Possessed

The voice kept calling my name, but I felt powerless, no strength to answer that calling. My body started shaking... and I could hear my name being shouted over and over again. Suddenly I realized it was real! It wasn't a dream! Slowly I opened my eyes and saw Dad by my side. He had been trying to wake me up. I looked at the alarm clock in my room. It was around 20 minutes before midnight.

"Now is the time if you want to see it...", Dad's voice started to penetrate my ears, "...and we have to leave right away!"

Dragging myself off my bed, I took my light jacket and put it on over my body. No time to properly dressed. We had to be there before midnight! So, I walked out from the house with Dad and my little brother. Outside, the night was darker than usual. No stars, no moon, just a plain dark sky. Our path was only lit by Dad's torchlight. Just a few steps out from our house, I saw many of my neighbors were already outside with their torches (yes, real torches with real fire!). We joined them and walked together, in silent. No one tried to converse. Only the sound of the leaves clapping with each other filled the air, as if they were cheering our bravery.

We made it to the temple around 5 minutes before midnight. A huge bonfire had been lit up when we arrived. Many people were already standing in a big U surrounding the fire and lining up all the way to the temple's gates. There were about 200 hundred of us gathered in that open field. Except Dad, my brother and I, the rest were all wearing the traditional Balinese outfits. The men wrapped the checkered sarong around their waists and wore nothing on top. The women put on their batik sarong and the sheer long-sleeved blouse to cover their upper bodies. Many of them slipped in the Kamboja flowers (Kamboja means "the flower of youth") above their ears.

The fragrance from the offering flowers were getting stronger as time went by. I looked around and watched the shadows of the sacred trees' dancing on the walls on every side of the temple, accompanied by the cracking sound from the fire logs. If I tried to listen hard, I would be able to hear some chants from the temple. Fear crawled from my toe all the way to my head in just a split second. Cold and creepy! I still couldn't believe I agreed to come to this ceremony. It was a ceremony to worship Barong, a legendary hero who had saved the Balinese people from the evil queen Rangda. That was an exclusive ceremony, only for the locals and definitely not for the tourists.

The sound of gamelan (a set of traditional musical instruments) marked the beginning of the ceremony. Two monks walked out of the temple. Each was holding a bowl of holy water and sprinkling the holy water on all audience to protect them from evil spirits. Suddenly, while these monks were still walking, chanting, and sprinkling water, one of the audience threw himself to the ground. His body quivered rigorously. His mouth muttered words that I couldn't understand. A few seconds later, another man standing next to me, threw his body to the ground. And another one.... and another one... There were about ten men lying with their bodies shaking on the ground. They were all possessed!

From the temple gates, Barong came out gracefully with his dance. The music was getting louder. And these possessed men, all of the sudden, rose from the ground - like Barong "commanded" them to stand up. They were now on their feet, took their keris (traditional knives) out and stabbed their chests. But no chests were cut, only the keris were slightly bended. Shortly after, Rangda came out of the temple. Supposedly, Barong and Rangda would perform their battle dance, but something unexpected happened. The possessed men suddenly ran toward Rangda brandishing their keris. They were about to attack Rangda! The dancer, who played Rangda, were too stunned to move. Realizing disaster was about to happen, some men standing near the temple's gates stepped up and tried to stop these possessed men from killing the dancer. Although there were many of them, they were all overpowered by the possessed men. Nobody could control the angry men! So Rangda really had to make a run for her life. The dancer escaped into the temple. I heard screaming and shouting from the temple.

The monks immediately dismissed the crowd. The ceremony ended right there!

Living in Bali helped me to be aware of the spiritual realm. There are more about life than just this decaying body and deteriorating materials. Not only physical, but we are also spiritual beings. And there are also unbodied spirits out in this world. I know some people don't buy this fact. Just like Agent Scully in the early seasons of X-Files, many people deny the existence of spirits just because of it is not "scientific". The truth is many things exist although they are not scientifically visible, measurable, or even explainable. What I saw that night was not a David Copperfield's Illusion Show; it was for real! Real people, real knives, real power!

Lightsabered!

First day at the new school! New teachers, new regulations, new friends! Compared to my old school in Jakarta, this school in Bali was much more laid back. The students didn't have to wear school uniforms and the school hours began at 7.30AM (it was 7AM in my old school!). But, I still had to drag my feet to enter the school gate. I was nervous! All new faces! I wasn't even sure where to find my classroom. I wished I were like my sister, who already joined the traditional dance club even before the school started! She performed the traditional Balinese dance on the FIRST DAY of school. I was just standing from afar among strangers, watching her performed.

People will be able to easily tell that my sister is an extrovert and I am the exact opposite. She likes hanging out with people. She cares about how people think of her, feel about her, and reacted to her. Making new friends for her is never a problem, especially my sister is also blessed with a beautiful look. My parents, and moreover Dad, love her much. In my family history, she has been the lucky child, who always receives many good presents, has the opportunities to take arts lessons, and grabs all attentions from people around.

I guess Mom didn't really care of how I dressed to school on this first day at school. She put the white Star Wars t-shirt with navy blue sleeves (with a red stripes on both shoulders) on me. She tucked the t-shirt into a pair of bright turquoise blue up-to-the-knee-long flannel shorts. There was no zipper on that shorts. After the "accident", she never let me wear any zippered pants. Deep down, I could feel something didn't look right with this combination. Like water and oil, they didn't go together! I felt like a clown! But I realized that I had not many choices. Mom always bought me funny clothes (she thought they were cute!). While my sister was dressed beautifully, Mom liked to dress me "cute". Look into my cabinet, and you'd understand my struggles.

Imagine my first day at school! The third graders first impression when they saw me walking into the classroom was a disaster. I could see the boys and the girls looking at me, whispering and giggling to each other. What a nightmare for a shy little boy like myself! I wished Hansolo warped me away with his Millennium Falcon, or Darth Vader lightsabered me so I could vanish just like Obi-Wan. The funny thing about life, in a situation like that, time crawled. The day felt long. I was waiting for the bell to save me... but it never came until five hours later. And of course, when I walked out of school, people knew me as my sister's little brother. I just lost my identity on my first day at school! Oh, how can I ever forget that day?

Abandoned

The anticipation was building up. I could not wait to see my mother again! A two years of our separation had left a scar in my life. Abandoned. My body was shaken up a bit; there was this battle of my mind against my heart. One missed her much, while another hated her for what had happened. I could only lean my head on the train window, that one morning, and stared to nothingness...

Mom decided to move to Jakarta with her new husband. With her, she took my sister, my brother, and my half-sister away. But, Dad and his 10 years old (that's me!) chose to stay in Bali. Believe it or not, that was my own decision. I loved my school, my friends, and the "brainiac boys club", which I proudly started! I loved Bali with all its kindhearted people, the land, the sea, the mountains, and so many other wonderful things! My memory served me back how crowded, noisy, polluted Jakarta was, while Bali was the exact opposite of that big city. Although Mom tried hard, there was nothing she could do to make me move with her.

The day Mom and my brother and sisters left the house, my life felt empty. I knew something important was taken away from me and I could never be the same anymore. Since that day, I had been learning to take care of my life without any help. I did not see my Dad much. When I left for school, Dad was still in bed. When I came back from school, he was not there. He was so busy at work that I could hardly meet him at home. As soon as I arrived at home, I grabbed any book and started reading. With my allowance money, I bought lunch from a street food seller near my house. In the afternoon, I would go to a friend's house or just play outside. My daily life was very predictable: boring!

My life was getting even more uncomfortable when Dad invited some of his friends - the smokers, drinkers, and gamblers (the loser's holy trinity!) - to stay with us. Sharing a house with these people was really a nightmare! They did nothing but drinking, smoking, and gambling. Slowly but sure, I was pulled into their lifestyle. In just a few months, my blood vessels were well-trained to consume alcohol without getting drunk and my eyes to read and count cards in many card games. Luckily, I didn't like the smell of tobacco, so I flunked the smoking lesson. Yet, deep down inside, I felt very depressed living with strangers without Dad at home. When feeling lonely, I dragged myself out of home and took the public transportation to just see Dad at his workplace, a bakery in downtown Denpasar.

In the end, I couldn't stand a life like that. Abandoned. I rarely went home directly after school. I would go out somewhere, anywhere, but home, to forget about my shattered family. One of my best friends invited me to stay with him. I could not resist such invitation - to keep me away from home! I stayed with him for one night, two nights, a week, and I never came home since then. His parents were very kind; they let me stay with them. They treated me like a son. They clothed me, fed me, and even took me on their family vacations. That was a period in my life when I finally felt loved again, even though it wasn't from my real parents.

I don't think I believed in God in that episode of my life. But, somehow, somewhere, someone was watching over this young soul. What a mystery! When I was thrown into a deep and dark chasm of life, a mighty hand caught my leg and pulled me out. Life was given a second chance. To be loved when love was nowhere to be found.

The rumbling sound of the train faded away when my head was full of what-ifs. What should I do when I saw Mom? Should I just keep my distance away and ignore her? Should I run into her and hug her? Would she still love me? I was staring out of the window while Dad was sleeping next to me. Everything moved like a flash, I could only catch a glimpse of all things around me. Ranges of mountains, stacks of padi fields, streams of rivers - all were passing by without a chance for me to admire their beauties. Yet, it was not them who were moving, it was me! And so was my life!

Please Invent: A Hindscope!

There was only one TV standing in the corner of our living room. The TV was big, but don't imagine it like a flat screen high definition TV. It was the first generation color TV, with a huge tube and an even bigger box to hold the tube. Definitely, no remote control came with the TV - I don't think remote controls have been invented at that time - and no soft buttons, either. Beside the huge tube, the rest were all mechanical. Every 6 PM my family would gather around the TV, that's when the national TV station started their program. We would enjoy every single show at the same time. When a show made us laugh, we laughed together. When it was sad, we would cry together. A memorable show, clearly, would become a talk of everybody on the next day. The watching-TV-together experience was shared by each member of the family. No one would feel out of the loop.

Twenty years later, all humankind celebrated the coming of the 21st century. The new millennium arrived with all its fashions, visions, and innovations. A GPS that helps you find your destination quicker, without the need of looking at street signs. A smart phone, which actually is a pocket size computer, that enables you to respond to work in a matter of seconds. Frozen meals that are ready to satisfy your hunger in less than 10 minutes. Whether we realize it or not, the new millennium is pushing us to the faster lane from time to time. The new technology, which supposedly will give us more time to rest, in reality makes us busier than ever. It is harder for us to tolerate outdated information, slow internet connection, and specifically, inefficient people! The hidden message: "I want it, and I want it now!" - instant gratification!

The faster I run this life, the more disconnected I am from reality. I remember about movies, games, and music more than my own life stories. Where are those precious memories? Before the brain cells which collecting all pictures, sounds, smells, and feelings of my past die from aging, I have to do something about preserving my old memories. Times when I was floating above the clouds, times when I was crawling up from deep valleys of life, times when all things were just cruising and passing by, and times when life was turned upside down. To be honest, the idea of looking back to my past gives me a goose bumps. Many episodes in my life are better left buried and untouched. But from revisiting the highs, the lows, even the close calls, I surely hope I can understand how God shapes me for who I am right now. How this life was recreaginated!

I wish there will be a machine to replay all events that happened in a person's past. A hindscope. A machine that works like this: after authenticating my DNA for identity and accepting a date input, its monitor would show me a video of all things that I saw with my eyes on that particular date! Imagine how self-reflection would be much accurate and productive. Come to think of it, with data storage capacity getting bigger and cheaper, cameras getting smaller and affordable, computers getting portable and inexpensive, the machine is not impossible to build. Stream of images will be transferred from one's eyes to the storage and indexed by date and time. However, while waiting for this machine to be invented, I will keep writing... and writing... and writing...