With the avian flu making more than noses running in the region, everyone’s on a higher alert even here in tiny far away Timor. We’re really in greater danger than most of us realize because East Timor, as its name clearly explains, is only half of an island and as most border experts will let you know, it’s one **LL of a job keeping borders patrolled and under control. Not only do we have people crossing, we also have chickens and ducks and other fowl friends migrating. So if the bird flu does hit our neighbour in the west, the border will be our weakest link.
And so what’s the big deal? The solution seems simple in the more developed countries – kill all chicken in farms, spray copious amounts of disinfectants on cars, people etc, and keep all fowls under nets and shelters. The big deal is… chickens are like Men’s best friends here. Really! I am serious! It’s not uncommon to see men holding and hugging their roosters, while on the bus and in the streets. This is because their roosters are their source of income at cockfights that take place countrywide. It’s an Southeast Asian tradition of letting big cocks fight out each other, with grown up men cheering their fowls and hedging their bets – which can sometimes amount to a lot of money. So yes, these feathered friends are precious income generators and thus are treated with great respect and affection. In fact, I have seen the cocks receiving lots of stroking and massages in the morning “to keep their muscles supple.”
And the biggest threat of bird to human transmission here? Men giving the kiss of life to their cocks when the fowls faint from exhaustion during the fights. I KID YOU NOT. Granted – I have not personally witnessed such an extreme display of affection but I have heard of it many times. Now, with such levels of intimacy, how do you ask these men to slaughter their cocks when bird flu flies into town?
The lil tumbleweed
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
TERMInatTE
Just when i thought i had gotten used to surprises in my room (erhem! not the human kinds), i was introduced to new ones when i arrived home one day to discover a mound of something that resembled loose soil at the corner of my bathroom door. Yes you have already seen that door when my sink fell but no, take a look at this picture!
At first i thought it was a garden elf that lost its way in my room and had accidentally dumped soil and fertilisers there... but peering closer, i saw little itsy bitsy ants moving around busily! Yikes! There was a mixture of soil and gravel like stuff in the mound and i really stood there for a while before it dawned on me -- IT'S A TERMITE NEST! How did it get there? I don't know. I never noticed until today.
I ran for my camera and snapped away but alas was unable to get a real good shot.. i think my hands were shaking with
excitement... and then i ran and called my neighbour to come "see my termite nest!" before calling my landlord and the guy who maintains the place (yes, same guy who cleared up the basin) to see the nest.
Ok, so my neighbour behaved like any gal would, "eee...." she said when she saw the nest. My Vietnamese friends? They looked at it - no sound came out , not a peep - i was craning my ears - i thought this GOT to beat the other surprises! At least, show some expression! But no, they came, they saw, and they conquered the nest with an unglamorous broom and dustpan.
SWEEP SWEEP SWEEP and all the soil was in the dustpan... my floor stained with muddy streaks and footprints... and then they left my room. WAIT - not before saying, "In vietnam also have" and a no-nonsense nod which completely floored me. Ok... there you go, B, shut up! It's just Termites! They won't eat you, they're only interested in WOOD - anyways you stay alone so why worry if the bathroom door disintegrates? Stop being the wimpy city girl and act like you have never seen wildlife!
At first i thought it was a garden elf that lost its way in my room and had accidentally dumped soil and fertilisers there... but peering closer, i saw little itsy bitsy ants moving around busily! Yikes! There was a mixture of soil and gravel like stuff in the mound and i really stood there for a while before it dawned on me -- IT'S A TERMITE NEST! How did it get there? I don't know. I never noticed until today. I ran for my camera and snapped away but alas was unable to get a real good shot.. i think my hands were shaking with
excitement... and then i ran and called my neighbour to come "see my termite nest!" before calling my landlord and the guy who maintains the place (yes, same guy who cleared up the basin) to see the nest.
Ok, so my neighbour behaved like any gal would, "eee...." she said when she saw the nest. My Vietnamese friends? They looked at it - no sound came out , not a peep - i was craning my ears - i thought this GOT to beat the other surprises! At least, show some expression! But no, they came, they saw, and they conquered the nest with an unglamorous broom and dustpan.
SWEEP SWEEP SWEEP and all the soil was in the dustpan... my floor stained with muddy streaks and footprints... and then they left my room. WAIT - not before saying, "In vietnam also have" and a no-nonsense nod which completely floored me. Ok... there you go, B, shut up! It's just Termites! They won't eat you, they're only interested in WOOD - anyways you stay alone so why worry if the bathroom door disintegrates? Stop being the wimpy city girl and act like you have never seen wildlife!
Saturday, November 12, 2005
who can know their pain?
12 november 1991 - a day of horrific bloodshed at the Santa Cruz Cemetery where Indonesian soldiers closed in on Timorese who were mourning the death of Sebastiao Gomes - an 18 year old who was killed 2 weeks before by the Indonesians at Motael Church while protesting for independence. Timorese families lost loved ones and till this day, do not know where they are now. Today there is a huge cross in the Santa Cruz Cemetery where flowers and garlands and candles are offered to the hundreds who were killed and their bodies never found. That massacre has gone down the annals of history and ironically, without the bloodletting, Timor could still now be part of Indonesia.
According to G, Sebastiao's father did not cry when his son was killed, he said his son died a resistance hero. It was because of Sebastiao's death that led to the Indonesian plot to kill all those who gathered at the cemetery - after all, what better time to fire upon thousands of Timorese children, women, men, armed with nothing but kerchiefs and flowers while penned up within the cemetery walls? The guns were fired, people killed, injured, and shanghaied to places that, till now, nobody knows. It is said that 400 people died that day.
Thankfully, there were courageous (or should we say 'crazy') journalists there to record this display of bloodthirstiness. Amongst the many was Max Stahl who is now renowned for showing the world, evidence of the massacre. He buried his videocassette into the ground and handed to the soldiers, blank tapes and his video camera which they broke. Amazingly, his life was spared. To this day, MS remains in Timor dedicated to archiving the country's past and making films to show the new generations of the struggle for freedom. I visited the Santa Cruz Cemetery today - along with hundred others as they took part in a ceremony to remember the massacre. I had always hesitated to visit the cemetery because i did not want to be a disaster/tragedy tourist but today i knew i had to go.
I asked to see Sebastiao's grave and was led there by G. Already, there were flowers and candles placed there, with his photo there - frozen in time - at 18 years old. If he was alive, he would be 33, just a couple of years older than me. But if he were alive, would Timor be a free country? Would i be there at Santa Cruz to visit his grave?
G and I stood under the shade and she began to share her stories for the first time. In 1991, she was only 10 years old and remembered running home from school with her little sister, seeing people with blood a nd wounds on the street. She hid under the bed at home and cried endlessly. Their father had attended the mass that morning to remember Sebastiao and everyone thought he would be dead - like the hundreds lying atop graves at Santa Cruz. When he walked through the door, they were all shocked.
By Providence, he had not joined in the procession but went to buy medicine for G's mother instead. He escaped death. G's family - like many others - were in the resistance, clandestine and overt. Once her father disappeared and for 40 days they could not find him anywhere. On the 40th night, he returned home and they thought they saw his ghost because he was so emaciated, and had a full face of beard. That massacre may be 14 years ago but the pain that remains is indescribable nor fathomable by us.
G said that a friend J had bullets removed from his chest just 3 years ago - bullets that were fired on 12 November 1991. Can you know that pain? For 11 years, those silver nuggets were lodged in his body, reminding him ceaselessly of that day. His flesh may have grown around to bury them but it was impossible. But in contrast, physical pain is the lesser evil compared to mental trauma and anguish. 2 of J's sisters were raped by the soldiers - one died while the other survived. How can you bury that hatred, that anger? How can you look at another Indonesian again and not want to plunge a knife into his heart? But the Timorese have managed to reject that vengeful spirit.
G said, initially they just wanted to kill any Indonesian in sight, but soon, they were able to see where the DEvil really is. In fact, there were many courageous Indonesians too, who stayed on to help the Timorese. Some also worked within the system, by giving information and protecting people. I have met many Indonesians who now call themselves Timorese, speak Tetum and love the country fiercely. They are now working in NGOs to make this country better together. Isn't it such a relief that for every baddie in this world, there are many saints to make this world a sane place?
'Moving on' - how do you do that after such a traumatic past? For some people, 24 years of their lives were dedicated to this resistance. 24 years of clandestine operations, of living in fear, of whispering, of listening for footsteps, of not laughing without a care. How do you put all that aside and 'move on'? It's no wonder, many remain locked inside their minds.
But the majority have managed to laugh again. Sometimes you forget that you are speaking to a people who just bade farewell to violence so recently.
I admire the Timorese. Their resilience overwhelm me. I wish i had a big kerchief to wipe all their tears away and make them smile again. But first we'll need some time to sew that big kerchief.
For an account of what happened that day:
http://www.motherjones.com/news/special_reports/
east_timor/evidence/nairn.html
Friday, November 11, 2005
Foam party in Acanuno
this is a bittersweet moment for me... While this young gal is having foamy fun - like a child - she's also doing the entire household's laundry, like a mother.
this whole week, i have been at a workshop to develop Marta - an animation character - who is meant to be a tool to advocate for girls' rights in Timor.
there are so many issues facing girls here - as with many other societies. Early marriage "kaben sedu" when girls get married off at 14 years; early pregnancy when girls become mothers at 15 or 16 and face high risks because their bodies are too young to sustain such stress; lack of education because girls are the first to drop out of school when the family's too poor, or when she gets married off, or when she has to look after 8 other siblings; etc.
although in TL, there isn't an overt discrimination against girls unlike in China for example, women still face greater challenges than men.
It's especially disheartening when you go to the local markets and see the men gambling with wads of US dollars in their hands, while the womenfolk are sitting on the roadsides and markets selling their produce or wares.
it's not just here in Timor you see such behaviour. In Vietnam, i saw hordes of men drinking coffee at all hours and no women doing so - they were out working in the fields or on the streets peddling their wares.
Someone told me, "we're not trying to bash the men but trying to make life easier for the women."
The men in TL have struggled hard too -for the country's independence but so have the women - they fought alongside as soldiers and clandestine supporters - and also bore children, fed the families and looked after the sick.
WOMEN and MEN were made by God to be companions and to serve GOD together.
this whole week, i have been at a workshop to develop Marta - an animation character - who is meant to be a tool to advocate for girls' rights in Timor.
there are so many issues facing girls here - as with many other societies. Early marriage "kaben sedu" when girls get married off at 14 years; early pregnancy when girls become mothers at 15 or 16 and face high risks because their bodies are too young to sustain such stress; lack of education because girls are the first to drop out of school when the family's too poor, or when she gets married off, or when she has to look after 8 other siblings; etc.
although in TL, there isn't an overt discrimination against girls unlike in China for example, women still face greater challenges than men.
It's especially disheartening when you go to the local markets and see the men gambling with wads of US dollars in their hands, while the womenfolk are sitting on the roadsides and markets selling their produce or wares.
it's not just here in Timor you see such behaviour. In Vietnam, i saw hordes of men drinking coffee at all hours and no women doing so - they were out working in the fields or on the streets peddling their wares.
Someone told me, "we're not trying to bash the men but trying to make life easier for the women."
The men in TL have struggled hard too -for the country's independence but so have the women - they fought alongside as soldiers and clandestine supporters - and also bore children, fed the families and looked after the sick.
WOMEN and MEN were made by God to be companions and to serve GOD together.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
high heat
the heat in Dili is reaching unbearable heights...
even walking to work at 0730hrs is an ordeal, as the hot sun scorches down mercilessly. i now have to start walking at 0700hrs in order to escape the blinding sun that has been waking up earlier each day.
Somehow Mother Nature has worked it out this way - the heat gets so intolerable, you are happy when the rains come.
You might remember me bemoaning the early onset of rains a few weeks ago but now it is the smell of rain, the rumbling in the skies, and the shady clouds that i most welcome
it's just too hot here - so hot that yesterday, after 3 hours out in a village, i came back with a terrific headache, suffered mild heat exhaustion and puked out my dinner in the middle of the night
i can only imagine those who live without any electricity - how do they bear the heat? the air becomes so still, you feel like a fly in a thick, creamy soup.
in singapore - our solution to heat is hopping from one shopping mall to the next, linked by an endless maze of underpasses that are also airconditioned
LKY was right to say that the airconditioner was the greatest modern invention
arghh
my sweat glands are protesting from overdrive
yucks. tomorrow another day of sweating.
even walking to work at 0730hrs is an ordeal, as the hot sun scorches down mercilessly. i now have to start walking at 0700hrs in order to escape the blinding sun that has been waking up earlier each day.
Somehow Mother Nature has worked it out this way - the heat gets so intolerable, you are happy when the rains come.
You might remember me bemoaning the early onset of rains a few weeks ago but now it is the smell of rain, the rumbling in the skies, and the shady clouds that i most welcome
it's just too hot here - so hot that yesterday, after 3 hours out in a village, i came back with a terrific headache, suffered mild heat exhaustion and puked out my dinner in the middle of the night
i can only imagine those who live without any electricity - how do they bear the heat? the air becomes so still, you feel like a fly in a thick, creamy soup.
in singapore - our solution to heat is hopping from one shopping mall to the next, linked by an endless maze of underpasses that are also airconditioned
LKY was right to say that the airconditioner was the greatest modern invention
arghh
my sweat glands are protesting from overdrive
yucks. tomorrow another day of sweating.
Friday, November 04, 2005
festival of lights
i went to a Diwali celebration hosted by 2 indian couples and a German couple - all of whom are from or had stayed on the Indian Continent for years. We had great vegetarian food (which i now wished i had photographed but i was too busy gorging myself) and a wonderful evening sitting in Elke's backyard which was bathed in soft lights emanating from cute chinese lanterns and dragonflies, while the garden was lined with flickering candles.
I was reminded of that incredibly romantic scene in The English Patient when the Sikh soldier lit up shells filled with oil for the nurse on her birthday. Aw....
But what struck me most that night was that it was my first Diwali celebration! Now how could that have been? I was celebrating Diwali in a mostly Catholic country where there were maybe 20 Indians in total while i have never joined in festivities in Singapore? Why is that so?
It's sobering to think that despite being so famously multicultural, the mix of ethnicities and races in Singapore is still less than desired.
I remember my former Malay neighbours in Bedok South who would invite us for kueh kueh whenever they celebrated festivals - and it was pretty often. I was a greedy young child (and still is!) so I always looked forward to an invitation to a feast.
Alas, after moving to a bigger apartment in Bedok North (yes, still in the east) those neighbourly relations have disappeared. Most people prefer to keep their doors shut and less keen to chit chat and get to know each other. Thankfully a new neighbour with 3 grandkids have moved in and our families have become closer.
Well, returning to that point about friends of other ethnicities. I have realised for some time now that i have few friends who are Malay or Indian. There were a few at work and an even fewer in my inner circle. Why?
Hmm... ain't got no answer for that yet. i'm going to mull over that longer.
I was reminded of that incredibly romantic scene in The English Patient when the Sikh soldier lit up shells filled with oil for the nurse on her birthday. Aw....
But what struck me most that night was that it was my first Diwali celebration! Now how could that have been? I was celebrating Diwali in a mostly Catholic country where there were maybe 20 Indians in total while i have never joined in festivities in Singapore? Why is that so? It's sobering to think that despite being so famously multicultural, the mix of ethnicities and races in Singapore is still less than desired.
I remember my former Malay neighbours in Bedok South who would invite us for kueh kueh whenever they celebrated festivals - and it was pretty often. I was a greedy young child (and still is!) so I always looked forward to an invitation to a feast.
Alas, after moving to a bigger apartment in Bedok North (yes, still in the east) those neighbourly relations have disappeared. Most people prefer to keep their doors shut and less keen to chit chat and get to know each other. Thankfully a new neighbour with 3 grandkids have moved in and our families have become closer.
Well, returning to that point about friends of other ethnicities. I have realised for some time now that i have few friends who are Malay or Indian. There were a few at work and an even fewer in my inner circle. Why? Hmm... ain't got no answer for that yet. i'm going to mull over that longer.
Monday, October 31, 2005
VERIFY your facts!
i received three of the same SMS today:
"Please pray for PASTOR Ferdie Flores, missionary in East Timor. He is going to be executed tomorrow by beating. Please forward to all Christians."
True or false? Well, being here in Timor Leste meant that i could verify the facts immediately by a) asking my timorese friends "Do you have capital punishment that uses beating to kill prisoners???" b) scanning the national newspapers c) asking my Timorese friends "have you heard of a pastor who will be killed tomorrow?"
the answer is NO. THIS IS A BIG rumour started by a certain person and innocently propagated by some of my dear friends.
I did some online checks and realised that there is indeed a website of this pastor and his family. On it, he recounts some threats he had faced but right on top of this was a BRIGHT YELLOW crawler that said "recent reports about impending execution are inaccurate". SO yes, this pastor probably met with some fanatics but he wasn't about to be beaten to death. I know there are many cases of religious being persecuted (all over the world) but sending an SMS such as the one above gives a very wrong impression. It sounded as if it was a LEGAL government-sanctioned killing.
Timor-Leste is trying to progress as a civilised nation. In fact, it ranked higher than many other countries on press freedom recently. SUch rumours would only cause people to think that our lil island is still crawling with barbarians. Yes, to be honest, there are still many animists and people living in the bush, and yes, horrific things have happened here before but still... let's give Timor a chance to breath.
I don't want to sound like a skeptic and I know you have good intentions but...please verify your facts before passing on messages.
Just like those inumerable appeals for blood and platelets - if we stop to verify the REAL cases, then the genuine victims will receive prompt help. This is the case of "Cry WOLF" where people no longer take appeals seriously.
As a former journalist, my advice is also never to believe any piece of information 100% because truth has many facets and many times news organisations and people (due to commercial or partisan interests) report only their side of the truth. They ain't lying but just not telling the whole truth. Anyways, this could lead to a thesis on debating what TRUTH really is and that's too philosophical for a Monday afternoon.
Just be discerning and yes, also stop forwarding those "YOU CAN WIN AN IPOD" kinda emails cos all those people want is emails of your friends so that they can spam them in future. Do check your facts - it'll take only 5 minutes.
"Please pray for PASTOR Ferdie Flores, missionary in East Timor. He is going to be executed tomorrow by beating. Please forward to all Christians."
True or false? Well, being here in Timor Leste meant that i could verify the facts immediately by a) asking my timorese friends "Do you have capital punishment that uses beating to kill prisoners???" b) scanning the national newspapers c) asking my Timorese friends "have you heard of a pastor who will be killed tomorrow?"
the answer is NO. THIS IS A BIG rumour started by a certain person and innocently propagated by some of my dear friends.
I did some online checks and realised that there is indeed a website of this pastor and his family. On it, he recounts some threats he had faced but right on top of this was a BRIGHT YELLOW crawler that said "recent reports about impending execution are inaccurate". SO yes, this pastor probably met with some fanatics but he wasn't about to be beaten to death. I know there are many cases of religious being persecuted (all over the world) but sending an SMS such as the one above gives a very wrong impression. It sounded as if it was a LEGAL government-sanctioned killing.
Timor-Leste is trying to progress as a civilised nation. In fact, it ranked higher than many other countries on press freedom recently. SUch rumours would only cause people to think that our lil island is still crawling with barbarians. Yes, to be honest, there are still many animists and people living in the bush, and yes, horrific things have happened here before but still... let's give Timor a chance to breath.
I don't want to sound like a skeptic and I know you have good intentions but...please verify your facts before passing on messages.
Just like those inumerable appeals for blood and platelets - if we stop to verify the REAL cases, then the genuine victims will receive prompt help. This is the case of "Cry WOLF" where people no longer take appeals seriously.
As a former journalist, my advice is also never to believe any piece of information 100% because truth has many facets and many times news organisations and people (due to commercial or partisan interests) report only their side of the truth. They ain't lying but just not telling the whole truth. Anyways, this could lead to a thesis on debating what TRUTH really is and that's too philosophical for a Monday afternoon.
Just be discerning and yes, also stop forwarding those "YOU CAN WIN AN IPOD" kinda emails cos all those people want is emails of your friends so that they can spam them in future. Do check your facts - it'll take only 5 minutes.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Pieces
The washbasin came down with a mighty crash.For a split second, time stood still. I saw the porcelain basin smash into smithereens - pieces flying in slow motion. Slightly shocked, I stepped away instinctively.
But it was too late - a river of red had begun to flow beneath my feet.
I sighed. I knew I had been cut but the signals of pain had not yet travelled to my brain. This was going to be an eventful shower. What to do now? I tried to get out of the way, but it was tough considering that I was still soaped and slippery. Thankfully I had my contact lenses on so I wasn’t blind as a bat. I spotted my glasses lying in the broken pile and rescued it first.
The red river was gaining momentum. I lifted up my left foot and saw a pulsating wound. I sprayed it with water but the blood kept flowing.
“Remember to lift up the injured part to stop the blood flowing”
One piece of advice I am glad I remembered from my first aid course. Hopping on one leg, I curled up my left leg behind me. I must have looked hilarious if not for the blood streaming down. I kept saying to myself, calm down gal. Don’t panic. It’s just a little blood.But the blood wouldn’t stop.
“put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flowing”
A second piece of advice I am thankful I remembered.I pressed my left thumb firmly onto the wound on my left sole, while at the same time holding on to the shower head with my right arm. Bless my right leg for all the balancing work and thank goodness for the yoga classes. The blood began to decrease and trickled to a stop. I showered off the rest of the soap, grabbed my towel and hopped out of the bathroom, leaving spots of blood on the floor.
I plonked onto a chair and lifted up my foot, at that time, I realized that my right big toe was cut too! So there I was- stark naked- with BOTH my feet up in the air.
After a few seconds, the blood clotting mechanisms finally kicked in. Still looking like a duffus, I looked around and saw that the swivel chair was at arm’s length.
I tugged it towards me and hopped onto it and then rolled over to my wardrobe in search of my first aid kit. I cleaned the wounds and poured on some Yunnan Baiyao (Yunnan White Medicine). This Baiyao is considered a cure-all in China so this would be a good test to see if the claims are true.
With my cuts plastered up, and big toe throbbing, I rolled around the room, cleaning up the mess, and even had the state of mind to remove my undies from the toilet before summoning the maintenance guy – Naier – into my room. I didn’t clean up the spots of blood on the floor though. I thought I should spice up Anna’s cleaning routine the next day.
I stared at the big gauze on the bottom of my left foot (3 cuts) and the plaster on my big toe (one cut), satisfitied with my first aid. Naier took some time to extricate the washbasin (in its thousand pieces) from the pipes and then so sweetly cleaned up the bathroom. I ate some self made yoghurt (which I was supposed to blog about until this accident happened) while waiting for him to finish.
At first I thought it was purely my fault for causing the basin to fall but the smashed up pieces revealed rusty and rotted parts which would have broken sooner or later.
So what was i doing to cause the basin to fall? 'Proper' and 'Standard' writing would demand that i reveal this so as to complete the picture but i think i am taking the suspense mystery route and will keep that piece of information to myself -just so that the next time you see me you can ask me why.
Have a safe and painFREE shower today!
But it was too late - a river of red had begun to flow beneath my feet.
I sighed. I knew I had been cut but the signals of pain had not yet travelled to my brain. This was going to be an eventful shower. What to do now? I tried to get out of the way, but it was tough considering that I was still soaped and slippery. Thankfully I had my contact lenses on so I wasn’t blind as a bat. I spotted my glasses lying in the broken pile and rescued it first.
The red river was gaining momentum. I lifted up my left foot and saw a pulsating wound. I sprayed it with water but the blood kept flowing.
“Remember to lift up the injured part to stop the blood flowing”
One piece of advice I am glad I remembered from my first aid course. Hopping on one leg, I curled up my left leg behind me. I must have looked hilarious if not for the blood streaming down. I kept saying to myself, calm down gal. Don’t panic. It’s just a little blood.But the blood wouldn’t stop.
“put pressure on the wound to stop the blood flowing”
A second piece of advice I am thankful I remembered.I pressed my left thumb firmly onto the wound on my left sole, while at the same time holding on to the shower head with my right arm. Bless my right leg for all the balancing work and thank goodness for the yoga classes. The blood began to decrease and trickled to a stop. I showered off the rest of the soap, grabbed my towel and hopped out of the bathroom, leaving spots of blood on the floor.
I plonked onto a chair and lifted up my foot, at that time, I realized that my right big toe was cut too! So there I was- stark naked- with BOTH my feet up in the air.
After a few seconds, the blood clotting mechanisms finally kicked in. Still looking like a duffus, I looked around and saw that the swivel chair was at arm’s length.
I tugged it towards me and hopped onto it and then rolled over to my wardrobe in search of my first aid kit. I cleaned the wounds and poured on some Yunnan Baiyao (Yunnan White Medicine). This Baiyao is considered a cure-all in China so this would be a good test to see if the claims are true.
With my cuts plastered up, and big toe throbbing, I rolled around the room, cleaning up the mess, and even had the state of mind to remove my undies from the toilet before summoning the maintenance guy – Naier – into my room. I didn’t clean up the spots of blood on the floor though. I thought I should spice up Anna’s cleaning routine the next day.
I stared at the big gauze on the bottom of my left foot (3 cuts) and the plaster on my big toe (one cut), satisfitied with my first aid. Naier took some time to extricate the washbasin (in its thousand pieces) from the pipes and then so sweetly cleaned up the bathroom. I ate some self made yoghurt (which I was supposed to blog about until this accident happened) while waiting for him to finish.
At first I thought it was purely my fault for causing the basin to fall but the smashed up pieces revealed rusty and rotted parts which would have broken sooner or later.
So what was i doing to cause the basin to fall? 'Proper' and 'Standard' writing would demand that i reveal this so as to complete the picture but i think i am taking the suspense mystery route and will keep that piece of information to myself -just so that the next time you see me you can ask me why.
Have a safe and painFREE shower today!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Tale of the Lafaek
A long time ago, a small boy found a crocodile struggling to make his way from the lagoon where he was born, to the sea. Suppressing his fear of the crocodile, and out of great pity, the boy took the crocodile in his arms and carried him to the seashore.
The crocodile, although very hungry and needing sustenance, suppressed his urge to eat the boy and instead returned the act of great kindness with a promise. He told the boy that should he ever wish to travel he should come back to the same spot and call to the crocodile.
After a while and during a period of restlessness the boy remembered the crocodile’s promise and went to the sea to call for him. True to his word the crocodile returned.
They were both very happy to be reunited with one another. The boy climbed onto the crocodile’s back and together they travelled far and wide experiencing many great adventures together.
Much time passed and the crocodile was nearing the end of his life. The boy was stricken with grief for his great friend. Sensing this, the crocodile comforted the boy and asked him not to be sad. The crocodile told him that when he died his body would grow into an island on which the boy would continue to live, along with his family and all his descendants.
The crocodile died and became the island of Timor. The descendants
inherited the boy’s qualities of kindness, friendliness and sense of justice. To this day the people of Timor call the crocodile “grandfather” and whenever they come across a river call out “Crocodile, I’m your grandchild, don’t eat me!”
----- Extracted from "Biblioteka ba ne’ebé? Libraries where you going?" Notes from a study tour of libraries in East Timor by Patti Manolis July 2005
When I was in Suai, my Timorese companions really did call the crocodile by the more affectionate “Avoo” or “Aboo” which means Grandfather, instead of its proper term “lafaek.” Timorese also believe that if you are goodhearted like the little boy, your ‘Avoo’ would never bite you. So if you are ever bitten by a croc in Timor, it’s because you ain’t so kind and ‘Avoo’ is punishing you. Tough luck, huh?
The crocodile, although very hungry and needing sustenance, suppressed his urge to eat the boy and instead returned the act of great kindness with a promise. He told the boy that should he ever wish to travel he should come back to the same spot and call to the crocodile.
After a while and during a period of restlessness the boy remembered the crocodile’s promise and went to the sea to call for him. True to his word the crocodile returned.
They were both very happy to be reunited with one another. The boy climbed onto the crocodile’s back and together they travelled far and wide experiencing many great adventures together.
Much time passed and the crocodile was nearing the end of his life. The boy was stricken with grief for his great friend. Sensing this, the crocodile comforted the boy and asked him not to be sad. The crocodile told him that when he died his body would grow into an island on which the boy would continue to live, along with his family and all his descendants.
The crocodile died and became the island of Timor. The descendants
inherited the boy’s qualities of kindness, friendliness and sense of justice. To this day the people of Timor call the crocodile “grandfather” and whenever they come across a river call out “Crocodile, I’m your grandchild, don’t eat me!”
----- Extracted from "Biblioteka ba ne’ebé? Libraries where you going?" Notes from a study tour of libraries in East Timor by Patti Manolis July 2005
When I was in Suai, my Timorese companions really did call the crocodile by the more affectionate “Avoo” or “Aboo” which means Grandfather, instead of its proper term “lafaek.” Timorese also believe that if you are goodhearted like the little boy, your ‘Avoo’ would never bite you. So if you are ever bitten by a croc in Timor, it’s because you ain’t so kind and ‘Avoo’ is punishing you. Tough luck, huh?
Friday, October 14, 2005
black hole
They always happen at the most inappropriate times. It’s like someone with a bad sense of humour has timed them so perfectly - I am talking about the blackouts in Dili. Because whenever I am deeply absorbed in a movie on HBO and the film reaches a climax, there would be a power outage.
Zap!
My whole compound falls into darkness and the last scene on the tv screen gets swallowed up into a dark hole. I don’t move because I cannot see nought. I just wait for the guy in charge to kickstart the generator for backup power. I hear the engine’s roar as it wakes up from its slumber, and then seconds later power returns to the room. By now, I know that what will greet me on Channel 7 is a blank screen and not the film I had been watching. I sigh and wish that the landlord had been watching the same channel because then he would switch it back to HBO. But alas, most times, that screen stays blank for the rest of the night.
I am left feeling cheated not knowing how the movie ends. Blackouts can be so frustrating and they happen almost everyday here. This is why malaes (foreigners) like me pay a fortune to stay in places that have their own generators so that we can have backup power almost immediately. For the locals, they just light their candles.
Outside Dili, most places are in a permanent state of blackouts. They have no electricity in the day, let alone at night. Some locals have wryly commented that this is why they have such high birth rates (more than 7 babies per women!) since there are no other forms of nocturnal activities except for you know what.
So in the districts, there are no fans whirring overhead to cool you down in the day, no ice cold beer or coca cola to relieve the heat, and no power to start a computer. In some places, the power does come on in the evenings from 6pm and lasts till midnight.
This lack of electricity is hard to imagine for city rats like us who depend so heavily on power in our homes and in our industries that are now running round-the-clock shifts or brokerage firms working to other time zones. The last time we had a major power outage, hundreds of thousand dollars were lost as businesses were disrupted and ornamental fish asphyxiated from the lack of pumped oxygen.
In Dili, there are no street lights so when I walk home from work at about 7pm, I depend on the headlights of vehicles that zoom past me. I have to look carefully to avoid falling into potholes and sometimes I wonder if the cars can see me as they whiz by.
My city eyes fail me here. I am uneasy with the darkness. City rats like bright lights and neon signs. We feel safer when night is like day. Maybe we don’t eat enough carrots back home but Timorese seem to be able to navigate easily even while walking in pitch darkness. I remember the Tibetans doing the same too – slicing, grinding and cooking their meals in such dimness. When I ate dinner in remote villages in China, they used to light a bark just for me while they carried on in darkness.
I can’t help thinking if man never discovered fire and subsequently electricity and lamps, where would we be now? I remember how I went to bed at 730pm, once in China because there was no electricity and hence nothing to do. I wonder how the economy and standard of living of Timorese would be like once they have power at night? I naively thought that power at night would mean more children reading and doing homework but my Timorese colleague just said, “Nah, everyone will just watch TV.” I think Singaporean kids would head for their Playstations first.
Zap!
My whole compound falls into darkness and the last scene on the tv screen gets swallowed up into a dark hole. I don’t move because I cannot see nought. I just wait for the guy in charge to kickstart the generator for backup power. I hear the engine’s roar as it wakes up from its slumber, and then seconds later power returns to the room. By now, I know that what will greet me on Channel 7 is a blank screen and not the film I had been watching. I sigh and wish that the landlord had been watching the same channel because then he would switch it back to HBO. But alas, most times, that screen stays blank for the rest of the night.
I am left feeling cheated not knowing how the movie ends. Blackouts can be so frustrating and they happen almost everyday here. This is why malaes (foreigners) like me pay a fortune to stay in places that have their own generators so that we can have backup power almost immediately. For the locals, they just light their candles.
Outside Dili, most places are in a permanent state of blackouts. They have no electricity in the day, let alone at night. Some locals have wryly commented that this is why they have such high birth rates (more than 7 babies per women!) since there are no other forms of nocturnal activities except for you know what.
So in the districts, there are no fans whirring overhead to cool you down in the day, no ice cold beer or coca cola to relieve the heat, and no power to start a computer. In some places, the power does come on in the evenings from 6pm and lasts till midnight.
This lack of electricity is hard to imagine for city rats like us who depend so heavily on power in our homes and in our industries that are now running round-the-clock shifts or brokerage firms working to other time zones. The last time we had a major power outage, hundreds of thousand dollars were lost as businesses were disrupted and ornamental fish asphyxiated from the lack of pumped oxygen.
In Dili, there are no street lights so when I walk home from work at about 7pm, I depend on the headlights of vehicles that zoom past me. I have to look carefully to avoid falling into potholes and sometimes I wonder if the cars can see me as they whiz by.
My city eyes fail me here. I am uneasy with the darkness. City rats like bright lights and neon signs. We feel safer when night is like day. Maybe we don’t eat enough carrots back home but Timorese seem to be able to navigate easily even while walking in pitch darkness. I remember the Tibetans doing the same too – slicing, grinding and cooking their meals in such dimness. When I ate dinner in remote villages in China, they used to light a bark just for me while they carried on in darkness.
I can’t help thinking if man never discovered fire and subsequently electricity and lamps, where would we be now? I remember how I went to bed at 730pm, once in China because there was no electricity and hence nothing to do. I wonder how the economy and standard of living of Timorese would be like once they have power at night? I naively thought that power at night would mean more children reading and doing homework but my Timorese colleague just said, “Nah, everyone will just watch TV.” I think Singaporean kids would head for their Playstations first.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
LOST & found
It poured when I was in Aileu recently - a harbinger of the rainy season to come. The kids, like those in Cambodia, were splashing in the puddles of water, getting soaked and having much unrestrained fun. I had fun too, watching them under shelter.
The next day when I was about to return to Dili, I lost a purse which I had bought from Cambodia. It simply vanished into thin air. Poof! Like someone had conjured it to another dimension. Even after re-tracing my steps countless times, I was still unable to locate it. It’s a mystery where the little purse went.
I didn’t cry over the purse that went walking with $40, but the loss did put me in a contemplative mood. It made me think of all the things I have lost in the 30 years I have walked on this Earth: pencils in primary school; pens in secondary school; books in junior college; and files in university, etc. There were also friendships lost when pals became strangers as we grew older, and the loss of loved ones when they bade farewell for a better world.
More importantly - and predictably too – the loss of innocence: from carefree bookworm days to stressful adulthood; from a head of black, bouncy hair to graying hairs covered up with poisonous dyes. I no longer have the innocence of a child who finds pure happiness in pouring rain.
While auditing my losses, I realized that they are small, even minuscule, compared to what others have lost or are losing as we speak: the floods in Guatemala, the hurricane in New Orleans, the earthquake in Pakistan, the tsunami in Asia, the bombs in Bali & many other places.
But above all, I realized that the inputs in the column ‘FOUND’ are plentiful as well. On this journey (destination unknown) I have found many new friends, amazing experiences, wisdom, and optimism in each new day. I have found, through painful experiences of loss, richer insights and a grittier spirit. It sounds idealistic - I wouldn’t dare try telling this to someone who has just lost a child in the earthquake. But honestly, while taking stock of my life, I realize that I do have a lot of blessings to count for.
As Tiu (Uncle) Mario – my driver – said to me when I lost the wallet, “It’s ok. The loss is in exchange for good luck.”
Do you wake up each day counting your blessings or your losses?
The next day when I was about to return to Dili, I lost a purse which I had bought from Cambodia. It simply vanished into thin air. Poof! Like someone had conjured it to another dimension. Even after re-tracing my steps countless times, I was still unable to locate it. It’s a mystery where the little purse went.
I didn’t cry over the purse that went walking with $40, but the loss did put me in a contemplative mood. It made me think of all the things I have lost in the 30 years I have walked on this Earth: pencils in primary school; pens in secondary school; books in junior college; and files in university, etc. There were also friendships lost when pals became strangers as we grew older, and the loss of loved ones when they bade farewell for a better world.
More importantly - and predictably too – the loss of innocence: from carefree bookworm days to stressful adulthood; from a head of black, bouncy hair to graying hairs covered up with poisonous dyes. I no longer have the innocence of a child who finds pure happiness in pouring rain.
While auditing my losses, I realized that they are small, even minuscule, compared to what others have lost or are losing as we speak: the floods in Guatemala, the hurricane in New Orleans, the earthquake in Pakistan, the tsunami in Asia, the bombs in Bali & many other places.
But above all, I realized that the inputs in the column ‘FOUND’ are plentiful as well. On this journey (destination unknown) I have found many new friends, amazing experiences, wisdom, and optimism in each new day. I have found, through painful experiences of loss, richer insights and a grittier spirit. It sounds idealistic - I wouldn’t dare try telling this to someone who has just lost a child in the earthquake. But honestly, while taking stock of my life, I realize that I do have a lot of blessings to count for.
As Tiu (Uncle) Mario – my driver – said to me when I lost the wallet, “It’s ok. The loss is in exchange for good luck.”
Do you wake up each day counting your blessings or your losses?
Monday, October 10, 2005
SWAT team
I scoffed at the idea when L first shared it with me after observing his Timorese counterparts in the office - now I am convinced there is only ONE way to kill a Timorese mosquito swiftly.
The method:
Result : Dead mossie
Would it work in Singapore? Can someone try it out?
The method:
See the buzzing mossie fly past you
Observe its motion
Raise hand ABOVE the mossie and slap it onto the ground
Mossie is dazed and stunned and lies on floor
Raise foot and stamp on it
Result : Dead mossie
Would it work in Singapore? Can someone try it out?
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
world peace?
My aunt once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness.
Jack Kerouac
Monday, October 03, 2005
imagination - taking off
Last week, an American millionaire became the third person in the world to board a Russian spaceshuttle as a space tourist.
He paid $11million or so to spend 10 days up in space.
Wow huh. He must have SO much money that he can spare this pittance for a jaunt in the air.
For me, i am waiting for the day when an ANTI-GRAVITY pill is invented. I'm sure Salman Rushdie's not the first person to think of such an invention but when i was reading 'Shame' last night, the thought of becoming anti-gravity suddenly became so alluring.
The prolific and very humourous Rushdie asks in chapter 3, "What if such a pill were invented?"
Ah... I began to think: "Yes, what if?" I bet I would be popping those pills and flying to the ends of the world. North, south, east, west, it would be a travel fest! I would fly up to Mount Ramelau - the highest mountain in Timor Leste first and then east towards the Polynesian islands and into Hawaii onto Mauna Kea - the highest mountain in the Pacific Ocean and then to the South Pole - tierra del fuego - and over to ........ where ever!
Rushdie further espotulates, "personalized international travel could be made possible by manufacturing pills of different strengths for different lengths of journey."
Wow! incredible. I would fly, fly, fly to see all my friends around the world. I could fly back to Singapore for a teh tarik, to my granma's place to say Hi, fly over the treetop walk and then zip back to Dili on Monday for work.
But then, imagine the number of flying people in the air. Predictably - either the pills have to be super expensive OR the airways will get jammed with all sorts of flying human beings zipping in all different directions! the ambulance services of the world would be busy picking up humans who drop like flies after mid-air collisions, or when their pills run outta juice.
of course, then, like the iPOD, you have to invent all kinds of accessories to go with the pill. A sleek flying garment to protect you in case you fall straight into the Indian Ocean, a waterproof pocket to keep the extra pills, the sunglasses to protect your eyes, and special heat proof hat so you won't melt like Icarus' wings did.
So if you had a AGP (Anti-Gravity Pill) where would you fly to first?
He paid $11million or so to spend 10 days up in space.
Wow huh. He must have SO much money that he can spare this pittance for a jaunt in the air.
For me, i am waiting for the day when an ANTI-GRAVITY pill is invented. I'm sure Salman Rushdie's not the first person to think of such an invention but when i was reading 'Shame' last night, the thought of becoming anti-gravity suddenly became so alluring.
The prolific and very humourous Rushdie asks in chapter 3, "What if such a pill were invented?"
Ah... I began to think: "Yes, what if?" I bet I would be popping those pills and flying to the ends of the world. North, south, east, west, it would be a travel fest! I would fly up to Mount Ramelau - the highest mountain in Timor Leste first and then east towards the Polynesian islands and into Hawaii onto Mauna Kea - the highest mountain in the Pacific Ocean and then to the South Pole - tierra del fuego - and over to ........ where ever!
Rushdie further espotulates, "personalized international travel could be made possible by manufacturing pills of different strengths for different lengths of journey."
Wow! incredible. I would fly, fly, fly to see all my friends around the world. I could fly back to Singapore for a teh tarik, to my granma's place to say Hi, fly over the treetop walk and then zip back to Dili on Monday for work.
But then, imagine the number of flying people in the air. Predictably - either the pills have to be super expensive OR the airways will get jammed with all sorts of flying human beings zipping in all different directions! the ambulance services of the world would be busy picking up humans who drop like flies after mid-air collisions, or when their pills run outta juice.
of course, then, like the iPOD, you have to invent all kinds of accessories to go with the pill. A sleek flying garment to protect you in case you fall straight into the Indian Ocean, a waterproof pocket to keep the extra pills, the sunglasses to protect your eyes, and special heat proof hat so you won't melt like Icarus' wings did.
So if you had a AGP (Anti-Gravity Pill) where would you fly to first?
Sunday, September 25, 2005
I found Nemo today...
We had a most awesome start to a Sunday today! My boss and her hubby brought IR and I to Dili Rocks - a rock outcrop just west of Dili to snorkel this morning.
We met up with E and her family and had a great one hour out there floating above reef and colourful fishes. I was reminded of my weekly snorkelling sessions at Hanuama Bay in Hawaii. Then, we used to get out every Wednesday afternoon, take a bus (for one hour!) before getting to the Bay which would sometimes be crawling with Japanese tourists in lifesaving jackets. The lifeguards in Hawaii were always hunky, with a surfboard at their side, ready to dash out to sea to rescue those stranded outside the reef break and unable to swim back because of the strong rip tide.
But no, here in Dili there are no hunky, oiled lifeguards in Oakleys staring out to sea for your safety. Sometimes there are two or three young boys who go fishing with their spears.
Here in Dili, there are no public buses that stop at the snorkelling spots like in Hawaii. So you either gotta drive or pay a taxi to get there - but wait, how about going back then? So yeah, without a car or a trusty taxi driver, you're pretty much stranded in Dili town with nothing very much to do - except mebbe marketing and playing badminton. So i'm really thankful for those who have kindly allowed me to hop onto their cars.
Yesterday, IR and I went swimming at Timor Lodge. YOu pay USD5 to use the pool but you can order a sandwich or something of that same value. So we decided to just splurge a little in order to get some exercise.
This week in UNICEF, we had 3 days of a Country Programme Planning conference where we got all out partners and government counterparts to sitdown to confirm the office's plans for 2006-2007. I'm glad we have roped in these partners to brainstorm ideas cos no NGO should ever work solo. So yeah, you get the drift. The office bit of work wasn't that exciting this week compared to the snorkelling!
We met up with E and her family and had a great one hour out there floating above reef and colourful fishes. I was reminded of my weekly snorkelling sessions at Hanuama Bay in Hawaii. Then, we used to get out every Wednesday afternoon, take a bus (for one hour!) before getting to the Bay which would sometimes be crawling with Japanese tourists in lifesaving jackets. The lifeguards in Hawaii were always hunky, with a surfboard at their side, ready to dash out to sea to rescue those stranded outside the reef break and unable to swim back because of the strong rip tide.
But no, here in Dili there are no hunky, oiled lifeguards in Oakleys staring out to sea for your safety. Sometimes there are two or three young boys who go fishing with their spears.
Here in Dili, there are no public buses that stop at the snorkelling spots like in Hawaii. So you either gotta drive or pay a taxi to get there - but wait, how about going back then? So yeah, without a car or a trusty taxi driver, you're pretty much stranded in Dili town with nothing very much to do - except mebbe marketing and playing badminton. So i'm really thankful for those who have kindly allowed me to hop onto their cars.
Yesterday, IR and I went swimming at Timor Lodge. YOu pay USD5 to use the pool but you can order a sandwich or something of that same value. So we decided to just splurge a little in order to get some exercise.
This week in UNICEF, we had 3 days of a Country Programme Planning conference where we got all out partners and government counterparts to sitdown to confirm the office's plans for 2006-2007. I'm glad we have roped in these partners to brainstorm ideas cos no NGO should ever work solo. So yeah, you get the drift. The office bit of work wasn't that exciting this week compared to the snorkelling!
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
so much to do, so little time
sometimes i wish i have 48 hours in a day or that every year has 24 months. Don't you?
I turn 30 next month. It seems like a lot of years to be on this earth, and yet, I feel like i am just beginning to learn to walk and run! The possibilities of what next to do seem endless. but time waits for no man or woman. It's just going tick-tock tick-tock all the time. Is there a way to freeze time? (or my ovaries? LOL)
"Many things can wait; the child cannot….To him, we cannot say tomorrow; his name is today." - Gabriela Mistral
How true this quote is. Sometimes i wish that i had begun venturing out earlier. But then, when i look back at my 4 years in news, I realise how invaluable the experience was. And would I be the same person i am now if i did not see Chile, myanmar or tibet? I guess God does work at His own pace.
And to QY who lamented on his blog about wishing to be OUT there doing stuff - patience. You don't know how many times i asked myself why i never thought of studying to be a doctor or a nurse so that i can really save lives with my hands. So your turn will come but keep the flame burning!
We can't rush things, but we can seize every moment. That famous quote from the film Dead Poets' Society comes to mind : "Suck the marrow out of life."
In Singapore, that would be "have you savoured any tulang of life lately?"
I turn 30 next month. It seems like a lot of years to be on this earth, and yet, I feel like i am just beginning to learn to walk and run! The possibilities of what next to do seem endless. but time waits for no man or woman. It's just going tick-tock tick-tock all the time. Is there a way to freeze time? (or my ovaries? LOL)
"Many things can wait; the child cannot….To him, we cannot say tomorrow; his name is today." - Gabriela Mistral
How true this quote is. Sometimes i wish that i had begun venturing out earlier. But then, when i look back at my 4 years in news, I realise how invaluable the experience was. And would I be the same person i am now if i did not see Chile, myanmar or tibet? I guess God does work at His own pace.
And to QY who lamented on his blog about wishing to be OUT there doing stuff - patience. You don't know how many times i asked myself why i never thought of studying to be a doctor or a nurse so that i can really save lives with my hands. So your turn will come but keep the flame burning!
We can't rush things, but we can seize every moment. That famous quote from the film Dead Poets' Society comes to mind : "Suck the marrow out of life."
In Singapore, that would be "have you savoured any tulang of life lately?"
Monday, September 19, 2005
hardship posting?
...hardly!
before i arrived here, some people asked me worriedly if i would be able to cope with being in TL for 10 months at a stretch. Honestly, because i had never been to TL before , i did not know the full answer to that - then. I knew that i was used to being on my own overseas and that i would do ok without the creature comforts of malls and cinemas.
Little did i know HOW much i would love it here. So no, there ain't any hardship involved here. Just a lot of astounding sunsets, sunrises, misty mountains and lovely children. I have time to read, to contemplate and to enjoy a certain quality of life while working 8-530pm every day. Life is a lot slower and less stressful.
The only thing i really miss now is my ultimate frisbee games at Bishan and Bugis. Oh, and the sarabat stalls with their teh-cino and teh tarik. Hmm.. and maybe the facials? :-)
before i arrived here, some people asked me worriedly if i would be able to cope with being in TL for 10 months at a stretch. Honestly, because i had never been to TL before , i did not know the full answer to that - then. I knew that i was used to being on my own overseas and that i would do ok without the creature comforts of malls and cinemas.
Little did i know HOW much i would love it here. So no, there ain't any hardship involved here. Just a lot of astounding sunsets, sunrises, misty mountains and lovely children. I have time to read, to contemplate and to enjoy a certain quality of life while working 8-530pm every day. Life is a lot slower and less stressful.
The only thing i really miss now is my ultimate frisbee games at Bishan and Bugis. Oh, and the sarabat stalls with their teh-cino and teh tarik. Hmm.. and maybe the facials? :-)
Thursday, September 08, 2005
HIGHway to jakarta
There used to be 2 'high' ways to Jakarta in the district of Ainaro, Timor Leste.
This was during the time when Timor was fighting for independence, and soldiers used to send freedom fighters to 'Jakarta' by pushing them over the cliffs, to their deaths. Their wives would be told : "Your husband has gone to Jakarta". To this day, you will still find bones of those who were sent a-flying at the bottom of the cliffs, and many people still stop by Jakarta 1 and Jakarta 2 to pay their respects. It's chilling to imagine that these awful killings happened to a country so near to ours, and during those times, what was I doing?
in 1975 - when indonesia first invaded Timor, i was born
in late 80s - I was finishing secondary school
in 1999 - I had graduated, gone to Chile for my Raleigh expedition, and had quit my first job
it's amazing how our lives just go on despite all the horrible things that happen in the world. every minute, as you read this blog, babies are dying from hunger, mothers from complicated deliveries and unsanitary conditions, someone is losing his leg from a landmine planted 20 years ago, or maybe a genocide is taking place.
you can make a difference simply by becoming more aware of what happens OUTSIDE your backyard. Don't believe the myth that YOU are too small to make a change. If you can't stop a war, at least help a poor neighbour with his next meal or better yet, put his child to school. So stop reading this blog already! Get started!
This was during the time when Timor was fighting for independence, and soldiers used to send freedom fighters to 'Jakarta' by pushing them over the cliffs, to their deaths. Their wives would be told : "Your husband has gone to Jakarta". To this day, you will still find bones of those who were sent a-flying at the bottom of the cliffs, and many people still stop by Jakarta 1 and Jakarta 2 to pay their respects. It's chilling to imagine that these awful killings happened to a country so near to ours, and during those times, what was I doing?
in 1975 - when indonesia first invaded Timor, i was born
in late 80s - I was finishing secondary school
in 1999 - I had graduated, gone to Chile for my Raleigh expedition, and had quit my first job
it's amazing how our lives just go on despite all the horrible things that happen in the world. every minute, as you read this blog, babies are dying from hunger, mothers from complicated deliveries and unsanitary conditions, someone is losing his leg from a landmine planted 20 years ago, or maybe a genocide is taking place.
you can make a difference simply by becoming more aware of what happens OUTSIDE your backyard. Don't believe the myth that YOU are too small to make a change. If you can't stop a war, at least help a poor neighbour with his next meal or better yet, put his child to school. So stop reading this blog already! Get started!
Monday, August 29, 2005
flickr flackr
just a short note to say thanks to Rani for buying me a Flickr Pro account so now i can upload as many pictures as i want a month! ;-) so guys do click on my pictures and visit the rest of my timor shots i have on Flickr. adios :-)
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