First Impressions

I lay my head wearily against the uncomfortable seat I was condemned to sit on for the past 24 or so hours and sighed as my ears popped and my head ringed from the airplane’s thundering, monotonic engine. The window was rolled down and my youngest brother sat beside me, his head tilting at a strange angle as drool poured out of his mouth. It was still dark outside; nighttime, I figured, even though I didn’t get an hour’s worth of sleep, no thanks to an annoying case of jetlag. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths to clear my mind and tried to think forwardly to this trip, wondering what was in store for me. I knew where I was headed, but I wondered what it would be like after so many years.

When I left, the country was practically in shambles; the 1998 riot left numerous people desperate for safety and worry plagued everyone’s mind as to what would happen to Chinese and foreign inhabitants still living in Indonesia. I remembered myself the tension and anxiety as news reached us that the neighbouring mall burned down. I remembered my dad watching out in front of our house, wondering if the rioters would penetrate the district security system.

I suddenly lurched forward as turbulence rocked the plane and I clutched at my stomach, trying hard not to puke. I again wondered what Indonesia looks like after so many years, whether it had changed for the better or if it had remained the same without any signs of improvement. As I thought these things, I pulled the plane’s window up and was greeted by the sun’s bright rays as we glided across the clouds. Soon, I will be touching the ground on where I was born. Soon, I will see again the dark, brooding clouds of smoke which surrounds Indonesia and know that this was once the home I knew, but is now what I regard a foreign land.

* * *

I remembered smiling at the strange and tropical vegetation that was displayed all across the background of the Soekarno Hatta airport. I recalled, although exhausted and weak, being heartened at finally being able to see the country that I left so many years ago, the country which I once shared intimate and close experiences and memories with. I smiled while listening to broken pieces of conversation in Indonesian, knowing that I at least would not be completely lost in this old, yet, new world. My first image of Indonesia was so far bright and airy, if not humid. Then, as brief and light my first view of Jakarta was, I was whisked away to see for myself the genuine, scorching hot, smoke-filled, grimy streets of Indonesia.

So much for first impressions.

As we passed along the so-called highways of Indonesia, I remembered being disappointed that Indonesia did not improve its economic, social, and overall governing system after all these years I have been away. Sure, there were more buildings, malls, and unnecessary stores, but the core of Indonesia itself had not changed. You can always cover yourself simply by wearing a mask, but your true character will surface eventually whether you like it or not. I was honestly expecting something more modern and organized in this city, even though its population number and crowded housing complexes were beyond anything that I have experienced in Canada. I recalled that as soon as I left the airport, the car stopped, without any indication or traffic lights, to let people on stained bikes and motorcycles pass. It was then that I realized that villages were built surrounding the large city.

Traveling further into Jakarta, I was also surprised to see how many cars were packed into the roads and how so many of the city’s population were scattered around its malls and streets; some of the people I saw were staring out into space or loitering about the streets with nothing to do. It was odd how even with the amount of media, broadcasting units, and advocators who are pushing for a better future there are still many of those who are living in poverty, despair, and idleness. I realized even from my first view of Indonesia that this country required leaders with a strong ability to not only speak of promises, but to also accomplish what they have said and outlined. I wondered if I had somehow traveled through time to a place where the transfer between the modern and the traditional world was still taking place.

This is, of course, simply my opinion. Slowly however, as reality began to sink in, I realized that Indonesia was, in its own way, better than many of the countries I have visited. Though the country itself is becoming increasingly hedonistic, Indonesia’s government should be credited for managing its various tribes and cultural groups without any major conflicts occurring as opposed to numerous war-tainted countries where its years of independence were marked with blood, fear, and countless deaths of innocent civilians. As I watched blurring landscapes pass by my car window as I made my way home, I acknowledged that Indonesia’s government was continually improving its system, even though the length of time taken for it to do so may amount to decades.

So. I have to say that Indonesia had not changed significantly throughout the years I lived in Canada, but what is to be expected from a country that is still recovering from a major economic setback from the early 1990s and the fear of yet another riot? As I lay in bed the same night after my horrible and utterly boring plane ride, I was aware that even though Indonesia may have its problems, it still has the potential to pull itself out of the conflicts and criticism which were surrounding its foundation.

I Heard a Whisper That Night I Awoke From Your Dream.

This dream that I am to tell is something that might not make any sense to you. Then again, it just might. I shall warn you now that the paragraphs bellow isn't something that would benefit you, however it just might entertain you in a very unsettling manner.

I awoke that night drenched by the sweat that covered my whole body. I sat myself up on the bed and stared into nothing. I remember seeing the goose bumps along my arm and the mark that appear the day after. Blinking madly, I rested my hands on my chest where my heart beat much too fast. Trying hard to breathe, I put my hands over my face to make sure that I was out of where ever that horrid place was. Once I was able to take deep cleansing breaths I tried to recall the dream that I had only minutes before. Something that I regretted doing till this very day.

I was walking upon a beautiful garden filled by the white flowers I couldn't place it's name. I remember it's opening petals shown towards the moon that shown brightly in the cloudless sky. Colors of red blood was seen like strokes of a small brush. As I walked to these magnificent flowers, I noticed a big garden arc that showed me a door to a what seems to be lead to a vast mansion that could only be seen in fairy tales. Was it the evil queens lair? Or could it be where my prince charming lay?

I walked towards the door which had engraved carvings of vines and four small figures; an angel, a knife, a red rose and what seems to be a dark shadow. Afraid to open, I realized how cold I was as I felt my own hands while tucking my dark wavy hair behind my ears. Finally deciding to enter, I leaned my body on the cold wooden surface only to open the door into a small crack. As I walked past the door I felt the icy marble floor on the soles of my feet. Feeling a chill up my spine I walked into the foyer. It was a immense room, the kind of room you know would have had balls and formal parties during it's lively days. There was two stairways that met in the center of the room, a vintage chandelier illuminated on the celling that was covered in cobwebs and dust. Time has certainly spent it's dull years in this manor.

Something called to me, I felt as if I was meant to be there. Something that had to be great had called me to this place. Thinking this, my feet walked up the stairs to find a great hall that lead to hundreds of doors. As I turned to look around I felt someone push me. Trying to see who it could have been I tripped and fell over the white rim. It felt as if time has slowed down for me to reach for anything to hold on to, however the feeling of the cold water that soon haunted me to my watery grave. As I fell into the water I felt how my back became a victim to the impact of the fall into the dark soggy substance I am now in. When my attempt to open my eyes finally worked I realized the tingling feeling I have felt all over my hands and feet weren't what I thought it was. What I saw was the first thing that triggered my dream really was. A nightmare.

I opened my eyes to murky waters. What I thought was seaweed was actually long black hair. It was all over the water. Seeing this sight made me realize that I needed oxygen... I felt faint yet somehow I was able to gasp for air despite the fight I had inside so simply give up. Breathless, I climbed myself out of, what was actually a swimming pool. I dried whatever clothes I had on and to my surprise I turned to find two maids standing in front of me. They were quite short for women that age I guessed, they had plump faces and hair that were tide up into a tight bun. They smiled at me and gestured me to follow them into a room. I was quite a few steps behind them I never thought it would matter until they opened into a great ballroom and disintegrated into thin air.

What was bestowed upon me was a great jungle. Thick leaves and the different shapes and sizes of trees. I realized my friends were here, calling out my name. Deciding to follow their voices I ran to every direction and found nothing. Suddenly, a big monstrous scream came from behind me. Hearing this, I jumped and instinct took over; I ran. I ran as fast as I could afraid of whatever or whomever that was to come and get me. I didn't know how I knew but I knew whatever was back there would eat me. I past through heavy thick leaves and didn't mind the occasional bug splat all over my body, all I knew was that I was not ready to die just yet. Soon after I decided to rest as I came upon a river that lead to a waterfall. As I drank I heard a stick break and I quickly turned my body around to see who it was or what it was.


There it was, staring back at me. A monster that can only be described like a dog; even then would it be a great understatement. It had no fur, had no heart, had no cuteness, in fact it looked as if it was inside out. It's black eyes started hungrily at me with it's teeth showing fiercely. I listen to his low growl, without realizing, it jumped me and scratched my back. I fell into the river and down with the waterfall. Drifting, the only thing I saw was dark blue waters and small waves. During the cold waters and the pain, everything went pitch black.


I awoke seeing the last thing I did see; black. When I felt a brush of wind across my shoulders I simply froze. That was the moment I heard a deep whisper, "Remember me". When I turned, I awoke there in my bed.


Could it have been my prince charming? Or was he that beast out to get me? All I know now is that the next day I realized I had three scratches on my shoulders. It could have been a simple scratch, I might have just been paranoid. It doesn't help how my nerves took over me.


This is the time where I bid you good night.
From this piece of writing, I hope you would leave at least a bit entertained.

Pretension: Web of Lies in School

Disclaimer: Turn away if you are pro-school establishment and detests people like me.

The present, the future of the past. We are today, in a world of pathological liars. It is such that we even have to study Theory of Knowledge in school just to be able to discern from the lies and facts. In school, I see the pretension everywhere but yet I am not sure because people lie so well I could not be sure of anything anymore. I always thought of school as a fun place, a location of young innocence accompanied by truth but now I had been disillusioned by the very location I trusted. Friendships, actions, attitudes, kindness, emotions; to what extent is lies and to what extent is the truth? I have seen people use friendship as a way to manipulate and gain such that it is no surprise that insecurity and paranoia reigns. Betrayals are common-place and lying is nothing new. Even feelings are doubted to be genuine and even the liars do not feel their lies and finally depends on these fake attitudes, skills and emotions to get through the day. I have seen the facade of so-called Christians and I am sure that people have noticed how their well-hid hypocrisy reigns. I have seen tiny lies, students lying to teachers about homework or big ones that affect all morality in this "sanctimonous ground" I have seen malingerers, liars, sociopaths steal the truth from idealists who are naive enough to believe that the truth actually exists in the ostentatious sacredness of school.

People may deny that they are lying because they had lied so well in almost everything, they could no longer even know whether they are lying or not. But deep in their subconcious, embedded into a tiny part of their mind, at some inopportunite moment, I sense that maybe their mind would ebb with a certain pulse they rarely feel but ignore when they feel. Lying has been so natural that eventually, it corroded us into further moral decay. It is such that even when others lie, we do nothing to counter it despite the knowlege of the truth. Gone are the days of mouths washed with soap, reprimands or chiding. Is leniency towards lies turning us all into hypocrites one sense or the other? Are all the rules against lying and all the advice just a way to lie to ourselves that we are alright and we still uphold honesty? Lying might be a manner of how people protect themselves but even in the tiniest manner of lies corrodes us as humans even further no matter how protected. The truth has become very expensive nowadays and we now live in perpetual fear of the truth. In essence, it is so much easier to be ignorant and stupid today than to know of something. The world has turned upside down as the foolish mock those with knowledge and boasts over their ignorance.
The worst part is the ignorant are the lucky ones.

It is ludicrous. How can we trust each other or have friends or do business if we all lie continuously and without remorse? Yet this system of lies works and even works well I might add. The payment for this system is of course our soul as God is now more distant than ever. In this web, God is stranded and tangled, unable to penetrate our wall of lies and fake feelings. I am not even sure that all I feel and write is the truth anymore. This is what I feel right now. This might be the truth but it might not be as I am not exempted from the sin of lies. But as you read this, I sincerely wish for your sake that you are different from me or the other liars. Ask yourself, is what I am feeling true or how I should feel? Is what I am thinking my own or others' or my lies? And you will know fear of truth is there as you fear and deny your own monstrosity.

I wish you, the reader are free of this sin.
I wish too if you are one of us, you will be liberated by someone soon.
So that you can finally be able to emancipate your personality from your own chains.
But A wish is just a wish I fear.

I bid you adieu and honestly, I doubt any comments or readers will come again.

"Ostentatious Drabbles from The Realms of Insanity: Part 1 ENd"

Feudalism in School

Some might wonder 'what' is this about or 'why' is it here when it is supposed to be in a History-related blog. This is NOT a History-related post (though I wish it is), but a PERSONAL OPINION on the situation happening in our school right now. Second, you might feel offended by some of my degrading comments; well, this is a blog afterall, so feel free to leave flaming comments on how terrible my grammar is and yes, I AM trying to IMPROVE it.

So anyways, on to the topic...

If you have been spending some quality time, has a sister, or lingering around our school's current year 9, you might notice this small 'system' going around each student. This is written due to a response from a student; a friend of mine in the year level commentted about her class and how explicitly degrading her year level is.
Notice, the year nines (and their previous years) has been operating in such 'feudal' system. Why? Scroll down and I'll tell you why

-For those people in year 9, be ashamed of yourself and how PATHETIC your system works! GET A LIFE!!-

-For those in year 9 feeling oppressed, STAND UP AND SCREW THOSE WHO'S OPPRESSING YOU! THIS CALLS FOR A REVOLUTION!!!!-

*Military fanaticism mode ON*


Ok, here's my opinion and my view. Sure, it is rather innacurate at some point but again, this is a BLOG and I have FREEDOM TO WRITE HERE!! Well, anyways...

Firstly, the 'Oppressed and the Oppressor'. If you major or is majoring in History, you shoul've studied about the Dark Ages and beyond in Europe. Remember how the system works? Peasants and Landlords along with the corrupt Church System.
Now lets 'apply' this system to the year nines. The bullies plays as the Landlords of Europe, those who organize them were the butt-ugly corrupted Catholic Church in the 12th Century, while the oppressed acts as the peasants. Familiar? Definitely! Got a hang of it? Good!

Second, 'Debts and Payments'. Ok, the peasants do the hardwork, the landlords took the credits of the peasants by a large degree, and turns to the Church where they (the Church) would be 'teaching' the peasants to keep the peasants in control.
Lets 'compare' this with today's society. The 'oppressed' do the hard labor, working 24seven on their own homework and/or assignments. The 'Oppressor' comes in, forcefully 'tax' the 'Oppressed' and gave them THEIR homework. Sometimes forcing them to wash their oh-so dirty and ragged up clothes after P.E. The 'Corrupted Catholic Church' were 'paid' through support (ranging from homework to gossips) from the 'Oppressor'. The 'Church' is basically the Provocators; the mastermind, creating enemies and/or 'guards'; or as I say it, 'preaching rumors and lies' to keep the 'peasants' in complete control. Got that so far?

Now, here's the thing about 'Kings and Queens'; the teachers. The year 9 sticks to this strict rule: NO ONE REPORT TO THE TEACHER. If reported, he/she will be considered as 'coward' and will be publicly discriminated and oppressed even further; typically the peasants.
The 'Church' keeps the 'peasants' under control from reporting, hoping to have 'a clean name'. If one is reported, they'd cooperate with each other, fooling the 'Kings and Queens' and avoiding punishment before turning to the peasants and punshing THEM for reporting.
Or in another case when both are powerless, they'll report to ANOTHER 'Kings and Queens' hoping to 'lighten' their punishment; which what I think unnecessary since they (Landlords and Church) has been oppressing the 'Peasants' for more than 3 consecutive years!

When will justice be brought upon these Landlords and Church? Who knows when...

When will these Landlords and Church be brought to trial for their actions? Who knows...

When will these Landlords and Church stop oppressing those weaker? Who knows...

A quote from Alexander II sounds perfect for a blog like this:
"We should free them (the serfs) from above, rather than they free themselves from below"