That first time

~3 October 2000~


Mr Roso, our physical sciences teacher, just went out of the class.

Sitting at the back right corner of the classroom, I was biting the pencil while watching some of the class's noisiest soccer players throwing paper balls at each others. Some of the girls are busy gossiping and others were drawing.

I was really bored, and so was she.

Out of the blue, I called her name softly.

"What?" she replied with an even softer murmur.

"You know what...there is someone in this class whom I like"

Her face suddenly brightened up. Ah, how lovely.

"What! Whoisit whoisit? Tell me tell me!" she exclaimed.

"Shht...quieten down!"

"Okay T... Sorry... So..who is it? Who's that girl?"

OMG.

Why on earth did I have to start this conversation in the first place. My heart was throbbing loudly, I hoped she couldn't hear it.

I tried to look for an excuse to end the conversation.

"Ermm... But I don't want her to know..." I said nervously, biting my lips.

"Ah don't worry... I can keep a secret, you can trust me Toshi!" she smiled.

That smile again.

I glanced away from her. By now my whole body must have had reddened from the blush on my face streaming down from the veins on my cheeks to my limbs and entire torso. I just hoped she didn't notice it.

"I...uhm..."

"Hmm? You don't trust me?"

"No, it's not that I don't trust you, it's just that...erm.."

"So tell me then" she showed a pout. She seemed to be getting a bit upset.

"No"

"Toshi..."

The entire class was getting louder and rowdier as the clock ticked on. Seemed that it was only me and her who was having this small, quiet conversation in the back.

"Please, not now?" I asked her in earnest.

"When? Tell me now, otherwise I won't talk to you anymore today"

I sighed.

Then the classroom door opened. Mr Phillip, the Indonesian language teacher entered the classroom, bringing a sudden quiet to the whole class.

The class stood up, dictating the obligatory "Selamat siang Pak Guru".

After we sat, she said crossly, "Okay, fine. You know the consequences"

"Hmm okay I tell you.."

I tried to look at her in the face, but I couldn't.

"You"

"What?"

"It's you"

"Me what?"

"The p-personn is you," I half-stammered.

Whether she was in awe or in shock, I couldn't tell. I couldn't even look her in the eye. All I could stare was her red skirt.

And it only made me feel much more embarrassed.

While Mr Phillip was making notes at the whiteboard, both of us fell silent. And we didn't talk for the next three minutes.

"So?" I asked.

My heart wasn't throbbing as loudly anymore, but I was anxious. Now that all is said out loud, I had to get the answer.

"Mmmm", she only mumbled.

"So..what's your answer?"

"Ah cmon Toshi, I'm paying attention to the lesson now. Can't we discuss this later?"

"Okay"

She was never a big fan of Indonesian language, hence I knew that she was lying. After a couple of minutes of scribbling the notes, I could finally gain the courage to steal a glance at her and see that she was deep in thought.

We didn't talk at all during the rest of the lesson. Even when recess time came, she simply left her seat quickly without saying a word.

When the day finally ended, I asked her, "Have you finally gotten the answer yet?"

"I'll think about it" was all she could say.

During the ride back home, I was preparing myself for two possible answers: Whether I'm gonna get a rejection.... or whether I'm gonna get a new girlfriend!

I was smiling and laughing by myself (thinking of the optimistic answer) the entire day that my schoolbuddies gave me strange glances, "What's wrong with you, Toshi?"

At around 15.00, my phone rang.

My housemaid picked it up.

"Toshi, it's Linda!" she exclaimed while knocking my bedroom door.

My entire house (including my Mom and my sis Melody) had already known it all along about my new crush, hence my maid's enthusiasm.

I gave her a murderous 'shut-up-and-don't-say-anything' look before I took the phone from her.

"Hello"

"T.." I heard her soothing voice from the other line.

"Yea?"

I could vaguely hear her mom shouting out to her, "LINDAA!! Why are you on the phone? Have you cleaned up your room yet?"

"Ermm.. I..."

"You have an answer yet?"

"Yes"

"What?" I gaped in disbelief.

"Yes, I accept", she said quickly, "Now if you excuse me now, my mom just called me"

Then she hung up before I could say another word.

I was still in a state of surprise when I walked back to my room. I couldn't believe it, I finally got myself a girlfriend!

But what about my pals at school? What if they talk about us? Ohmygod Ohmygod getting a girlfriend is such a shameful thing!!

She and I were only at the 6th grade that time, hence my deep embarrassment.

But finally, I've confessed and she accepted!

Smiling proudly to myself, I went to sleep well that night.



~4 October 2000~

The next morning, I woke up feeling kinda embarrassed. And my heart was beating loudly because I was about to meet her again.

But the truth finally dawned upon me.

Eliane, one of her closest confidantes, was the first classmate who told me, "You confessed to Linda? Ah too bad she rejected you...I feel sorry for you!"

"What do you mean?"

She must have been joking.

"She refused you, don't you know?"

"But...but..." I was in an utter state of confusion.

"Oh well..that means she hasn't told you yet, hmm?"

When I finally met Linda again, I asked her what did Eliane meant.

"Sorry T.. My mom was rushing me to hang up phone last afternoon... But I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression though", she sighed, feeling sorry for me, "But I don't take it"

"What do you mean by 'not taking it'?"

"I don't accept you"

Then the world fell silent. It seemed as if there was nothing mattered anymore.

Now I only needed to know the reason.

"Because I don't want to", she finally told me later on during the day.

"Why? Why not?"

"Because I have a reason", she said sternly.

"What reason?"

"Nope. Maybe next time"

I had no courage even to say that "was I too ugly for you?"

However, I seemed to know what the reason was. It was too obvious, right in front of my own eyes... I could see it.



~One day in year 2008~


We were having some snacks in a cafe while waiting for the movie in Bintaro Plaza cinema.

This was the first time I ever met her after seven years of not meeting each other.

There were a lot for us to catch up on, and we were gossiping about some of our former classmates who had become a movie star, or those who had moved to other countries, or which ones had had sex with whom.

In between, she was having her second cigarette while I was toying with her cellphone.

"T", she said, "Remember 6th grade?"

"What?"

"There was this boy who liked mee...." she grinned.

"Hahaha dammit. You still remember, hmm?"

"Hehe yep. Well sorry about that time, because you were too quiet of a boy! If only you could talk a lot more!"

"Like Richard," I stated, "Richard was the boy you liked that time, right?"

"Hey how on earth do you know?" she seemed confused.

"Well", I shrugged, "I simply knew"

"Huuu..."

"Good instincts", I laughed, while taking a sip at her glass of lemon tea.

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Watering the leaves

When I was a small kid, I used to think that the most vital part of a plant is its leaves.

Hence every time Mom ask me to water the yard for her, I took a meticulous care (yes, I suffer from OCD) to water the plants’ leaves one by one.

And it left the roots with little options other than the drippings from above.

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Curry as a Japanese-Italian blend

Around a week back Dins and I discussed what we were going to have for lunch in Senayan City. She wanted Japanese, while I was in the mood for Italian.

So I teasingly offered a (literally) middle agreement: right between Italy and Japan is India, right? So off for Indian food we went.

(we ended up having Japanese though, since neither of our taste buds have that much predilection for Indian cuisine)

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A shameful parade

The other day in my French class (just a few days before he departed to Paris), Raynd was caught by one of my classmates with his zipper open.

Prita happened to be the one who noticed first. Then she notified some others who also kept a giggle of the class.

After the whole class had known the story, we broke laughter in unison.

Madam queried, “Why? What’s so funny?”

Prita then asked rhetorically, “Madam, Quest-ce que c’est ‘zipper’ en français?”

It would not be that embarrassing if our class was just a normal class, with a roughly equal divide between males and females. But it was a French class, where there were merely three of us the guys for every 10 girls.

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Ceased and extended

So I’ve finally came to the end of my 14-week-long French intensive lessons which I attended everyday, and no longer do I have the obligation to wake up at 6 in the morning every Monday to Friday.

Ah, I could finally enjoy waking up late again!

The French test DELF would fall on 17 June (which is going to be the day after the birthday of Zee’s sister) hence if there are any celebrations to be made, I just hope I don’t have to study anything more on the 16th.

As there would be one month plus before my (hopefully) grand departure, I extended my CCF library membership for merely Rp40,000 (a bit less than 3 euros). And it’s valid till June 2010.

Not a bad deal, considering that the library’s membership allows me to borrow any French-related items such as the latest release of books, audio CDs, or even their latest box office movies.

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He might be gay

The discussion then switched into her little brother, who is currently still studying in high school.

“So…what about your bro? Is he dating any girl right now?”

“Geez, he’s so not into guys, T. He spends more time playing online games instead of socialising with girls. Gosh he might be gay”, Debs sighed.

“That’s your fault then” I sneered at her.

“But now that I think again, he’s got some porn collections in his room.”

I laughed.

“Good for him then”

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Ascension's Day

A thoroughly pleasant Ascension's Day yesterday (21/5).

Started off with the morning mass where I meet the Ciputat folks (Uncle R's bunch and Aunt I's family). After the mass I met Pak Juven and Pak Heri who are still teaching on my primary school (to my pleasure, they remembered me by name! How I love it when people still remember me after years of not meeting them). Then the folks came over by my house where the adults had some chats and the kids played card games.

Zee asked me out to have the wi-fi at McD, which I agreed to. As she hasn't brought her laptop yet, so off to her place we went.

There, she took her laptop which I think is unproportional to the owner, considering the normal size of 14 inches... She should've bought a lighter one, geez.

During our way there, she asked my opinion on her not-so-new haircut.

It had been cut so short that it doesn't even reach her shoulder.

"Hmmm.... I think I like your long one better"

"Really? Haha you share the same opinion with most of my other guy friends"

"Yep, most of us do like it better to keep it long", I smiled," Why on earth did you cut it anyway?"

"Hairfall. Yeaa...I used the wrong conditioner", she grinned.

Around 3 or 4 we arrived at the venue. Aunt I and Zee's sister Moi only dropped us there to pick up her Oma in Bintaro.

In McD, nobody seemed to notice that we haven't purchased any food (yet both of us sat idly there in a dark corner, maliciously hoping to get a free wi-fi).

But alas, it required a password.

So she bought fries while I took spicy chicken. Thank God I didn't purchase Sundae, because both of us did catch cold under the minimum temperature of the air-con.

Still under that dark gelid corner where we could find a power outlet to charge our respective laptops, we sat side-by-side. She was kinda busy with her messenger while I worked on my blog. Exchanging some interesting websites and sharing the fries she bought, it felt great to be at one of the comfiest places to go online (in direct comparison to my French's CCF building).

I iDescribed her on Facebook, from which she protested "why don't you describe me as athletic?".

So I took a slightly condescending-yet-joking look at her meager posture, and suppressed a laugh. I told her that I've never seen her doing athletic or running anyways.

And we laughed.

My girls are mostly skinny and I wonder why (with the exception of Debs, whom I think is hot).

She teased me, "what should I describe you as...T.... hmmm.... you're definitely not religious, of course not.."

"Well I go to church every Sunday", I quickly objected. And mockingly I peeked at her laptop.

"Ah cmon, don't peek T" she threw a glare at me.

"Geez, I'll be seeing it on my news feed soon anyways"

Just around 6, her mom (Aunt I) came over to pick us up. Oma was already inside, so I snugged just beside Zee in the car.

During our way for dinner in Bintaro Plaza, Zee and I listened to Rihanna and Mraz on my iPod. We chatted about my ex- Dins and my best friend Debs while we were changing tunes.

She told me how she still loves that "I'm Yours" song very much. Ah, so it has been on her fave list for that long.

The whole family originally intended to have dinner in EsTeler, yet after second thought we decided for Solaria instead. There everyone except Moi (who had Kway Teow) ordered fried rice.

Well Zee and her mom had half a plate each actually, since they shared the same repast.

Zee asked for pictures -loads of them- for the both of us (and some with the addition of her sister Moi). Moi couldn't take a picture without blurring any of them, so Aunt I offered to be the photographer instead.

It really is nice to have pictures with someone as narcissistic as I do.

After an hour or so there, Moi intended to go to Gramedia yet Aunt I said it could be well too late since Zee was supposed to go to school and I had my French lessons in the morning.

So we accompanied Aunt I to BreadTalk.

From the Plaza, the five of us went back to her place. During our way back we chatted again, this time about our childhood together. How I was surprised how much she still could recall from those days. I didn't even recall anything worth mentioning from that one time when she came to Bali and visited my place in Sanur.

When we reached her home, it was a quiet night as usual.

After changing to her nightgown, she asked me to help with her homework upstairs. On her living room we discussed some stuff about each of our future, what she intended to study in the university and where.

She could very well come over with me (and my family) to the States if her mom could finally have the work permit there, so may God help us all. Their only barrier is their English.

At 9, my Mom came over to pick me up. Zee and I then agreed to hang out again sometime around the next two or three weeks, arranging a vacation together before I depart for the States.

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Do bus conductors really make a big fuss out of torn money bill?

It was one afternoon when I was paying the bus conductor with my Rp20,000 bill. Well the bus fare only normally costs Rp 2,000: I was looking for some small change so that I don't have to make a pretext for myself on buying ice cream sundaes in order to have small changes

Almost as soon as I handed the money to him, he returned the money bill to me showing that there is a tiny weeny bit of dent on the lower right-hand corner of the bill (or lower left-hand, depends on which side is facing you. anyway, go on).

Omg, the money has been rendered invalid, I gasped to myself.

I tried to recall to myself where did I obtain the money and it came on me: that new McD eatery in Pondok Cabe had given that Rp 20,000 as a change two days before. I knew it and I could not be mistaken since there is no other 20,000 bill on my wallet.

So then I was forced to pay the bus conductor with the exact fare of Rp 2,000 instead; something I would not normally do.

Along the bus trip I murmured incantations on that new eatery for creating such a problem for me...will my money bill be rendered invalid if I use it to pay for drinks in a warung stall? Because if I couldn't use the money, then it would mean that I have lost 1.4 Euro worth of money...worth one weekday movie ticket if you ask me.

Then I decided to make my next attempt on paying the angkot (minivan transportation) driver by using the Rp 20,000 and.....Voila! He accepted the money bill and returned me with those changes I needed!

It's either he didn't notice the dent or he didn't mind of it at all.

Anyways, if he's gonna have any problems with that money bill in future payments, it has become his business.

Problem transferred.

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Who farted, really?

In primary schools -and in some cases, higher-level institutions too- we usually have the mystery of finding who actually made that pungent scent that pricked our olfactory senses....simply due to the fact that 85% of the time, the guilty is too embarrassed to own up to his mistakes.

In my opinion, it is simple, really.

The guilty is usually the one who (loudly and quickly) points finger to the nearest person to him/her as to immediately make an accusation that is obvious to everybody.

Then, having smelt that the "source" of the fart had come from around the accused's vicinity, people surrounding the accused would immediately back the guilty's charges...leaving the accused alone and vulnerable to public shame in his/her defences.

I knew about all this because I used to be the accused. And I hated being one, because I already know who the guilty was, yet I could not point my finger back at him/her on the basis that he/she has pointed his/her finger on me first.

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Toshi's CCF activities (as of April 2009)

People -old friends, new acquaintances, random strangers I meet on the street, far relatives who had just seen me— still inquire me regarding what I am doing these days.

Well I tell you here: I'm studying French on a daily basis now.

I am no longer learning French by that usual self-study method. Nah, of course not.

Rather, there is a French-based institution that I attend in the Kebayoran Baru district of South Jakarta: CCF (centre culturel français), where I am taking intensive French lessons from 8 to 12 every Monday to Friday. For one whole term which lasts seven weeks, one is obliged to pay Rp 2.1 million (inclusive of books and CD). Not a bad deal indeed.

Since the class I attend in CCF requires one to be able to come every workday, the types of people who take these intensive lessons are mainly limited to:

• Those who are looking forward to take their Bachelor's or Master's degree in France, Belgium, Switzerland, or other Francophonic countries.
• Those soccer moms who have a lot of pastime to spare.
• Those who had just graduated from university and finds that since it is difficult to find a job during this economic crisis, it is better for them to add a mastery in French to their job résumés.
• Those who are merely adding one more language proficiencies to their collections, hoping that it will provide useful several years down the road    <--- (Yep, Toshi belongs to this group!)
• Those nouveau riches who have just picked up basic English after a shopping spree in Singapore with their similarly Louis Vuitton-toting bitches pals and looking forward to master French in order to show off their classiness when invited to their husbands' colleagues' parties. However, since it is an undeniable fact that they only rely on their large stacks of cash that their husbands earn (but little amount of brain cells), they are discouraged from attending the lessons after a day or two when they find out that French words are too difficult to pronounce.

Ah, forget the last part.

If you happen to be a dude, here I tell you: French learners everywhere consists of a gigantic majority of 95% female and 5% male.

What a pathetic imbalance, I say. French is just a language, not some other methods to understand the nooks and crannies of modes, fashion, cosmetic, and other female-related hogwash.

CCF is by far the best language-learning institution that I have ever attended. In a mere duration of seven weeks (which had ended yesterday), all pupils have been equipped with the abilities sufficient to make a two-paragraph simple story, make a short speech, and conduct an intermediate-level conversation of French.

And that was just for level 1.

Now I am looking forward to attend level 2 which is going to commence on this 13th of April.

To begin a new intensive class, CCF requires a minimum threshold of eight pupils and as of today there are merely six pupils from level 1 who has confirmed of taking the second grade. Gee, I just wish there would be at least two newbies who sign up for this new class!

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on being next-in-line

We were on our ride home together when I asked her, "Hey I'm just wondering..."

"Yea?" she glanced at me.

"Who's your closest guy? Well, apart from him of course"

"Oh"

Then she fell into some small thought and answered, "You. Well, there are actually the two of you; but the other guy is studying in Florida right now"

"Oh yeah, that guy you told me the other day?"

"Yep", she nodded.

"So that means that..." I feigned some pondering for a while and came into a conclusion, "So....on being your guy, I'm next-in-line right now!"

We laughed it off.

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A page from romance novel?

I was confiding a bit of my personal feelings and recounts over the last few weeks to Bayu (Duli's brother) when he interrupted.

"Toshi. Frankly speaking, sometimes I actually envy you"

"Why?" I asked.

"Listening to your (love) story feels like reading a page from romance novel... if only I could have a story like yours"

I chortled, and replied him with my honest answer, "Dude. The very fact that you're still single and not provided with any choice at all gives you a better chance of hitting the exact 'match-made in heaven' when you finally meet one later"

"Amen to that, T! Hahaha people sometimes say such things to appease me, but I guess that's probably closer to truth, eh?" he grinned.

"Yes, it is. And anyway, I don't see myself as a lucky beneficiary at all. Oh geez Bayu, couldn't you see? Either way, being forced to choose between the lesser of two pains still hurt me eventually. In the end, I'll either hurt myself, hurt someone else, or hurt both of us."

"Hmm you think so?"

"Yep", I nodded and smiled at him, "Consider yourself luckier than me, dude"

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Arson to evict slums and illegal buildings

It's an Indonesian "tradition", really.

I don't know if this kind of arson also exists in other countries as well, so forgive my cultural unawareness, everyone. But for writing's sake, let's just appellate it as an Indonesian one (albeit not necessarily unique).

In Indonesian urban, if you happen to have your building permits expired or own a shack located near a department store or a mall or any other strategic locations, chances run high that you are asked to relocate building/rundown dwelling somewhere else by some Big Brother.

That Big Brother gives you some sort of compensation in the form of money. Then you'll start lingering over the old memories you have spent in that shack/market stall of yours, with all the decades you have gone thru and perspirations you have toiled.

But for goodness sake, I advice you not to be so sentimental about it. Just take the money and leave your building/dwelling/whatever it is!

Because if you insist on staying, you will get NOTHING in the end.

Yes, you read it right...NOTHING.

Here's a case scenario:

Not long after you reject the compensation offered by Big Brother, you need to leave your building/dwelling for a holiday or Lebaran trip to your hometown.

Then you come back to your city, to find that your building/dwelling is simply....no longer there.

Or rather, it's still there, yet it is reduced to ashes and rubbles.

Nothing; absolutely nothing could be saved, not your furniture, not your TV set (let's hope it's not an LCD), not your daughter's teddy bear.

Your beloved place has already burnt into some "charcoal castle".

Then you ask yourself, how did your place catch fire? Newspapers report it that there might have been electrical fault somewhere, but as your neighbour's buildings/dwellings have also turned into "charcoal castle", there must have been a larger story to that.

Now I leave you my blog readers to take your own conclusions.

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Having Mom as a barber

Regarding having someone unprofessional as a personal barber, I’ve had a traumatic experience. It happened during my primary school days when I was 10 or 11 years old.

It had been months since the last time I had had a haircut. Mom had admonished me times aplenty to go to the barber, yet I was too lazy to visit it myself.

Then she suggested me one evening, “what about… if I cut your hair instead? What do you say?”

I agreed with Mom without giving any thoughts, thinking that it was a totally harmless thing to have.

On the next morning I went to school as usual. What gave me off to a total embarrassment was the time when my homeroom teacher saw me that morning and said loudly to the class, “Toshi! Did the rat chew on your hair??!”

And he laughed.

The entire class laughed too.

I crimsoned and buried myself to the ground.

Soon I found myself rushing outside to the toilet’s mirrors to take a look at what my hair looked like.

Hmm… There’s nothing wrong with my hair, I said to myself.

But wait a sec.

After second thoughts, there WAS something deeply amiss here.

Ah, geez. My hair was cut unevenly. Either sides were not tidily trimmed, with the evident “rat-chewing” traces….

That was the first and the last time I had allowed my hair to be cut by my Mom... and any other untrained barber as well.

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Jakarta has no commercial airports of its own

Indonesians, take heed!

After years (or perhaps decades) of you being familiar with the capital Jakarta, do you realise that Jakarta does NOT have a commercial airport of its own?

What you thought of as your so-called "Jakarta's airport" (read: Cengkareng/Soekarno-Hatta), is as a matter of fact Tangerang's airport, located 20 km west of Jakarta...

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When God is playing with the "water taps"

You know, it gets kinda pissing off to have this kind of season...

Rain and sunny weather intermittently present themselves upon us the residents of Jabodetabek (Greater Jakarta) area.

10 mins of rain one moment, 30 mins of sunny weather the next, and soon we find ourselves drenched wet with another hour of rain.

Gee. What a sickening season.

I just wish it would stop.

I don't really care about the annual flooding in Jakarta actually (because I'm never affected, hahaha).

But it's still a sickening season notwithstanding.

There's no dry-cleaner at home, and due to the absence of sunlight, we couldn't manage to have the clothes hung to dry... So the dirty clothes have to be sent to a laundry service (which are unsurprisingly busy with loads of customers these days).

There's no longer 24-hour service for the laundry service.

They could only manage to finish the clothes by Sunday, which is a waaaay long time to go.

Gee, I have to wear my clothes with caution too.

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The first SMS

The first SMS I ever received in the inbox of my current phone is from Sis R, dated 12 April 2008, 09:16:39 WIB.

What a trivial tripe. Haha

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I should've fixed it

A couple of months back she asked my sis Melody regarding that birthday present she gave me (when I was 18), "Why isn't he wearing it?"

Melody told me about this and I was ashamed of myself.

Right, I should've worn it. Or rather, I should've taken it to be repaired...

I promise I'll fix it today. And you'll see me wearing it, the next time I meet you

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They're breathing the same air as we do

When I walk on the streets of Jakarta and remember the riots of May 1998 (when I was 10 years old), I said to myself that there were a lot of people were involved in that riot.

And they numbered in tens of thousands, or even hundreds of thousands of them are scattered across Jakarta.

Where are they now?

A lot of them have looted those department stores and raped those Chinese Indonesian women.... Why are 99% of them still walking free as of today?

It shudders me to think that the ones involved in that looting and burning and raping are still walking free as those bus drivers, newspaper sellers, station officers, security guards, postmen, white-collar workers, insurance agents, you name it.

We meet some of those freaks everyday and we may not realize what kind of fucking crime they had done during the year 1998.

Have they regretted their actions?

Are they tortured by guilt for burning the properties that belong to the Chinese Indonesian tycoons?

I doubt so.

They're still breathing the same fresh air as you and I do, and it just gives me the creeps that they could still provide us with much affability with their smiles in the quotidian life of Jakarta.

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on helping the poor

It pains us urban citizens to see how many of the poor are still seen begging on the streets, many of whom are still on those ages younger than 15.

But whenever we see them begging on the streets and give them those alms, are we really helping them by doing that?

There was one interesting story Dad told me about a dramatically ironic scene he saw under a bridge in Central Jakarta.

There he saw children "depositing" their own hard-earned pennies to a plump, shabby-looking and dark-complexioned woman who was licking a Walls ice cream she had just bought.

A Walls ice cream, bought with the pennies that those children had earned!!

That woman was already fucking plump herself, yet the children under her care was forced to work 24-7 under the scorching heat of sun until they got too thin to feed themselves.

The other day I also read an article of an official in West Nusa Tenggara province blaming the deaths of malnutrition on the children's parents.

He was quoted as saying, in a paraphrase, that those children starved to death for the fact that their parents care more about buying all those cigarette packs instead of buying their children nutritious food.

While that West Nusa Tenggara official may be a corrupt man himself, I think there is a certain degree of truth in his statement.

Which gives us the lesson that, just as the saying goes "Give man a fish for a day and he'll ask for more later; teach man to fish for today and he'll be able to feed for life", I think we should simply resist ourselves from giving direct cash to the poor in urban and rural areas alike.

We could teach them to fish simply by having their children educated.

That way, though it has almost no effect on the parent's income, at least we are giving their children an opportunity to fend for themselves.

Hence, giving those poor children a chance to climb the social strata ladder... from the low-class regions to a middle-class family.

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