one of these brothers of Him, even the least of them, we did it to God.’ (Matthew 25:40). Aren't animals considered the least of God's creature? And so far I have found my greatest joy in working with them.
Every time I touched the head of a lion I wish the generic wish that other people do: that this year is prosperous, though I ask for prosperity because my rent will be over in June, and I have no money to pay the next term, much less buying a piece of permanent property that the Syndicate and I can stop moving around all over again (moving is stressful to cats) and stay in peace, away from evil neighbors or cruel majority, as we continue to save the lives of less fortunate kins. 

Even as I left the parade I am still praying, in gratitude for the 100 thousand miracle, and wish that as much as I haven't forget my promise to give part of my income back to God, God too will not forsake His promise, that whoever faithful to Him shall not perish, but live abundantly to the end of time. I will remember to cast all my anxiety on Him, because He cares for me (1 Peter 5:7).