Ragged and Dirty*

Homeland at last
Hot, humid, ragged, unorganised and dirty

No queuing, not a new harsh
Who would dare to do spend their time and respect?
Get used to queuing?
Don’t worry, you won’t get one here
No satisfaction guarantee

Offering the service with bitter demanding, no worth as a new story
Who would embarrass to do it?
Who will consider the public service as government responsibility if they don’t even know the amount of their bill?
Who will to dare consider humankind in the service if the people themselves don’t even realise their right?

Smoke right in front of “no smoking” sign
Illiterate not the reason
Whatever it is, you named it

You don’t have to wait until the aircraft landed in Soekarno-Hatta
Where you can find that you ashamed of your own people and habit
Where you embarrassed by the condition you was once belong to
Where you humiliated by what you proud of before
They even bring them to Dubai, Abu Dhabi

But who am I to judge?
This is my homeland
The land of my home

Disgusting smell around the neighbourhood,
It’s a yogurt in the breakfast, candle in the evening lunch.
Enjoy it and never breathe a word

The noise of street vendors,
It’s a morning glory
It’s an evening serenade
I don’t give a damn said the sleepless homeless and bajaj driver

Car and motorcycle’ blow their horn, regular tune in the early morning
Noisy street singers with heavy equipments, who dare to stop them?
Even a corrupt police officer bothers to warn them

But who am I to judge?
This is my homeland
The land of my home

Regular strike of students, instant group and made-up society,
Political ingredient for the elite
A requirement for good citizen
Regular news for journalists
Not to mention the demonstrator are paid

Barbed wire surrounds government offices, embassy and important landscape
Security check along the entrance
Arendt will not be patience to explain how fool we are

Pavements are occupied and not even an inch for pedestrians
And the occupier – the street vendors, have to pay tax to street hothead
You even have to pay to conduct public disorder

But who am I to judge
This is my homeland
The land of my home

Media exploitation of the poor, not even realise by the producer
Media defamation and contempt, not even known by the lawyer
And who do you think you are to even speak about it?
And why it is a problem for people who only need a newspaper for a wrapping paper

Craps joke of on the telly, define the audience out there
Who dares not to see them?
Cheap Gossip of celebrities, breakfast for the poorer. Who care?!

TV advert selling dreams, another way to heaven
TV advert’ bias gender, they don’t even realise who suppose to do the laundry
Live political talk on the telly,
Boosted speech for MPs, self defence for ministers, masturbations for the expert, speech training for arrogant student’ representatives

But who am I to judge
This is my homeland
The land of my home

When it comes to money
You’ll feel rich most of the time
Not because money was heaven sent
but because you convert pound to rupiah
Same as few years ago when you feel poor because you convert rupiah to pound when you want to buy a chewing gum
Yet it is hard when you think about how hard it is to afford five penny’ equivalent in Jakarta

Keep up with your daily plan?
Oh well, who told you that the bus will on time?
Who said that the taxi will pick you up through the right direction when you ask?
Not to mention the traffic jam
And who said that you will easily find internet cafe?
Who said that your colleagues will strict to the appointment?

But who am I to judge
This is my homeland
The land of my home

This is the spirit of my country
From airport to presidential palace
From to the mall to the slum
It comes up in mind that the best way to adjust yourself if you back home
Is to directly go to the jungle
You might find a ragged, unorganised and dirty condition in the jungle as well
but it is natural and beauty
Something that you cannot find in the city like Jakarta

I love Jakarta, I hate Jakarta
I don’t know how to love Jakarta
I am confusing

Hey!! Who do you think you are?!!
You are not different at all, you like everybody else
What you feel about is not different from every body else
It’s all in your mind
The land you leave some few years ago is not change
The change it is in you
It’s all in your mind

So why do you think you deserve more than everybody else?
Why do you think you know more than tukang ojek, sopir bajaj, street vendor, prostitute, beggar, pemulung, if you never had a life like them?
Why do you think you know more than them if you never been ‘tax’ by the street hothead, corrupt police or preman?
Why do you think you know more than them if you never sleep in the street waiting for the morning to come?
Why do you think you know more than them if you never been push to the wall by your boss just because you afford not enough money for them on daily bases?
Why do you think you know more than them if you never had customers who just want to spend more in the mall, café and hotels and don’t even care about raise of the gasoline price? The price which had domino effect to the raise of goods price just a second after the announcement
Why do you think you know more than them if you never been ignore by people who has wealth piled up all over their backyard while ignoring the poor the their front door?
Why do you think you know more than them if you never technically drink from the river?
The river where you defecate and urinate,
The river you throw away your sewage and rubbish

What do you expect from a nation, when even the blind have to lie for begging?
What do you expect from a nation, if you cannot distinguish begging and intimidating?
What do you expect from a nation, when religion used as reason for begging? and you never know where the money gone through


I know what I’m feeling and thinking
But I don’t know why it’s going on and on in mind that “there must be something wrong in here”
Don’t give me sophisticated craps like “culture shock”
It’s only explain the reality not the cause

Wise man said if you cannot change the world, change yourself
But how do we know that we cannot change the world?
And who define the change?

Oh, I love Jakarta, I hate Jakarta
I don’t know how to love Jakarta
I am confusing

Yes, if the change is absurd, why not I am alter my self, my feeling, my thought
Then I be myself again: definitely purely Indonesian
But I can’t do that for the sake of adjustment
It will come the way it is
And I just waiting to be adjust
I don’t know when it will be

But if I had to picture my homeland
There are only three words I could use:
Noisy, ragged and dirty
Anyway, Indomie seleraku, still….

*Sorry Bono for using the title

2 March 2005
Abu Dabi, Dubai, Rusun Harum, Tebet Barat Jakarta Selatan