How Many Petals Are There Around The Rose?

No, no, this is not a romantic narration. When one hears the word 'rose', one would most likely think about love, romance, and all their derivatives. But to generalize this would be most unfair: maybe it's just me, not most people. In any case, no, this is not a narrative about romance. It's about a mind game I just happen to come across during my trip to the virtual world that is the internet. The title of this narration is the title of the aforementioned game.

This is how you play the game: someone who knows how to play the game (or the player him/herself) rolls 5 dices and from the result of the roll the player have to guess 'How many petals are there around the rose'. The person familiar with the rules will tell you the answer only after the player have given the answer. The person should not divulge any hints as to how the correct answer is derived. All he could tell are the name of the game and the answer after the player have submitted his/her answer. All one must employ in coming up with the answer are a basic understanding of math and a 'creative' way of looking at the problem.

If I remembered correctly, I played this game and found the answer 15 minutes after I started playing it. Some people discovered the methodology behind the game not long after he/she started playing the game (less than 5 minutes). And some even took days to discover how the correct answer is derived. Some people discard the idea behind the game as trivial. However, some even said that the longer it takes for a player to discover how to play the game, the smarter the player.

I usually don't write about a game like this. But I found the idea behind the game very interesting, and worth writing about. I remembered trying to find out more about this game from googling (and, of course, trying to cheat my way into finding out how to calculate the correct answer, though in the end I desisted, knowing that I'd feel bad about it the next day) and reading some writing that said that a child could find out the methodology of calculating the answer faster than most adult. And I also read from a website that the 'smarter' you are, the longer it will take for you to discover the way to find out the correct answer. After finding out the method behind the game, I must say that I partially agree with the above two sentiments.

If you look back at the first paragraph of this narration, I mentioned a matter of perspective. Indeed, when one hears the word 'rose', there could be many associations that come to mind. One could associate it with romance. With love. With flowers in biological or botanical terms. And with many more associations. So it is with this game. I must say that it is true that one's effort in trying to find out the method to produce the correct answer in this game could reflect at how one look at the surrounding world. In another word, the game reflects at how a player views the surrounding world.

Some gave comments that, when summarized, showed an expression of stupidity for being able to uncover the method behind the game in a very short period of time (albeit due to some writings, like the one mentioned in previous paragraphs, about being smarter would make someone take an even longer time in discovering the method). I must say that I disagree with such sentiment. It is only a matter of perspective, a matter of how one look at the world. I say that the more complicated a person is, the longer it will take for the person to discover the correct answer to the game. And this coincides with the statement saying that children could figure out the answer to this game faster than most adults, because children are simple-minded and innocent. They have not been internalized with the 'possibilities' and 'impossibilities' of this world. They don't know what 'makes sense' and what 'doesn't make sense'. Smart or not is only a matter of perspective. I even heard there are many instances where the most genious ideas usually come out of children's mouths.

It is also not true to say that those who discovered the methodology in a very short period of time are childish people. It's just that the way they view the world is less complicated. Personally, I could even say that it's a good thing having a simple mind. For simple minds don't demand much. They tend to find the world more interesting and enjoyable than those with complicated minds. And, they tend to have less on their minds, making them less prone to depression and stress. But, once again, coming to matters of perspective, this probably is just how I look at things.

I was quite taken aback with the game's simplicity. At first, I almost discard the idea as trivial. But when I really looked at it, I found out that the meaning in this game was quite deep.

So, for those reading this narration trying to find out as how to come up with the correct answer, look somewhere else because you will not find it here. I suggest that you try to find out the 'trick' behind the game by yourself. When you do, you might consider it as trivial. And then again, you might, like me, become aware of the simple yet beautiful message behind it. But then again, it's only a matter of perspective.

Right?

(P. S. : Curious about the game? Just go to Google and type 'petals around the rose' in the search field and google away. You will find many websites where you could play this game.)

An Amazing Adventure Indeed

Book Review
The Amazing Adventure of Kavalier and Clay
by Michael Chabon

An excellent book is a rare thing to come by. Indeed, there aren't many books out there that can inspire awe in readers in every way that a book can. However, Michael Chabon succeeded in doing just that with his Pulitzer-winning book "The Amazing Adventure of Kavalier and Clay".

The story is about two Jewish cousins who lived in New York in the years during the World War II. In 1939, with the last remaining riches of the family, Josef Kavalier's parents had sent him to America to live with his aunt and his cousin in Brooklyn, New York. However, Joe was haunted by guilt for being the only one who escaped from the Nazi's reign. Ever since his arrival in New York, Joe was determined to find a way to help his family escape from Europe. Samuel Klayman, the New York cousin, after seeing Kavalier's extraordinary talent in drawing, came up with a plan on how to do just that.

The cousins created a comic book hero named 'The Escapist' who "roams the globe, performing amazing feats and coming to the aid of those who languish in tyranny's chains!". Thanks to Sam's talent in storytelling and Joe's talent in drawing (helped in great amount by Joe's quite extensive knowledge in the art of escapism), the comic series was a success and a generous amount of money was acquired. However, money alone wasn't enough to help Joe in his effort to bring his younger brother Thomas to America. Frustrated by his many limitations, Joe expressed his anger toward the Nazi German through his aggressive behaviour toward people of German origin and through The Escapist comic book.

The story itself is of high quality. It's the kind of story that has the capability of touching the heart of the readers. Personally, I found that the main theme of the book is about hopes and dreams and the often frustrating limitations and hurdles encountered during a person's effort of achieving those desires. Josef Kavalier's character is the one that symbolizes this theme, and the art of escapism itself is a good metaphor for the shackles and hurdles often found during one's effort in realizing those hopes and dreams, be it physical limitations or even one's own past. There are of course other themes, but this was the one I found at the forefront of the whole storyline. I found myself concluding that the book in general is about Josef Kavalier. But the dedication Chabon put into fleshing out the other characters were very exceptional. Michael Chabon has succeeded in creating believable and likable characters, with excellent character developments. Characters in this novel are characters to whom readers could empathize. Readers could really understand their personality, their feelings, their intentions, their motives. I found myself at one point in the story feeling the same despair that Josef Kavalier felt in the story. In short, you'd think that these people did exist, because they felt so real.

The storytelling itself is, for most of the time, in chronological order. But every so often, during some point in a chapter, Chabon would first outlined the outcome of a series of events and then would later on put into details the preceding events that lead into the outcome previously described. Because of this, in the first few sections of the book, there were times when I felt as if I'd failed to catch some important story elements in the previous pages, only to find out later that the important story elements were to be pointed out later in subsequent pages. After getting used to this style of storytelling, this jumping-to-point-c-and-then-revealing-points-a-and-b style became the motivating factor to keep on reading the book even when I realized that it was 2.30 in the morning. This style had a very positive impact toward the story, an impact that would not be felt if the story had been written in a different style. One would have to read the book to be able to understand this point.

For me, this book is not exactly a casual read. The grammatical structures and the vocabulary used are something that most readers schooled in the art of literature would say as high-browed or high literature. I found myself often pausing and scratching my head trying to discern the meaning of certain sentences, or phrases, or even words. Those unfamiliar with the art of comic books, magic tricks and escapism (for those who are confused as to what 'escapism' refers to, think of Harry Houdini and you will get the general idea; better yet, just read this book) will often found themselves confused at the terms and words used in this book. However, the underlying implications and intentions of the story came through intact, even in the midst of confusing grammatical styles and unfamiliar vocabulary.

The level of detail in the storytelling was also impressive. Take note however, that the details are impressive in the sense that it was not so abundant in amount as to damper the story's progress, but impressive in the sense that it was enough to create a vivid and real picture of the situations Chabon intended to describe. In other words, the minute details help to bring the story to life.

Long-time comic book fans would be delighted to see some of the legendary persons in the comic book industry mentioned in this book (Stan Lee, of Spiderman fame and other Marvel super heroes characters, is one of them). As those who are interested in Harry Houdini would be pleased with the many references made in this book concerning his many endeavours in the art of escapism. Movie buffs would also be delighted by Chabon's nod to the great 'Citizen Kane', a revolutionary movie at the period of time in which the background of the story was set, produced and starred by Orson Welles.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that this book has a life of its own. It's as if Chabon has managed to somehow conjured up magic spells to infuse the story with a soul. It has succeeded in, among other things, convincing me that New York City is one of the places that I have to go to before I die. And a little suggestion: for those who love Jazz, reading this book while listening to jazzy tunes courtesy of Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong ('Autumn in New York' is especially fitting) is a perfect combination.

I myself actually have not finished reading the book. There were still around 100 pages left. But I can say this for sure: I'd be enjoying every word of the last 100-more pages. And I'd be closing the book with the feeling most readers would feel when a really, really exceptional book has to finally end. And when I have finished the book I will update this review.

(P.S: I also just found out that Michael Chabon was responsible for the screen story of 'Spiderman 2'. Stan Lee and Sam Raimi really had chosen the right person.)

Update:
I have finally finished reading the book. I must say that I found myself wanting to reinforce my previous opinion by saying that calling this book an amazing adventure could be never be more right. And about the story, it's really is amazing. I might be wrong calling this book mainly about Joe Kavalier, because Sam Clay also played a big part in it. We often find ourselves wanting to escape the limitations imposed by our environment. Wanting to escape from the reality of reality. In Josef's case, he found his escape in comic books, where his imaginations and desires take flight. Maybe it is us who, most of the time, bind ourselves in chains and locks of our own makings (be it our own concerns, guilt, or fears). And at times, or even often, it is through misfortunes that we find our golden keys that will free us out of our locks and chains. Three cheers for The Escapist!

Daily Routine

My new daily routine (from Monday to Friday, that is)
1. Open my eyes and thinking "Shit, it's already morning again. What time is it?".....
2. "Goddamnit, it's 7.30! I'm fuckin' late!", jump out of bed and go straight to the bathroom to take a shower.
3. Change my clothes, eat breakfast, get my stuff (iPod mini, wallet, glasses, cellphone, company id card), said my goodbyes to my folks and go to the office by taxi.
4. Arrives at the office, go straight to my office, enter using the id card.
5. Go get my laptop in my locker (ain't gonna lug that heavy thing around unless I have to), set it up at my temporary desk and fire it up.
6. While waiting for the turtle-speed W2K to finish its so-slow boot up process, I go to the pantry, get myself a glass to drink, went to the dispenser, serve myself water and Nestle's 3-in-1 coffee.
7. Sit down, log in to the internet and Outlook, check incoming e-mails and start up whatever self-study program I have/need/want to go through.
8. Start yahoo messenger, and check whoever's online.
9. Let the time flies by, listening to my iPod (with the occasional trips to the toilet and water dispenser) until...
10. ...it's lunch time! (Options available: the building's food court, which is a waste of money; or the many food stalls just outside the building for a better worth of your money).
11. After lunch, go back to the office...
12. ...and continue whatever work I've been doing up until before lunch.
13. See point number 9.
14. ...it's 5 o'clock. Now I can relax for awhile before turning in for the day.
15. Pack up my laptop, put it in my locker (like I've said before, ain't gonna lug that thing around unless I have to).
16. Leave the building, walk to the nearest busway station, purchase a ticket, and wait until a bus comes along.
17. Enter bus, sit/stand (depending on the situation) and get off at Mangga Besar station.
18. Go get an 'ojek'.
19. Arrive at home, take a bath, go get something to eat from whatever menu's on the table.
20. Continue reading whatever book I'm reading.
21. Sleep.

Note: variations of activities exist. This mostly applies for points: 1 (sometimes I wake up early), 2 (sensible, since the comment would depend on variations in point 1), 9 (sometimes people would go to where I'm sitting and engage a conversation with me), 13 (see 9), 16 (if I'm too tired I take a taxi), 17&18 (will not applly if in point 16 I take a taxi), and 20 (I sometimes go online).

Boooorriiiingggg.....

Journeys, Part 2 (The End)

Legacy

My uncle picked us up that Wednesday morning at our hotel. After packing our luggage, we moved out and headed straight for Wonosobo and Banjarnegara. Conversations were aplenty during the journey, but I stayed out of it most of the time. Participations were only when inquiries were made (usually by my uncle, or my mother who at one time succeeded in upsetting me by waking me up when I was about to doze off). The rest of the time were spent dozing off into broken dreams (thanks to my mom) and the occasional admiration toward the green views that surrounds the landscapes that we passed through.

I had always loved the colour green. Not in the superficial sense of ways (think fashion and design), but more into the natural sense of ways (think trees and mountains). For some reason, they have a calming effect on me. And the landscape itself were often beautiful and a sight to behold. It was such a shame that it rained most of the time. For if it wasn't because of it, I would have asked my uncle to stop the car for awhile so I could step out and take some picture with my currently favourite digital camera.

Banjarnegara was our main destination. For it was there that my father originated from. And it was there that the graveyard of my ancestors was located (albeit from my father's side of the family). I couldn't remember how long it took to get to Banjarnegara from Jogjakarta. All I could remember was that it was early afternoon when we got to the cemetery. The sun was shining brightly and the day was hot. My mother had to use her umbrella to block out the heat.

My father had mentioned this during quite a few instances in the past. And there at the cemetery he mentioned it again. It was about legacy. My name was put in both tombstones (on one as a grandson, and on the other as great-grandson). For those who have what I would term as normal core families, this might not be a significant matter. But to me, whose family did not fall into the 'normal' category, it was quite a significant matter.

The father that I mentioned in this narrative was not my biological father. He was a stepfather, married to my mother around two years after I was conceived. Biologically speaking, my name did not deserve to be engraved on the two tombstones. However, it was there, small and insignificant, but ever present. My feelings were vague concerning the matter. My feelings were alwasy vague when it came to matters concerning my stepfather.

On one hand, there was warmth. The engravings were a small token, a sign, that in a way my stepfather's family accepted me as part of the family. But on the other hand, trust was not something that is common in my relationship with my stepfather. For I had learned through the history of my life and also his that he did not do something or pointed out a matter without expecting something in return. His siblings did not exactly have a clean bill either in this regard.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was just trying to win my love and trust. Personally, I would consider the chance of such possibility to be a lot smaller than a decimal, knowing him and his history. To think optimistically would of course be the best option (for the mind and body). Alas, distrust will always lurk in the back of my mind when the matter concerns my stepfather, like an itch that you could not scratch away. I could be wrong to distrust him. I could be right. Only time would tell. I just hope that Time would not be late in this regard.

I could not, however, try to discern as to what his true motives were, to frequently mention about the engravings. It could possibly only to make conversations. Something that I tried to keep in minimum amount with him.

Flower petals were poured, prayers were said, and finally we left the graves of grandparents and great-grandparents whose memory I could not clearly recall anymore.

The night was spent in a hotel in Bandungan, a town just outside Semarang. The scenery and weather would remind anyone who came from Jakarta of Puncak. We arrived in Semarang in the afternoon on the next day.

During our stay in Semarang, we paid a visit to an old relative from my mother's side of the family. He lived in a small house. It rested just around the corner of a three-way crossroad, small like a footnote at the bottom of a page, almost forgotten. The house was properly kept and it was clean enough. However it was not exactly a feast to the eyes. It would not be an exaggeration to say that the state of the house's looks did not trouble him at all. Appearance is not held in high regard when you're blind and half-deaf.

It was a good thing that he had a loyal nurse to take care of him. Unfortunately, he found such loyalty from his children quite lacking, non-existent even. His children did not pay visits, did not make calls to him, did not want to have anything to do with him. The matter has got my utmost attention.

There were times when I wonder about what I would do about my parents (my mother in particular). Would I take them under my wings. Or would I leave them. Would I be able to put up with my mom when she was starting to become a nuisance in matters concerning behaviour and speech. Would I be able to handle matters that may arise from having my parents and my own family in the same house. I know that I was not the only child in the family, for I have a younger brother. However, such matters usually fall in the hands of the eldest. And in my case, having two fathers did not help to enlighten the matter either.

In our beloved country and culture, the thought of leaving your aging parents in one of those houses for old people was so horrible that it could be considered blasphemy. However, I would not deny the fact that the thought crossed my mind in a few instances. I knew for a certainty though, that when the time comes I would not and could not bring myself to do such thing. At first, I felt ashamed and evil for letting such thought cross my mind. But later in an intimate disclosure made after the holiday was over with an old and very close friend, I knew that I was not the only one who had put such thought into consideration.

We left the old relative with his loyal nurse, and continued on with our journey.

It could be said that it was not the holiday that I had expected it to be, especially when matters above were taken into considerations. I found little peace and solace during the journey. The green landscape did little to enlighten my already dark mood. There were only more musings, considerations, and disappointments. And the fact that I'd be starting my new job the next week only made it worse. The whole affair only succeeded in waking up old ghosts and demons.

I found going back to Jakarta to be a relief. Watching the landscape disappears again under a blanket of clouds had always been a special kind of amusement for me. And it was quite fortunate that I once again got the window seat. There was a feeling of peace, looking at the land far below. It felt as if all the troubles in the world meant nothing from up here, insignificant in size.

However, as surely as everything that goes up will come down, so does the landscape would greet me again. Like old ghosts and demons, coming to greet me from the deep within my past. Old ghosts and demons, with whom I have not made my peace.

Jakarta greeted us like an old friend who does not know what to say to you anymore.

I could only hope that one day, I could come to terms with these old ghosts and demons. I hope I could one day have the courage to accept the fact that these old devils were only manifestations of my darkest side. And that to make peace with them is to accept them. Maybe in avoiding evil, I have become evil.

And I could only hope that the next destination in my journey is Bali (a place to which I have never been). Without my parents.

There it was, the end of my journey. The end of my ignorance.

(Author's note: Shortly before this writing was published, the author had made a different version of the writing that was principally the same in content. Due to the author's carelessness, it was lost during editing. The author had to cool himself down for a couple of minute before he could bring himself to say that if he could do it once, he could do it again. The end result was satisfying, however the regret was still there: the author still feels like banging his head to the wall for his carelessness).