Meat Circus. No, I haven't beaten Psychonauts yet.

On the back of my forearm, there is a scar. Around three centimeters long, and three millimeters at its widest. It is positioned perpendicular to the length of the forearm, ten centimeters from the wrist.

This particular scar has been, for reasons unknown, an object of interest for at least two members of my family: my father and my brother. My father would look at it and say something like, "Ah, what a shame, where did you get that scar?" My brother, on the other hand, would try to play detective (no doubt the influence of that BBC's Sherlock he has been watching), but to no success. He, like his father, would express his perplexity at it, wondering at how the scar came to grace my arm.

To both of them, I always answer, "Hey, yeah, where/how did I get that? Must have been a long time ago when I was a little kid."

After all, it can't possibly be recent, made with a red kitchen knife, around three millimeters deep at the time of its creation, and self-inflicted, right?

Sol Invictus or Saturnalia, As You Please

I saw the movie "Arthur Christmas" a few days back. (Edit: more like two weeks ago. This post was, remarkably, tagged 'draft' for quite a long yet definite period.)

I liked it. A new spin on the Santa story, at least new to me, it was. And the voice of Bill Nighy was no drawback. He plays an old man, as usual.

Back to the main topic: Arthur Christmas. The movie, I mean.

Spoiler alert, just to be safe.

So, the modern-day Santa operation is no longer the private affair like it used to be years and years ago, when St. Nicholas walks around all by himself. It has even progressed much more than the traditional eight reindeer-powered sleigh flying around the world in one night. Santa kept with the times. The thing is, Santa is not immortal. So when he gets old enough, he retires, just like most people in the world, and Santahood is passed on to another (in the case of the movie, to Santa's son).

Eh, I'm not that good at describing movies. The tendency to ramble is irresistible. Look at the paragraph above. The third and fourth sentences aren't really connected. Not to mention I missed the first 15 minutes or so of the movie. Go watch it, I'm not going to bore you anymore with the main plot.

What I happened to notice is that, the Santa Operation is now Santa Corporation. There are loads of elves doing the main bulk of the work of assessing children's gift preferences, manufacturing them, and delivering them on Christmas Eve. The Santa, while still delivering the gifts himself, acts more as a supervisor and manager. I'd like to say captain, like on a ship, maybe.

How many elves? I said loads. I'd even say multinational. One elf, if I remember correctly, wears a kilt, so I assume he's Scottish. There are also elves that speak in German and Indian accents, I recall. I suppose it would be very difficult trying to do the kind of work Santa does with just the native elves of North Pole.

But the point I'm trying to make is this. Christmas is no longer (if ever it was) solely a Europeans' or Westerns' holiday. Remember the Indian elf.

I am even going to suggest the preposterous: that the Indian elf might even be a Hindu elf.

And Christmas is not only for Christians.

Sure, Christians celebrate Christmas to commemorate Christ's birth. (And for those of you who try to argue "Christ was probably not even born in December!" I am going to say, "Correct. Ever heard of the saying, 'Happy belated birthday?' Doesn't really fucking matter to them, man, what the correct date is.") Why can't others celebrate Christmas for something entirely different? Tim Minchin, an atheist, likes Christmas. And there's nothing wrong with that, right?

We impose our own views on holidays. We imbue them with meaning that might not even exist at the holidays' conception. We turn every holiday into our own holiday. We make each day as holy as we want. And it is good.

And redefining a holiday's meaning to be "trying to stop people from wishing goodness on others and/or sneering at those who do" is just fucking stupid.

P.S: If you're still wondering who Tim Minchin is, here's a link to his song about Christmas. I love it.

Strawberry Kit Kat

Ahoy! Happy New Year! Hopefully the year is still sufficiently fresh that the greeting has not yet become obsolete.

Well, I actually have quite a few items of news, but they can wait. After all, what better way to start this year's blogging than looking back to the previous year and enumerate my failings? So, without further delay, here's that list of things I thought I should do last year, with commentary!

1. Get Good with the Piano. No. Not good enough yet. Just some basic chords. Fail.

2. Write. I'll give this a half-mark. Granted, I haven't written either any songs or published items, but I did manage to acquire a notebook to write things in. It's shaping up quite nicely, if I do say so myself. I'll continue filling it up. It's a very nice notebook, by the way, it has a small folder for small pieces of paper attached to its back cover and an elastic loop for a pencil or pen. Very nice. Love it.

3. Exercise. Eh. Sure, I walked more than the previous year, but the energy output did not increase significantly. Not enough. Fail.

4. Beg for Forgiveness. Fail. I think for this one the pressure did not help. Won't try that again in the near future.


So, for me, 2013 was pretty much a failure. Oh well. Screw 2013.


As for 2014, I think I'll just have one item on the list.

1. No Smoking. At all.

Okay.



Now, for the aforementioned items of news!

I spent the final week of 2013 in Japan with my family. It was fun. There were some things that crossed my mind that I managed to write down in that notebook of mine, let me see....

Ah, here they are. Number one: politeness. In Japan, we were bombarded from all sides by politeness. Very, very unsettling for me. It was all "sumimasen" and "kudasai" and "arigato" and "yoroshiku" everywhere. Bowing included. At first, I felt as if the people there who interacted with me (waiters, janitors, bus drivers, cashiers, etc) were so scared that, if handled with less than perfect gentleness, I might just break. Or as if that everything else might, so they went around everywhere being so very polite to everybody, just in case. At first, as I said, it was very unsettling. But after I went home to Jakarta, I realised that it was not because I hate politeness. It was simply because there were indeed different atmospheres between the two cities. In Japan, all public servants (not sure I'm using the term correctly here, but by it I mean people who work in the service industry in public) were so pleasant, nice, polite, that if I didn't respond in kind I would feel like such a huge... jerk. You might say that I was kindly forced to be nice. Perhaps the term 'maneuvered' would be appropriate here. But you can see clearly how it quickly grows on you. Contrast with Jakarta, where I asked a pair of booth attendants whether a certain DVD was in stock or not, and they laughed. At me. Oy vey. Granted, I'm not sure if I'd like having to pay the amount of attention to manners as the Japanese do everyday, but if you can't be polite, I think you can at least be not rude. I might be wrong, of course.

Number two: onsen (温泉). Or, public bathing. Yes, I got naked in front of other men. Initially, of course, there was some anxiety, but when the time came... there was really nothing to it. Really. If you don't make it a big deal, it will not be a big deal. Made me wonder where all the preoccupation about size (I'm talking about males here, ladies, I don't know your thoughts about size - yours or ours) came from. Onsen was fun. Essentially it's hot springs, just like you might find in Bandung, but they provide you with showers and stools and soap and shampoo and, yes, conditioner, not to mention a towel, and those little delights went a long way. Also, I think it would just be icky if people were to wear swimsuits into the baths. The Japanese, in public bathing matter at least, did something right.

Lastly: Shinkansen. Bullet train. So called because if you get hit by one, you'd probably be injured in some way. Just like a bullet. Right? Oh, and it was fast, too. How fast, you ask? Let me put it this way: if two shinkansen happen to pass each other, and you happen to sit by the right-side window, you'd be able to see right through the other train's windows to the other side without much noticeable obstruction. The trains pass so fast that the walls between the windows don't have enough time to get in the way of your sight. Magnificent.

That's all I got to jot down in the notebook, sorry. Sure, several more things happened during my stay there. Such as Tokyo Disneyland, Tokyo DisneySea, Mount Fuji, natto, Senso-ji Temple, Kiyomizu Temple, and Osaka Universal Studios, but I'll just mention them in passing. Oh, wait, I just did. Okay then, no harm done.

I loved Japan. I'd be happy to go there again.

Ah, here's a picture of a pork-and-cheese-filled bun in the shape of Hello Kitty.

Now I'd like to end this entry with a quote. The same one I used in the short eulogy I gave for my maternal grandfather who died two days after I got home from Japan.

"The term is over: the holidays have begun.
The dream is ended: this is the morning."

That was from Mr. C.S. Lewis.

I am not sad.

I'd really like to sing "My Grandfather's Clock."

Have another good year, everybody!