MAHASISWA: an Indonesian word used to refer to college/university students. The word siswa, meaning ‘student’, completed by the prefix maha-, which refers to something great or grand. MAHASISWA: the agent of change, the guardian of values, the iron stock of the nation.

What’s will all the overglorification of MAHASISWA?

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We are indeed able to become an “agent of change” (for the better?),

but are we the only one?

We are (meant to be) educated and (meant to be) in a neutral stance towards ongoing politics,

but does that make all non-MAHASISWA uneducated and partial to a side?

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We do bear the responsibility to change this nation into a better place,

to become the “guardian of values” (if they existed to be able to be guarded, if we possess those values)

to be the future’s “iron stock” (if we don’t rust)

but don’t non-MAHASISWA have the same responsibility to better their nation?

Is this only MAHASISWA’s nation?

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We are not the Messiah

We are not the “chosen ones”

We are not the lucky few who will all be able to become leaders of the nation

We are simply MAHASISWA

We are MAHASISWA because we are registered

in the college, university, or similar educational institution we are in

not because we are anything else, and!

if we were to become this nation’s agent of change, guardian of values, agent of change,

it’s not necessarily because we are maha-siswa.

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*rant*

Play LOVED.

I GREATLY recommend trying out the game first before reading this entry, because it will be an immense spoiler, and it will almost certainly ruin the experience of your gameplay. Loved’s creator, Alexander Ocias, wanted to make something “confrontational”, which will “engage players to give thought to what they are doing– both in and out of game”. Then, please leave a comment here (in Indonesian or English, I don’t mind) because I’m interested in others’ interpretations of this.

warning: tl;dr

Starting from the creepy sound effect that accompanied the game, Loved left a bizarre and creepy impression on me right away. The game began with the cryptic, yet simple question: Are you a man or a woman?

No, you are a boy.

And the opposite if you answered “man”. I didn’t feel too strongly about this (but probably men would feel worse if they were called a ‘girl’? Any thoughts on this?), and arrived at the second question, which gave me no choice but to pick one of two options it provided. Throughout the games, similarly cryptic and mind-boggling questions were posed, and personally I feel that the answers, no matter which I chose, gave me a cold feeling.

Simply put, the Voice leads you through the game by asking those thought-provoking questions, and issuing commands throughout the game, which we can choose to obey or disobey, each with their own consequences.

I played this game several times, although I felt somewhat reluctant after my first try. I immediately went on the path of disobedience because, to be honest, I hated the Voice right from the first two questions. I answered that I was a woman, and it claimed that I was a boy. I didn’t ask for instruction, and it told me I wouldn’t be able to go without it. The moment it commanded me to jump over the barbs, I immediately jumped into those red blocks.

As the first time I received the command and disobeyed, I immediately got the message “Ugly creature.”, pinpointed at me right away in black text. I admit that I am a person who is generally obedient to figures that I’ve been taught to respect (parents, family, teachers, etc.) and I received a sharp pang in my chest for disobeying the Voice. Even though it’s just two words written in a plain, black text, I felt demeaned, I felt offended right to the very core, and I hated the Voice.

Touch the statue, and I will forgive you

This happened to be in-sync with my previous action, and I touched the statue, and I received, once again, two words:

Good boy.

This irked me, although not as bad as the “reward” for my first disobedience. I didn’t feel like I was being complimented for my obedience; I felt that I still wasn’t acknowledged as a woman, and I felt condescended for following its instruction. It was as if the Voice was assured that then my will belonged to it, and that it has absolute control above me. It didn’t help that being told “Good boy” made me feel like a pet; a mere pet which obeyed the instructions of its owner simply to be loved.

Then I pursued to disobey its commands; finally, I realised that the more disobedient I was, the more coloured blocks appeared, obstructing my view from certain important things (barbs and other dangerous things were disguised in red blocks, platforms, etc. were covered by distracting coloured blocks). It became too much for me when the red blocks chased me and I couldn’t find a platform to step on. I gave up.

That was this morning at around 3 AM; I was already in a pretty bad mood and had one of those “feeling worthless” moments, and Loved drew out an entirely different feeling. I have never been a person who fancied failure, and being told repeatedly that I was “Disgusting.” and an “Ugly creature.” didn’t do any good to my self-esteem. I slept it off.

Do I own your body, or your mind?

However, despite my reluctance I decided to try again, taking the path of obedience, although it annoyed me to do so because I hated the Voice already. I felt more and more mocked as it continuously told me “Good boy.”, but when it commanded “Do not fail“, I actually found that I didn’t want to disappoint the Voice. I didn’t want to fail the Voice nor myself, and I really did my best not to. This kind of elicited memories of similar feelings, which weren’t pleasant, by the way, and I had to pause before answering the next question.

We are going to meet soon.

… And I was frightened to meet it; even more when it told me “Then it will be more enjoyable“. By this moment I was ready to talk to myself and yell “What do you want from me? Why are you doing this to me?”

Why won’t you love me?

I loved you, always.

Even until the end, I never thought the Voice loved me. It feels more like it knows that I didn’t want to disappoint it, that I didn’t want to make it unhappy, and it exploited my love for it to make me obey its commands. Once again, I felt used, I felt like a pet, and I felt helpless. Upon pondering, I also felt powerless even when I tried to completely disobey, like in my first try. I felt that I’ve been forced into some sort of twisted world where only the dichotomy of obedience and disobedience existed. Whatever you do, you either obey or disobey.

Complete obedience made me feel dull and empty. It felt like I didn’t need to think to get through the game. The stairs became slopes that I didn’t even need to jump to get through, and the images became clearer as the graphics became more black-and-white. I could see the obstacles clearly enough to avoid them. And when it told me that it “loved me”, it rang hollow, and although I was immune to feelings of being condescended by this time, I still didn’t feel that the Voice really loved me. Although it finally admitted to my being a “woman”, I didn’t feel satisfied–I felt that there was no point if it didn’t “love” me.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy…

Forcing myself to completely disobey only made me a slave to my desire to disobeying the voice. I hated the sharp jab I felt when I disobeyed, but I despised the Voice even more, but I despised it thinking that it has power over me (even though I’m quite aware that this game is not a sentient being), even though disobeying required me doing things that would actually be bad for me in the gameplay. I felt like a person willing to greatly hurt herself only to get a little jab on my object of hatred, and it didn’t feel good. Ultimately, my mind still belonged to the Voice. I felt toyed with.

All play and no work makes Jack a mere toy.

The best path for me was, eventually, to obey when the action commanded benefited me, and disobey when it did not; I merely did what I wished, not paying mind to what was commanded. Of course, some coloured blocks appeared, but because ultimately I obeyed more than I disobeyed, they didn’t obstruct the gameplay too much.

On my last try, I tried seeking an alternative action to taking the coin, leading me to the game’s end. Does anyone know of any alternatives? This actually made me feel somewhat frustrated as well, and I thought that having the ability to make a choice, even though it’s only between two options, is very important.

Actually, it feels kind of strange for me to be so into the game… It elicited really awkward feelings in a more obvious manner than my daily occurrences too, and even now, I still hate the Voice, yet yearn for its love. Haha… Maybe this shows just how much of an acceptance whore I am?

There are some interesting interpretations posted on this page, and I am surprised to find that some people actually found the Voice helpful and soothing, and didn’t feel demeaned by it. There were also views that took it to symbolise relationship between God and His subjects (I felt that rather than to God, it showed more of the effect of blind religious obedience without any regards to what God might actually mean by His commands through different contexts), abusive relationships, parent-child relationships, etc. Worth checking out, IMO

A man chooses, a slave obeys.

Any other thoughts?

(Btw, does anyone feel disturbed by the way that the creature kind of breaks into tiny pieces when it hits barbs and such? I feel like the more it became fragmented, the more my mind was “broken” into tiny pieces too, haha…)

A few days ago, my sister and I made a visit to a graphologist. You might ask, in a more polite or rude manner, “What the hell is a graphologist?” Well, more or less, a graphologist evaluates your handwriting to see the kind of person you are… out of curiosity, my sister and I decided to visit one! And the final verdict…

(we were going to consult this other graphologist, Mr. Nimpoeno, but apparently, he had passed away recently… rest in peace)

Well, I arrived later than my sister did and I was told to do the same thing; write on approximately three-quarters of A4 paper, before putting the date and my signature (plus full name) on the end, fill out some profile sheets, and all those procedures… Then we were told to come a few days later (when the analysis was ready) to get our consultation (and pay the fee, which was pretty expensive, haha).

Anyhow, today was my turn. I went face to face with the graphologist, who straightforwardly told me: “Ini mah bukan masalah penjurusan [kuliah], tetapi kepribadian…” (in English: “This isn’t really a matter of your choice of major [in college], rather, your personality…”).

Well, he first told me that there wasn’t any particular problem with my choice of major (Electrical Engineering). Even though it isn’t directly connected to what I wrote down as my hobbies except for a weak link to the last one (what I wrote: drawing, writing, reading, and internet-browsing), there can still be a collaboration between awzum electrical engineering skills and these side hobbies which I should still pursue.

He said that ability and intellectual-wise, I’m more than just fine. However, that personality problem: I am too unsure of making decisions, he said.

Why am I unsure of making decisions, he asked, and we both knew the answer, which I supplied:

Because I’m afraid of failing or making a mistake.

Why am I afraid of failing or making a mistake?

Because I don’t want people to be disappointed in me.

Apparently, the opinion of others seem to play too large of a role in my life, which (I know) really sucks. In the words of the wise old figure (I mean the graphologist): “Kamu seperti menganggap bahwa kamu harus menjadi tumpuan orang lain” (“It’s as if you think that you have to be others’ support/pedestal/of the sort”), “Kamu takut bahwa orang akan kecewa padamu dan memaki-maki kamu…” (“You’re afraid that others are going to be disappointed in you and then mock you…”)

Well, we had a discussion on my past experiences in order to (try to) figure out the source of the problem, but he believes that the problem has been developed over a long course of time, perhaps in the family environment I lived in. A bit of background on my family: we typically seem to be full of “overachievers” (my sister received a somewhat similar result, which elicited a comment from the graphologist on how the family seems to be smart as a whole, hoho). My sister’s analysis: she wanted to do so many things, and because she tends to succeed in all of them, she never really took time to evaluate what was truly her passion… For me, I guess this whole people-pleasing mechanism has never bothered me (except emotionally, psychologically, and–never mind) because I am of a similar type…

When I think about it, the same seems to apply to my little sisters too… And I’m beginning to understand why I seem to crave success and fear failure so much. I always think I don’t “shine” as much as the other overachieving members of my family… Well, the graphologist said (and I already knew) that I should try to get rid of this way of thinking because it won’t bring me any good, I shouldn’t rely on (what I think might be) the opinion of others in making decisions because life goes on and people who are disappointed aren’t gonna be disappointed forever anyway etc. etc… But as he acknowledged, it won’t be an easy process.

It definitely will take plenty of effort and time, and…

I really think I need brainwashing.

/endrant

This is an ode for Theodore,
One whom I foolishly adore.
It is peculiar, it is insane
How I loved you, and love you in vain
You might think I’m mad, and
You won’t be wrong, my friend
For all well know that only a fool
Would dare love Theodore like I do
Indeed a fool, a fool like no other
Fool who’d love one in arms of another!
Though hard I struggle, I’m succumbing
Infatuation’s my unbecoming.

As you well know, dear Theodore,
Whom I adore yet so abhor,
I do not know quite why I love you
Idiotically, as I still do
Perhaps it’s your smile, or sporadic wit
That has somehow attracted this nitwit
And you know it as well as I do,
I’m truly that quixotic on you.

You should fear not, oh Theodore!
For my love is not true
Elusiveness I sure adore,
But certainly not you!
That’s what I try to tell myself, at least
In order for these feelings to decease
Fear not, another’s Theodore!
Your charm will torment me no more
No longer,
Will you keep me awake at night
No longer;
You’ll no longer be my delight
Gift of God, no longer shall I suffer
Because I’ll forget my distant Theodore.

Let’s flashback for a bit. Upon one of my recent visits to the campus library, my eyes landed on a book quite out of place in its category; literary criticism — perhaps the librarian made a mistake in placement. That was when I decided to pick up this collection of short stories, all linked to the colourful country of India. This book, printed with letters much bigger and also thinner in width than my latest read (Hunchback of Notre-Dame, Victor Hugo), contains nine titles as follows:

1. A Temporary Matter
2. When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine
3. Interpreter of Maladies
4. A Real Durwan
5. Sexy
6. Mrs. Sen’s
7. This Blessed House
8. The Treatment of Bibi Haldar
9. The Third and Final Continent

I’m not going to go over all of the titles, just a handful of my favourites (or at least, ones that stuck to my mind. However good they are, I still can’t manage to truly ‘enjoy’ ironical stories; I guess I’m still a sucker for happy endings)

A Temporary Matter
Along with Interpreter of Maladies, this is my favourite out of the story collection. The story interests us with detailed descriptions of traditional Indian cuisine, in association to the main female character (Shoba)’s quirky need to prepare for everything. This story all too well documents how a match that used to seem perfect had fallen. (Feel free to skip the next paragraph full of spoilers!)

I realised it a bit late, but Shoba’s habit of storing jars of frozen meals for the future served as a great metaphor for her husband (Shukumar)’s approach to their marital problems. All Shukumar does when Shoba stops preparing these meals was exhaust them without replenishment, and that’s the same thing he does when their marriage starts falling apart.

When Mr. Pirzada Came to Dine
Here, the author takes a different point of view from a child of an Indian immigrant family over at the United States. The typical Eastern need for a ‘family’ or associate of this family is satiated by routinely inviting Mr. Pirzada, a man separated from his family in Bengali, to dinner. Tied to historical events regarding conflicts between Hindus and Muslims, and separation of areas, this story is just as educative as it is touching. One of the things I appreciate is how, though the storyteller has a certain kind of maturity, she still maintains a childish character by the little illogical things she does (that children would do!).

Interpreter of Maladies
I guess the three first stories are really my favourite ones. Like A Temporary Matter, this story is of the heartwrenching sort. However, it differs from the first story of the set, which explores how a long-term relationship slowly cracks, to a fleeting love which… also cracked. Though the terms of love are completely different, I can really feel the same kind of exhausted feelings both have when they end. I’m not quite sure why, but Mr. Kapali, the old tour guide plus doctor’s interpreter in the story, is one of my favourite characters of Lahiri, because I can, in some way, relate to how he tires of a certain someone.

I almost forgot to mention the other ‘love’ (more accurately, non-love) between the two Das. However, I find it much too difficult to relate to Mrs. Das because of a certain way she treats her children. Sorry, Mrs. Das… I guess she is somewhat annoying, but purposely so.

Sexy
Well, I’m not really sure how to explain my feelings about this story. It explores one scenario that happens with two groups of people from different viewpoints. One is from the betrayed, and one is from the one the betrayer goes to. Also, the way that this scenario affects a child (Rohin in the story) is interesting, to the extent that he views the definition of sexy as “loving someone you don’t know” because of his father’s use of this word for his mistress.

Overall, I think that Jhumpa Lahiri’s style is very exquisite, in the same sense as Anthony Quinn’s opinion that the genius in her storytelling lies in “her restrained drollery, her eye for details, and her tone of wise consolation”. One can also feel that there is a certain message she puts in each of her stories; my favourite four happens to be the ones with meanings I get She also explores a very wide range of characters (from a proofreader as Shoba to a stair-sweeper like Boori Ma. Don’t forget the someone messed-in-the-head Bibi Haldar), yet they are all linked by one thing: India. Be they in Calcutta, be they from Dacca, be they immigrants in the United States or have gone through three continents, they all have unbreakable ties to their country of origin.

What I like most about Jhumpa Lahiri is how she inputs little aspects of the Indian culture: through the cuisine – basmati rice, etc., cosmetics and clothes – kohl, fez, and even the norms. One thing especially explored (in Mrs. Sen’s, mainly) is the difference between the traditions back home where one’s ties to those surrounding, as typically in the East, are tight compared to a new world where one can feel a bit lonely (no, not just a bit). Mostly because I feel some of these things, such as the emphasis on solidarity, resembles the ones found in Indonesia, and since I’ve spent some time myself overseas, I can relate to the feelings of some characters in this collection.

One thing I somewhat regret is the lack of happy endings. Not that stories need to have happy endings to be good, but to be presented eight stories full of irony only ended by one story with a mildly happy ending gives the vibe that Jhumpa Lahiri does not yet possess the capability to present a brighter view of the world. Well, I feel that a story does not need to always make a point by presenting a lingering, ironic punch. I would love to see what she’d be able to do with a happy ending.

Lastly, as for whether I recommend this book or not, how can I not say “HELL YES!!!”?

Jhumpa Lahiri is a Winner of the PEN/Hemingway Award, Winner of the NEW YORKER Prize for Best First Book, and Winner of the Pulitzer Prize 2000 for Fiction.

/end useless review