Solitaire

There was a man...
A lonely man...

And I cried. Yesterday I finally had the chance to watch Clay Aiken singing my favorite song, Solitaire. Less than 10 seconds later, I shed my tears. It was so beautiful.

I don't think Indonesia's going to release his single containing this song, though. What a pity...

Significance of Fridays to Me

I used to adore Fridays. Not because it signified the coming of weekend, no. In the old days, weekends meant longer hours of rest. Oh sure, during my teenage years I dated a few men (I use this term so offhandedly. I wouldn't really call them real dates, though.) during weekends, watching movies, going to the teenage parties, eating at the one and only fancy restaurant in town. Stuff like that. I thought, the term TGIF was created to denote the freedom of Fridays. For during my years in elementary school, junior high and senior high school, on Fridays the students could show their individuality by wearing any kinds of clothes that they liked. (Sure, there were limits, but they were reasonable enough for me.) I loved shedding the dreary uniforms, exchanging them with my favorite blouses and skirts (even gowns, if I felt like it).

When I was in university, I began to understand the real meaning of TGIF. I used to savor every Fridays gleefully, for I had no classes on Saturdays. Weekends meant time to rest. Or to roam around Bandung, if I wanted to.

Now that I am married, Fridays meant another thing--the sweet, inviting promise of lazy weekend with my Quisalas.

Signs of Stress

A couple of days ago I noticed that my Quisalas was deeply stressed. It could be because I am highly intuitive. Or perhaps it was because of his reaction while he was listening to a story of mine.

Me: A guy called our house some time ago, saying, "Hey, you should check your fax machine. I tried to fax you so many times in vain!"
isman: Eh?
Me: To this I replied, "Well, sir, it is you who should check the number you're dialling! We don't even have a fax machine!"
isman: (laughing hysterically)

I guess each individual varies when it comes to experiencing stressful situations. My reaction could be a zillion of things--from itchiness and rashes to sudden silence or talkativeness. Yesterday I realized that I was deeply stressed and disturbed when I noticed that the bracelet I was weaving had a strange pattern. Automatically I just designed the yarns into a familiar pattern that I had in mind. It was a wrong pattern.

Maybe it's time to meditate... once again. Or banish some negativities. Somehow I have a feeling that I should rearrange the room and jewelry again.

An arisan that I attended some time ago brought a deep frown on my face. It was not because the arisan was like the one portrayed on the movie, no. It was commonplace enough, I suppose. Where wives (housewives and the ones who have careers) got together, talked shop, shared many new informations--both interesting and not. Something bothered me deeply. You see, most of the wives talked about their husbands. There's nothing wrong in that, actually, after all, it's only natural. However they seemed to take pride in how dependent and incompetent their husbands were.

Wife #1: You know... When my husband got sick during our honeymoon, he became so clinging and demanding like a child.
Wife #2: Ah, that's nothing! You just got married in a fortnight! I've been married for ten years. My husband doesn't even know how to tie his shoelaces. I do practically everything for him.
Wife #3: My husband relies on me all the time. You wouldn't believe the havoc and chaos he created during my absence! He wrecked the house trying to find a bottle of mayonaise. And you know what? It was there all along in the fridge!
Wife #4: Men! They're such babies, don't you think?
Wife #5: Indeed! They wouldn't be able to survive without their wives! We have to take care of them carefully!

Makes me wonder. Why are these women fond of telling others how like a clinging child their husbands are? Does it give them a feeling of power? Don't they realize how badly they portray their husbands? For I can picture their husbands clearly, stubbing their toes then running to their wives, crying, "Ma... Ma... I'm hurt!" Then the wives would say something soothing like, "You poor dear, let me fix that for you!"

That image shocks me. For, to me, it doesn't sound like a couple of grown-ups interacting with each other. It sounds like a pampered baby and his mother.

I know, I know. Everybody has a different view towards marriage. To me, marriage is a partnership. I trust my partner's judgments and opinions. He trusts mine as well. We pamper and take care of each other a lot, true. As equals. That is why the idea of wives who are proud of themselves for mothering their husbands doesn't appeal to me.

Men are men. Women are women. Both can be dependent or self-sufficient according to their surroundings, upbringings, conditionings, and other factors that I might not know. Maybe some women prefer their husbands to rely solely on them. It makes them feel superior and important, perhaps. Me, I am the type who will proudly say, "Whenever I am away, I don't worry too much because I know my husband can take good care of himself."

Makes Me Wonder...

I sent some pictures for my friend. She lives in Bandung. They arrived after a week or so.

I also sent a Valentine gift for my shin yu, Nyachan, using regular mail. She lives in Japan. The gift arrived in four days.

Indonesian Postal Service is so unpredictable...

Superstitions About Weddings

In a book called "The Little Giant Encyclopedia of Superstitions" I found several interesting superstitions about weddings. I'll copy a couple.

The Month
Married in January's hoar and rime,
Widowed you'll be before your prime.
Married in February's sleepy weather,
Life you'll tread in time together.
Married when March winds shrill and roar,
Your Home will be on a distant shore.
Married beneath April's changing skies,
A chequered path before you lies.
Married when beees over May blossoms flit,
Strangers around your board will sit.
Married in the month of roses--June,
Life will be one long honeymoon.
Married in July with flowers ablaze,
Bittersweet memories on after days.
Married in August's heat and drowse,
Lover and friend in your chosen spouse.
Married in September's golden glow,
Smooth and serene your life will go.
Married when leaves in October thin,
Toil and hardship for you to gain.
Married in veils of November mist,
Fortune your wedding ring has kissed.
Married in days of December cheer,
Love's star shines brighter from year to year.

The Color
Married in white, you have chosen right;
Married in red, you'd better be dead;
Married in yellow, ashamed of the fellow;
Married in blue, your lover is true;
Married in green, ashamed to be seen;
Married in black, you'll ride in a hack;
Married in pearl, you'll live in a whirl;
Married in pink, your spirits will sink;
Married in brown, you'll live out of town;
Married in gray, you'll be sad every day.

First Visit to the Ob-Gyn

It was such a merry sight. Ladies with bulging bellies stood everywhere, eyes looking blank, waiting for their turns. Small children ran here and there, screaming and yelling things only children knew how to. Nurses seemed to hover everywhere in their starched white attires, looking dignified and unapproachable. Yes, I was quite terrified at this point.

I registered my name and address. The nurse asked me to wait, she said she'd call me when the time came. She looked solid and dependable, but perhaps, slightly uncaring. This was a routine for her. She just wanted things to get over with. As soon as possible.

"Mrs. Primadonna Angela!" she called, after a few minutes went by. I looked at my partner, the look that lambs gave before their slaughter.

"You'll be fine," he hugged me briefly.

So I went into a cubicle. A nurse asked me to remove my shoes before stepping on a scale. She muttered a number I couldn't catch then asked me to sit down for she wanted to measure my blood pressure. She then asked a couple of questions.

Nurse: Is this your first pregnancy?
Me: Yes.
Nurse: Ever had miscarriage before?
Me: (fighting the urge to give a caustic and witty reply) No.
Nurse: Good. Please wait a moment. We'll call your name in a few minutes. Then you can see the doctor.

She called another name. A woman in her mid-thirties came. With her came a baby suckling on her right breast. A child about three or four years old came dangling beside her, complaining, "Mom, I'm tired!"

Faintly I could hear the nurse questioning the woman.

Nurse: Is this your first pregnancy?
Woman: Of course not!

God! The nurse just asked the same questions to every patient, without bothering to notice obvious things! It must be tough being a nurse, I concluded while walking towards my Quisalas. I wonder what the doctor's questions might be...

Unimportant News of the Day

Got a call from Pip. He said my voice resembled one of his exes. To this I replied, "You must've lots of exes then..."

Ate a bowl of rice and salmon plus shredded nori for only 10k rupiahs! When I first ordered it I thought it'd be a small bowl. Well, I was wrong.

Witness an interesting event: uneven combat practice--Popox vs his kitten. Popox was losing, naturally.

Bought my brother Dream Theater's newest CD: Train of Thought. He nagged me again about Vai's CD and DVD. So, Nengti, when are you going to return to Indonesia?

Unimportant News

Posted some letters today!
Finally had the strength and willingness to walk to the post office. Then went shopping. Drat. Some senior high schools whistled at me, saying, "Hey, baby, why don't we introduce each other and be good friends?" Another called out, "Hey, you, girl in white shirt!" I just quickened my pace, muttering spells of protection.

Decided to sew a pouch for my new Tarot deck!
Hooray! I'll be able to bring the cards where ever I go. Maybe I should sew pouches for the candles and crystals as well.

Bought ice cream!
Nothing's gonna stop me from eating it tonight!


Inspired by my cute cousin, Wulan.

Wedding Report

The wedding we attended last weekend looked like a perfect set for certain movies. There were elegant ladies in tight-fitting clothes and a zillion layers of make up, talking shop non-stop. There were gentlemen in perfect attires bragging about their achievements. There were respectable couples looking dignified and presentable. Kids running here and there. Teenagers in confused outfits, most were dressed in clothes too old and sexy for their own age. There were single women about my age, appearing oblivious yet putting extra efforts to find available men. And of course, there were also single men, eyes darting here and there looking for a new catch.

To save the time, isman and I queued on different food stalls. That time I was aware of some single men around me. They seemed to think that I was available. They tried to make eye contact, attempting to come nearer and nearer to me. You know the drill. I deliberately showed my wedding ring. It was such a subtle and vain effort.

"You know, weddings are great occasions where you can meet single ladies," one of them said, looking at me intently. I busied myself with heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"Yes, you'll never know, maybe soon the wedding bells might ring for you" Another man added, chuckling, also staring at me, waiting for a conversation to take place. I fled to isman's direction. I hugged my Quisalas, telling him about the unpleasant encounter I just had. The single men looked at us, open-mouthed.

Makes me wonder... to all single women and men out there, if you think you've found a great catch, do you check whether he or she wears a wedding ring first?

Sometimes You Just HAVE to Choose Your Friends

Some people are so thick-headed that they do not realize how much others detest their presence.

Like this acquaintance of mine. We hardly know each other. The only thing in common is, we belong to the same mailing list. He has this tendency of trying to be extra-helpful. He acts as if he knows everything. Problem is, most of the information that he has is yesterday's news. He also likes to butt in into other people's conversation. Uninvited, naturally.

Even at our first meeting, he acted as if he was a dear friend. He hugged and kissed people, thinking that it was supposed to be funny and lovable. Just because we did it with our close friends. Well, how would you feel if someone you don't know suddenly act like he's your family? During conversations, he leaned over to people, almost cheek-to-cheek, not realizing that he was invading others' personal spaces. And he didn't realize that his behavior disturbed people.

We know that he will never be our friend. Because he simply doesn't care. All he cares about is himself. And assumes that people will love him just because he has something to offer. Information, anime or manga collection, or --God forbids--his presence.

isman and I decided not to invite him on our wedding. Most of our close friends don't feel comfortable with him around. Naturally we prioritized our close friends than this annoying man. Besides, we felt that it wasn't right to invite
people if we didn't mean it.

But that didn't stop him. He e-mailed me before the wedding, asking for the invitation. Silently I told him, well, who's inviting you? I didn't reply. I thought it was a delicate way in saying that he was not invited. Unashamed, he began gleaning information from isman's friends and mine about the exact location and time of the wedding. Our friends didn't give the information, of course, because they already knew what kind of a person he is. But we have to admit, he's as relentless as cockroaches. He found out that two of our friends were heading towards the train station. And suddenly, poof! There he was, waiting besides the train.

And since our friends are also the type who can't say no directly, they just gulped. We understood the pain as we saw their faces showing up in our wedding's day with Mr. Thickhead.

When he shook my hands he began showering me with words that I only listened half-heartedly. Many people were still queueing, yet he seemed to think that he had all the time in the world. I brushed him off with a curt note. He thought I was only joking. Needless to say I got quite furious and ignored him completely. He seemed to get the message (or it could be because the next guests were shoving him) and left.

The day after I wrote to the mailing list that I was happy for many good friends of ours came to the wedding, but the presence of a certain uninvited guest annoyed me. I wrote, stating candidly that, if I didn't send any
invitations through post, e mail, SMS, or phone, it meant that the person was not invited. I thought this was clear enough. Although I suspected Mr. Thickhead was not bright enough to realize that I was referring to him.

Then about a couple of weeks later he wrote an e mail, asking for the pictures of the wedding, proving my suspicion. Whatever gave him the idea that I'd willingly give him my wedding pictures? It was painful enough not to be able to literally kick him while the photographer took pictures of us and our friends because
1. isman reminded me not to let Mr. Thickhead ruin my mood. And,
2. I was wearing a tight-fitting batik.

I also didn't reply this mail.

And two days ago this guy e-mailed me again, asking how my life was, telling me stuff about his life that I had no desire whatsoever in knowing. And the worst thing is, he wrote as if he was a good friend of mine.

You're probably asking, why we haven't been direct with him? We know the pain of being rejected. That's one of the reasons why we've been refraining from doing it directly. But maybe, at least I, should stop being subtle.

People say that you can choose your friends but not your family. Well, not this one! Given a chance, he'll try to rob you of your choice. But enough is enough. The next time he contacts me, I'll be blunt.

Wish List

This son of mine has already made a wish list for Valentine. Ohkay, so it only contained one item: a video camera. But it's still a list. I am fond of making lists. So, why not make a wish list on my own?

Wish List:
Dragonlance Campaign Setting
Have always wanted to have it since I got my Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting. Ohkay, so I don't play D&D. I do enjoy reading the information about one of my favorite lands, Krynn, though.

The Annotated Chronicles and Legends (Dragonlance) by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
I'd love to see their comments of my favorite trilogies. My most favorite is Chronicles, though my twin bro, Andi Saptono, prefers Legends.

A digital camera
So that, whenever I want to take pictures of my beloved cats, I don't have borrow my father's or my brother's.

Numerous pots and fertilizers for planting seeds

More black candles
For spells of banishing. They're getting harder and harder to find!

Essential Oils
I need lavender, sandalwood, ylang ylang, tea tree.

An Indian Saree

Red pashmina shawl

Clay Aiken's CD and singles
Especially the single containing the song Solitaire.

Silver or gold locket.

What else? Enough for now, I guess.

How to Survive Dealing with Customs Officials

Two days ago I had to go to Bandung's central post office. I received a package from Holland containing seeds that, in their own term, were suspicious-looking. So I went there. I had to ask four officials first before they managed to show me the direction to take to the customs office. It was way in the back. Needless to say I was quite lost. I had to ask three people for directions before I was finally ushered to a small, cramped room that smelt of stale coffee and tobacco.

First Official: Do you know what you have received from Holland, Ma'am?
Me: (confused) From the letter that you sent me, I gathered that somebody sent me seeds.
First Official: Aha! So you admit that you asked somebody in Holland to send you some seeds.
Me: I didn't say that. I didn't even know who sent me the seeds. I only know from the letter that you sent me.
First Official: Well. Somebody from Holland sent you some seeds that we cannot identify.
Me: (Have a sinking feeling that this is getting nowhere.)
First Official: Can you identify the seeds?
Me: (Fighting to keep myself calm.) I can't. I haven't even seen the seeds yet.
First Official: Oh. (Opening the package containing the seeds.)
Me: (Looking at the seeds in a pot carefully.) Well, sir, I have no idea what this is.
First Official: We haven't either, that is why we're calling you here.
Me: (Looking at the short letter and the packaging.) Maybe they're the seeds for Holland crocus? It says so on the package.
First Official: (Looking at me smugly.) We know that already.

After twenty minutes of intense interrogation, they were satisfied. They asked me to buy a 6,000 materai in a locket then make a letter stating that the seeds were to be used for my own benefit, and, should they caused any ill-effects, I wouldn't sue the postal service.

Back to the front part of the post office again. Had to ask a couple of officials before I was able to buy it. Then I returned to the customs office, writing a letter, signing it, affixing the materai, then handing it to the first official. Another official wrapped the whole package, saying that I should pay Rp. 7,000 to an official in the front part of the post office.

On our way there, the second offical stated blatantly that I should pay a thank-you fee to them for releasing the seeds. "We ought to put these seeds to quarantine first, you know, but in this case we decide to relent. So it's only fitting that you should give us some money." Those were his own very words. I rummaged through my purse, found a ten thousand note, then gave it to him. He complained, saying that it wasn't enough. I applied one of my best skills: acting dumb, pretending not to understand him. (it helps a lot when you're good-looking. Some people still think that beautiful girls are airheads.)

The whole process took no less than thirty minutes. I emerged from the post office a free woman, carrying the package that was rightfully mine. It contained a short letter from my dear sister in Holland, Monique Poulussen, Holland crocus seeds and a ceramic pot, and an elegant party bag.

In a nutshell, if you have to deal with these annoying, money-hungry people, it is best to:
1. Agree to whatever they say, no matter how silly it is. If they say you're stupid, agree whole-heartedly. But never ever agree when they demand more money. Pretend not to hear them at this point.

2. Play dumb.

3. Hone your skill in emotional blackmail.

4. Be charming. Praise and thank them for every thing they do or say.

5. Dress accordingly. Don't be an extremist. Avoid looking like a street urchin or a wealthy person. Wear neutral colors like brown, beige, navy, etc.

The sad thing is, I know, sooner or later I'll receive another letter of notification, meaning, I have to deal with these annoying people again. I might use a different tactic next time. Oh well. It's like a constant battle where you're expected to lose.

It's All About Communication...

...today. Went to the post office to post a dozen or so letters. Chatted with the postmaster. He brought back a glimpse of the past, for he used to be posted on my campus' post office.

Checked my mails. Found out that this son of mine wrote me a mail. Replied the mail and sent him an SMS. We then SMS-ed for a while.

Checked my old time planner. Found an address of my former spoken English teacher in Texas. Decided to write her a letter.

Got a call from my mother-in-law.

Got an e mail from a dear friend in Surabaya. (yeah, you, Poetoe, you)
Also from Dino Setiawan and Eric Peele.

And the most amazing thing of the day! I got a mail! Actually it was for isman, but since I'm his partner it means it's mine as well.

I am happy when communication is in the air.

On Other People's Weddings and Mine

My partner and I attended three weddings last week. The first wedding, we came too late (9.40) for ijab kabul. My friend told me it would be done at 10 in the morning. However, they decided to do it at 9.15 and it lasted for about 10 minutes.

The second one, we arrived on time. To our annoyance we found out that it was about 45 minutes late. Other streaming guests were edgy as well, for I could sense hostility, weariness, and anticipation in the air.

The third wedding was even worse. It was an hour and ten minutes late. And they thought it would be best if relatives and dear friends took pictures with the bride and groom while the guests were waiting impatiently for the chance to shake hands or try the buffet.

Brides and grooms in the three weddings all looked tired and sullen. They smiled all right, fake little smiles that they hoped would humor the guests.

It's not surprising. Not at all. For my partner and I have been to many weddings and most brides and grooms were like that. Based on this, we decided to enjoy our wedding intensely for our sake and the guests'. And we certainly didn't want the guests to wait too long.

Our wedding was also late. 10-15 minutes. We decided to run (wearing tight batik and all) to the building. (from a small room where our make ups were being retouched. Yes. isman wore make up.) Before that, he came out of the room wearing beskap and all with shorts, for he wanted a quick visit to the bathroom, ignoring blatant stares from guests and relatives. We just wanted things to be done as soon as possible.

My brocade kebaya was making me itch. I was dying to get rid of my hairdo that weighed about ten tons and a hundred layers of powder and rouge. isman was battling with an insect that somehow managed to crawl inside his clothes. Yet we came out with winning smiles and sincere words to greet the guests. We really enjoyed everything. And we thought, most guests and relatives were pleased as well. (Not all, for we can't please everyone, can we?) That's very important.

It's just a matter of choice. So, to all of you out there who are about to get married, enjoy it. It's your day. One of the most memorable days in your life. Don't let anything hinder you to smile. People come to congratulate you, to utter their wishes and prayers. As the kings and queens of the day, it's only fitting for you to give sincere smiles to the well-wishers. What say you?

Someday My Prince Will Come...

Maybe every girl in this planet has this thought at least once. Well, I did. Years and years ago, when I dare to call myself foolish and naive, looking at the world with eyes wide open, expecting and hoping too much.

I thought of myself as a princess. And in fairy tales, princesses will eventually meet their princes. It made me wonder, who my prince would be? How would he look? How would he talk? Would he lead me to bliss and live together happily ever after? Would he wake me with a simple kiss? Would he ask me to try a glass shoe? Would he climb the tower using my hair, enticed by my beautiful voice? The list of questions kept on growing and growing. I deluded myself with silly, romantic thoughts and notions, oblivious to the fact that I was dealing with reality, not fantasy.

Now that I have grown I realize that there are princes, knights, kings, and many more. I can see the qualities in my loved ones. Andi Saptono is clearly a prince, bathed in radiance and light, an epitome of goodness. I'm sure he'd object to me saying this, for he often said that his path was located in the darkness. But I could look right into his heart. I know the truth. Dino Setiawan is a knight. He liked to fantasize himself as a black-armored knight. Sammy Halim, Alfatih, John Fernando are knights as well. I can picture their armors shining bright, their virtues well-known. It differs a bit in Nando's case, though. He is a bit like me, a meddling-watcher. My ex was a king. He likes to command, not liking the fact that sometimes he has responsibilities to take care of.

I also realize that I am not a princess. Dino Turino Setiawan said once that I was a handmaiden. Always willing to help and serve. That was close, but not quite. My partner said that I had some knight qualities. That's true in some ways. I used to admire Sturm Brightblade in Dragonlance. Only in recent years I noticed that Brightblade's honor seemed to be rigid and sometimes silly. Being honorable is good, but not too honorable. I want to have a long and happy life.

I am a healer. An advisor. A druid, even. I tamper with things, bending them to my will. In some ways my Quisalas and I are kindred spirits. For he is a jester. If I marry a king I might have a kingdom to rule. By marrying a jester I could rule the whole universe.

Thoughts of the Day

I've got a hunch. And it is not a good one. Yet I am not so sure. I had a belief and then it was shattered by a phone call. Weird. Why do I write like this? Prithee, could it be that mine eyes hath cloud me so? Mine heart hath deceived the eyes? I doth know that I misseth thee...

That's what you get after reading David Eddings' too much. I like the term anakha, though. The one without destiny. It suits me very much.

English Depot

I'm writing this because I'm annoyed to see several common mistakes. Some Indonesians do that, not realizing the grave errors of the words they write or utter. Some believe that writing or talking in English is cool. So they like to mix things--a bit of Indonesian and English at the same time. There's nothing wrong with that, actually. As long as they check the spelling, grammar, and pronunciation.

Two common mistakes that I often see:

1. Loose and lose.
I notice that some people write this: He is a looser. It should be: He is a loser. Some also write: I don't want to loose you. In fact it has to be: I don't want to lose you.

Correct usages of the word loose: loose clothes, all hells will break loose, hang loose.

You don't believe me? Check any grammar books or even, dictionaries.

2. I agree
Some people write I'm agree instead of I agree. Something is definitely wrong with I'm agree. It has to be I'm agreeing (to something) or I'm in agreement. I'm not too sure about I'm agreeing, so you'd better check other sources who are more reliable. Suffice to say, if you want to say that you agree, just say or write, I agree.

One most common mistake Indonesian people make in pronunciation:

Happy birthday. Some pronounce it as "birzdei". Please kindly consult a dictionary with phonetic symbols to see how wrong the pronunciation is.

I'm sure there are many more. I have to admit that it saddens me...

I'm A Granny! (Again!)

My mother just called, telling me that Minerva has just given birth to four kittens. A black one, a Teppei-like one (one of my most prized cats in the past, but haven't seen him in years... I suspect that the father's actually Tepal--Teppei's bro), a yellow and white one, and a three-colored one. So there are seven kittens in my parents' right now, for Sylvester's kittens are about one month old. By the way, one of Sylvester's has three colors, and it's a he!

To Each Her Own

(On Legolas Greenleaf in The Return of the King)

Lia Cyntia, a fan of Legolas:
Too bad in this movie he doesn't have enough scenes...

Another friend, Sammy Halim, who detests Legolas:
There are too many scenes of him! Arrg!

It's funny how one's perspective about the same subject may vary according to one's emotion.

Norman Rockwell: Art for Common People

It is generally known that when you try to find something, you'll end up with another. Such is the case that happened to me yesterday. Instead of black and white pictures, I found a book about Norman Rockwell's. I have been a fan of him since Dino Turino Setiawan gave me a journal filled with Rockwell's reproduction paintings in 1993. Rockwell painted, drew, and sketched beautifully.

So when I found a book about him some years ago, I didn't hesitate to buy it, though it cost me a month of my allowance. I was happily turning the pages when an expensively-clad woman of forty-odd approached me. (We were queueing in the train station)

Woman: Sorry, I can't help noticing. It's about Norman Rockwell, isn't it? (pointing at the book)
Me: (slightly taken aback) Indeed it is.
Woman: You're majoring in Arts or Design?
Me: (shaking head) No, Ma'am.
Woman: So you like to draw or paint.
Me: I can do neither, Ma'am.
Woman: Then why the heck did you buy this book? (staring at me haughtily from head to toe, appraising look on her face) I'm sure you can hardly afford it. So why bother?
Me: (deeply insulted) I just like his paintings. Is that a crime, Ma'am?
Woman: You won't be able to appreciate his works properly if you're not an artist. I am one. I can paint nicely. Have you been to the States before? (cutting me before I was able to say anything) Oh, don't bother answering, I'm sure you haven't. Well, I have. I've been to Rockwell museum. It's splendid!

(A boy and a girl about my age went to her side. They looked alike so I guess they must be her children. I defined them in two works: spoiled brats.)

Boy: It's sure hot in here.
Girl: Yeah. I'm bored with this country, Ma. Can I go to the States again?
Boy: (adding) Yeah! That would be fun!
Woman: But dear, we're supposed to go to Singapore next month. We simply can't cancel the tickets just like that.
Girl: Can we go there this Christmas then? I've got a lot of things to shop. And here, well... you know Indonesian quality.
Woman: (smiling) Of course we can. We'd better be in the States for a month or two then.
Boy and Girl: Yay!
Me: (snickering)

So what? I'm not an artist. Does it mean that I am not permitted to enjoy masterpieces done by superb painters?
I sure hope people in the fields of Arts and Design are not this snobbish. It sure gives a bad name to their world. As if they're so high beneath us--the common people. How disgusting.