Don’t Judge My Father by His “Sarung”

I really meant this title as a different version from the proverb “don’t judge the book by its cover.” Well, I know that many people have strong tendency to look upon someone from his/her outer appearance, and that’s okay. But sometimes, they become absorb to outer appearance, until it hinder them to see what really exist beneath that appearance. And my father is no exception, means he always become the target of “that look” if you know what I mean, being so unique and just the way he is.

As I said, my father is not a type of man who always polishes his appearance all the time. He is not a hippy, though, he is really just a very simple person. He can be looks like a gentleman if he wants to, but that only happens when he has to work. He is original-minded person, and because of all those things, he often be the target of, well, “that look.”

One day, he went to the mall with me and my sister, because she needed a new backpack. He wanted to bought a nice, expensive backpack for her, because he thought a nice backpack would be more worth-saving than a cheap but flimsy backpack. Right after his afternoon prayer, without took-off his sarung and only wore sandals, he went to the mall with my sister and me. (For those who don’t know what a sarung is, well, it’s a piece of cloth usually wore by Indonesian men when they are praying or in casual circumstances, and it’s not a kind of cloth someone would wear to go to the big mall).

Anyway, we found a fancy surfing-store which sold many nice backpacks, and my sister dragged me inside. My father still a little bit left behind, because he was busy looking at the display of a watch store. When he entered, from behind the racks, I saw the surf-store’s young clerks and cashier were looking intensely at my father (I knew their eyes were on his sarung and sandals). My father, however, seemed indifferent and continued to looking around.

After found a backpack she liked, my sister went to the cashier and put the backpack on the desk. “Can I put this here for a while ? I still want to looking around,” she said, and the cashier nodded. So she dissappeared again behind the racks, but then we saw our father approached the cashier desk. There were no other visitors in that store, so he assumed that the backpack was my sister’s choice. He picked up the backpack to examine it, but the cashier snatched it roughly from his hand.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said coldly, while the other clerks also stared at my father as if he had done something wrong. The next scene almost made me laugh my heads off, when my sister quickly approached the cashier desk and said to my father, “I’m done.”

“Is there anything you fancy ?” Asked my father.

“No.”

Then, under the stare of clerks and cashier, my father took out his wallet and presented…a Golden Visa card. You wouldn’t believe how quick their faces changed, from a dislike and suspiciousness to almost an adoration. Inner thought : “so this ‘sarung’ guy holds a Golden Visa. Quick ! Kiss his sandals !” The cashier tone when she said “thank you” to my father was overly sweet and brilliantly polished, with the slight tone of regret. Oh yeah, I thought, the joy of having a Golden Visa.

Despite the hilarity of that episode in the store, I felt sad. Because my father, behind his eccentric appearance, is truly a nice, kind man. But some people has chose to honoured him because of his Golden Visa, not his kindness.

Poems by Michelangelo (4)

Another sonnet written for Tommaso Cavalieri in c. 1534. I love this one for the deep devotion and admiration reflected in the poet’s words.

English version :

With your beautiful eyes I see sweet light which with my blind eyes I certainly cannot see; with your feet I carry on my back a weight which my lame feet certainly could not bear.

Though lacking feathers I fly with your wings; with your mind I am always carried to heaven; on your decision turns whether I am pale or red, cold in the sun, warm in the coldest mists.

In your will alone does my will consist, my thoughts spring from your heart, which your breath are my words formed.

On my own I seem like the moon left to itself, for your eyes can see nothing whatever in the heavens except what is lit up by the sun.

Italian version :

Veggio co’ be’ vostr’ occhi un dolce lume che co’ mie ciechi già veder non posso; porto co’ vostri piedi un pondo addosso; che de’ mie zoppi non é già costume.

Volo con le vostr’ ale senza piume; col vostro ingegno al ciel sempre son mosso; dal vostro arbitrio son pallido e rosso, freddo al sol, caldo alle più fredde brume.

Nel voler vostro è sol la voglia mia, I miei pensier nel vostro cor si fanno, nel vostro fiato son le mie parole.

Come luna da sè sol par ch’io sia, chè gli occhi nostri in ciel veder non sanno se non quel tanto che n’accende il sole.

Too Many Times I Used Umbrella

After several days of hot weather (and several fires, too), it was finally rainy season in my town. Before that, I already learnt not to trust cloudy sky, because cloudy sky doesn’t always lead to rain. Sometimes they just linger for a while, and then cheerily blown away by those damn wind (oops, did not mean to curse, sorry). But that day was different.

It was started on early morning. The sun was hid beneath the clouds. Then, the sky was just getting darker and darker. Finally, about 11.00 AM, drip…drip…drip… and it was rain ! Not small, insignificant small drops, but a heavy rain. Chilly wind blew through the window, and I just couldn’t hold the urge to stand and hopping happily. “Yay ! Rain !” Thank God I was in my house, not in my workplace or market or somwhere else, because I know I will still hopping happily when it happens and makes people look at me like I am insane.

I love rain. I always have since I was a little girl. So much love that sometimes I feel bad just because I’m happy while everyone have their business disturbed by constant pour of water from the sky. Rain makes everything around me become shadier, quieter, more peaceful. Rain enhance the smell of grasses, mosses, flowers, and earth. The sounds of water dripping on any surface have rythmic quality that can be as effective as any relaxation music record. And the sad thing about all of that ? I have no more guts to come out barefooted everytime the rain happens.

When I was a little girl, I had no burden. I didn’t have paperworks and important documents to be protected, and I have no destinations that required me to wore anything fancy. So, when everyone hurriedly protected themselves from rain, I had all places for myself, running-junping-splashing around like a maniac. Didn’t think, just became one with the spirit of rain, if such things are real, though I do feel something magical everytime rain hits my skin.

Now, several years had passed. And I just realised now that too many times I used umbrella. That day, I was crying for no reason. Why, oh, why, I thought, I abandoned my friend, the spirit of rain, for some paperworks and documents and fancy clothes ?