Flight To Tasmania

Time to talk about the Tasmanian experience with Oliver seeing as it took me nearly seven years to actually get him out of the country and to my birthplace. And I haven’t blogged regularly for so long. We flew quite late at night from Denpasar to Melbourne, business class. I had always said that this would be such a special thing that we would fly with a bit of comfort. So we did. We made it through immigration in Denpasar without any hassles even though I was as nervous as a nun in a sexy lingerie shop. Oliver was fairly excited but the flight didn’t leave till midnight. By the time we boarded he was worn out. Sitting in the seats he discovered the flip out television and he so desperately wanted to watch it. Before the plane had leveled out though, he was sound asleep and remained so until I had to wake him at the ungodly hour of 6.30 am when we arrived in Melbourne. As usual I had not slept a wink. Bleary eyed and even more nervous than any nun could ever be we trudged to face the Australian immigration officials. I had Oliver’s passport. It contained the necessary visa. But I was still worried. Would they actually let us in or would we spend the night in some small room awaiting deportation back to Indonesian? Am I just paranoid? A very pleasant young woman stamped my passport, flicked through Oliver’s and said in matter of fact way, “You need to go over to that counter. We need to check Oliver’s passport.” I thought, this is it – what the hell is the matter? Are we about to be arrested? I was so scared. I stood before the counter so close to losing it. The guy behind the counter used some magnification device to look at Oliver’s passport and quite casually said to the person I’d handed it to, “This one is OK.” Oliver obviously was oblivious to all this but I literally dragged him to the baggage collection area from that counter in case they changed their minds. I did notice however that all the other Indonesians on the flight were having their passports scrutinized in a similar fashion. As we waited for our bags I rang my mum and told her we were on Australian soil. Funny I didn’t burst into tears this time as I had done in both Mataram as we left for Singapore and in Jakarta after I had seen the visa in Oliver’s passport. Too tired maybe. We were booked to fly to Tasmania about lunchtime but when I went to the check-in counter there was a much earlier flight so we ran to the gate in order to make it. I will never ever forget the feeling as Oliver and I walked from the plane at Launceston airport to meet Mum and Dad who were waiting there for us. I cried again but I had my sunglasses on this time. Nearly seven years this journey had taken and so much trauma and we had finally made it for just 7 short days…

Lycra

I removed this blog a few weeks ago and have not blogged since. My friend and colleague whom I have a great deal of respect for, warned me that such explicit entires could be dangerous to my career. I have thought much about this and decided that I will not buckle to such an invasion of my right to say what I like. The internet has become this huge phenomenon of free speech and my removing this blog is contrary to what I believe about it as an uncensored forum and my right to be a totally open gay man. So it goes back up.
Three times now I have been in Lombok and explored what I thought was a growing passion for a very, very beautiful man of Balinese extraction. Yes cliché or not, but he is the classic in my opinion of, tall, dark and stunningly handsome. But after three meetings there are serious misgivings on my behalf about some of the things he says and does. As well as the fact that I know I will not fall in love with him. There seemed to be some chemical attraction at the start and I thought I was in big trouble, but thank goodness this time my head is stronger than my heart and I am taking notice of what it tells me. There are some quite strange aspects about his behaviour, which have set alarm bells ringing. He insists on wearing these strange lycra type underpants similar to a swim suit but in a boxer style and he has another cotton pair inside. I find this very strange. After making love he always puts them back on. One night while I was sleeping I remember waking up and found that he was naked. He scurries of to the bathroom to put a condom on before the act. Once when I sleepily said I was too tired he calmly but sweetly replied, “You just sleep,” while starting to insert him-self into my back passage. Not the hallmark of a sensitive caring person somehow. And I would of slept through it anyway. (See the end of this entry). He has started telling me he loves me too even though he knows about my partner in Jakarta. Other warning signals I have noticed are the night I arrived he was more interested in waiting around to say hello to the owner of the place where I was staying than coming to bed. We hadn’t seen each other for two weeks. He also seems very vain and will make references to how handsome he is. I have actually seen him on the way to the bathroom and he will stop and look at himself in the mirror. Some of things I see him do around Oliver bother me too. He seems a bit too physical with him – like he will kiss him or grab him and even though Oliver appears to really like him I don’t think he wants him to do these things. I am convinced he is a bit of a control freak like so many others I have known. He knew I had a partner before I met him or quite soon after but now has declared his love for me by saying the dreaded three words. Little emotional games have started. Like when I was in Jakarta with my partner he would send me messages saying things like: “I hope you are Ade are having a nice time. Why didn’t you answer my call?” Just after I arrived in Jakarta he got upset and sent me a message to say he didn’t want to ever see me again. Then later he changed his mind. And to cut a long story short or small would be the operative word – it’s so sad that he doesn’t measure up with one physical attribute. He is tall, beautiful and charming but has a diminutive penis. I didn’t think it would ever matter to me but given all the other things about him it does. So size does matter.

Brotherhood

I owe Achand a very big debt of gratitude as he was instrumental in me obtaining Oliver’s passport. Many other people have offered but never done anything. Some have stole my money or just plain lied to me but he was the person who actually made it a reality. He had a friend in the immigration department in Mataram and through him Oliver’s passport was done. It cost me a lot of money though. I paid the equivalent of $1000 Australian to get the passport. I also gave Achand a quite large sum of money too. But he deserved it. Achand helped me and I think he would probably walk on broken glass if I asked him to because he is still in love with me. I met him about seven years ago when I would sneak off from a very bad relationship with my first Indonesian lover to meet him and have sex in cheap hotels. We met every time I was in Lombok and it was quite exciting. Back in those days I used to travel from Sumbawa to Lombok every weekend on the company ferry to be with Oliver, who was under one year old at the time and to be with my nasty Indonesian boyfriend. (Yes, Berry you are another story – some other time.) To keep my clandestine meetings for sex with Achand, my excuse to my then boyfriend was that I was going shopping. I knew that Achand fell in love with me through those meetings but I never ever felt the same for him. He told me he loved me. I can’t explain why I didn’t feel the same for him. It was always nice with him and I liked him a lot but that chemical thing never ever happened for me. We didn’t have contact for several years because of another very bad relationship. Detect a pattern here? About a two years ago we re-established contact. Over the passed few months we have cemented a bond of friendship akin to what I believe having a brother would be like. I only have a sister. I have told him he is the closest I will ever become to having a brother. He still wants to do it with me though which is a bit incestuous really!

Tasmanian Devil

I am not sure if Tasmanian is ready for another devil – but one will be arriving there on Tuesday July 3rd. After nearly six years of trying to take Oliver to Australia for a visit – I have finally succeeded.
I have been in Jakarta for a week now. On Monday I submitted Oliver’s passport for a visa to enter Australia. I did this with much trepidation considering all the dealings and incidents I believe I have had with the Australian Embassy since living in Indonesia and trying to obtain a passport and legal status for my son, Oliver. On Tuesday I received a phone call from someone at the embassy asking if I had Oliver’s mother’s permission to take him out of the country, In fact I had a paper from a lawyer in Lombok stating with three witnesses that Oliver’s mother agreed it was OK for me to take him out of the country at any time. So I waited all week. The stated time was five working days. I was given a website that I could check the progress of the passport but tried all week using the wrong number with no result. On Thursday night I tried a different number from the receipt and the response came back that the passport was indeed ready to be collected. No indication of whether the visa had been granted or not. Friday rolled around as slowly as is possible and Oliver and I went to the Australian Visa Centre to collect his passport and see if there was a visa for him. Nestled inside the small brown envelope was his passport and after ripping the container open I discovered the magic sticker inside his passport that has been an elusive gaol for all these years.
Again I cried like a baby, much to Oliver’s horror, but I think this time he had some idea of the momentous occasion it really was. He said, “Daddy, I can go to see Nanny in Australia?” You can only hug a small child so much before you crush them and I think I came close after hearing that. We rode back to the hotel in a taxi and I frantically messaged everybody I had in my mobile phone book to tell them of the great news after I had a blubbery phone call to my mum to tell her we would be coming to see her soon. What a fucking, fabulous, great day. Six years and finally I have what I have dreamed of.

Faces Of Indonesia

A few months ago I started a photographic project that is a blog. The aim of the blog is to upload everyday at least one to picture of an Indonesian face I have taken. It is called Faces Of Indonesia and can be found at http://facesofindonesia.blogspot.com
I have sort of been obsessed by it since I started and it has really become a passion. So far I have taken 174 different faces. I am keeping a record of all of them in one place too on my website: www.stephendavidson.org/faces.htm
I am in Jakarta at the moment and fully intended to go beserk and take heaps of faces but it is much more intimidating here doing that than I thought it would be. People are less open and more suspicious. I have had a business card made which sort of explains the project or helps to convince people that I am not some sort of perve with a big black camera. It says in Indonesian: Is your face on the blog yet? Of course the blog address is there too, so hopefully it will entice people to go and check. I have also realised while in Jakarta that most of my pictures so far are of the less well off Indonesians. In the ritzy shopping malls of Jakarta I see many extremely wealthy people but I don’t know what the reaction would be from them if I ask to take their picture. I want to have some images of them too. Some of the women both old and young are stunning. They flaunt their wealth so unashamedly with their massive diamonds, solid gold watches and designer labels so obviously on display. The cost of one Louis Vitton bag would feed a small village for months. But for my blog to be truly representative of Indonesians I need some of those faces too. Let’s hope none of them decide to slap me their handbags – the last thing I want is a bruise that looks like the LV logo!

Singapore

Now Oliver has a passport I decided to try and take him out of the country the first time by going to Singapore for a few days. Indonesian immigration officials, I have found are scary at the best of times. Having lived in this country for eight years and travelled a lot I have many stories to tell about the men who man the counters at airports in Indonesia, who never smile and just look plain scary even before you timidly hand them your passport. So I was expecting major problems being a single white male trying to take an Indonesian child out of the country without his mother. To make sure I had no hassles I arranged with TTC who handle immigration meet and greets for the company I work for. (I have no idea what TTC stands for). They are supposed to take you through immigration and make the whole process smooth.
We were taken through immigration by Adam from TTC, but he didn’t seem to have much idea of what to do really. We were sent back to fill in a white departure card for Oliver after one of the immigration guys asked a question about Oliver’s mother which I didn’t quite catch. I quaked nervously from head to toe and tried to look like I wasn’t going to fall to pieces on the spot. We presented our passports again this time with the departure cards filled in. Ironically I was armed to the teeth with paper work just in case they started asking questions but they didn’t ask to see anything. The heavy thump of the stamp hit Oliver’s passport and I tried not to burst into tears right in front of them. We were through – no questions asked. In the departure lounge I called mum and started blubbering. Poor Oliver was mortified but excited. He really has no idea of what a long journey it has been just to be able to take him out of Indonesia. So we spent three ridiculously expensive nights in Singapore. There was some conference on there and most major hotels were either booked out or charging obscene rates. I ended up paying $500 Singapore dollars a night for the room. Oliver liked Singapore. He has a shopping gene like me! We did a city tour and went on the cable car to Sentosa. Three nights and two whole days wasn’t quite long enough though as we didn’t get to the science place or some other things I would have liked him to see. Next time. On to Jakarta to face the Australians and attempt to procure a visa to get him into Australia. Somehow I don’t think this one will be any picnic!

Black Hole

Since getting Oliver’s passport I have been in a black hole of depression. My elation has been replaced by a nagging worry that when I try to leave the country with him for the first time and I am going to be given a hard time by the immigration officials. I am thinking of taking Achand with us when we leave so as to minimise the hassles. He is also going to get Oliver’s mother to sign a letter saying she gives me permission to take Oliver out of the country at any time. Maybe it’s because I have been ill for the past week too. Have a nasty cold. I flew to Jakarta at the weekend to see Ade and felt like crap all weekend. I didn’t feel like being there and considering it cost nearly 600 dollars – it was a bit of a waste. I ended up apologising to him because I didn’t feel well and I was in a foul mood the whole time. To make matters worse I keep thinking about Urdik. School is driving me nuts too. As usual too much going on and that’s about to get worse as we have the end of semester fucking reports to get done. I hate doing them. We modified the form so they are less arduous but they are still a major imposition and will dominate my waking hours for the next few weeks. That’s what I resent. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! A few weeks ago I remember being quite happy. What’s happened?

Oliver Has A Passport!!

OLIVER HAS HIS OWN PASSPORT!!!
Yesterday at 11 pm Achand told me he had Oliver's passport by sms. I spent ten minutes blubbering like a baby in my office with the door firmly shut. Nearly seven years I have tried to do this and finally he has some sort of official/legal status as an Indonesian citizen. A huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. We can now travel. If I lost my job here it doesn't matter so much anymore as I can now find work anywhere and Oliver can come with me. Except Australia maybe. That will be the next hurdle. My gut feeling is the Australian immigration people will refuse a visa for him. It's a long story why I feel that way. But for now I am elated. I am carrying the passport in my pocket and showing to everyone today. Someone will slap me before the day is out for sure.

Passport Woes Continue

Driving across Lombok again was an experience in survival. Friday waiting outside the Mataram immigration office was stressful as Oliver was inside with Achand who is pretending to be his uncle in order to procure his passport. The rest of the day waiting to hear what was going on was sheer agony for me. I know I am a very impatient person sometimes. I was led to believe that Oliver would be photographed at immigration on Friday morning and that I would get his passport by the end of the day. Sure. Nothing is ever that simple - especially as I have learnt, in this country. Four o'clock was the stated time. I spent the day watching the clock and of course the day seemed to be twice as long as it normally would. The allotted time passed - no news. I made Achand, who is organising this ring Pak Yusran, the man from immigration. There was a problem with final approval. It would have to wait till Monday. I was furious. I insisted that if they were still at immigration we could come back and still try to get the passport. Pak Yusran said to bring Achand to immigration. So I drove like a maniac all the way from Puri Mas Villas in Sengiggi to Mataram. A thirty-minute trip usually. I think I made it in twenty. Again I sat in the car and waited. Achand finally came out and said that it would still have to wait till Monday. He assured me he had seen the passport. I kept asking him, "You actually saw the passport?" Am I being screwed again is the constant thought that crosses my mind? The rest of the weekend sort of passed in an alcoholic blur. I drank lots of wine and tried to relax. Urdik came to stay on Saturday night. He’d been at a birthday party and brought six friends and his brother to meet me! They were all nearly as beautiful as he is. That's another blog sometime. Early on Sunday morning Oliver and I made the long, dangerous and tiring drive back to Sumbawa. On Monday after not hearing anything from Achand I find out that the head of immigration who has to sign the passport will be way until Wednesday. Another nervous breakdown loomed! Last night Achand informs me that he is on his way to Bali to see Oliver's mother. I had given him her contact details in desperation thinking maybe that he could use her somehow. The last time I saw her was to seek her help to get a passport for Oliver. She refused. Today is Wednesday. Achand supposedly has something from Oliver's mother to confirm to immigration that he is not being abducted, stolen out of the country or being sold into slavery. Or is this just another elaborate scheme to extort money from me? Paranoia or not this time?

Off To Lombok

Thursday this week I will drive to Lombok again in my car with Oliver my son. We are supposedly going to immigration on Friday so he can have his picture taken for an Indonesian passport. I have had to ask for two days off work to do this. My principal is a human being thank goodness and a friend and he knows all the stuff I have been through with Oliver. If this is what happens I will be beyond elation! I have parted with one million rupiah already for "the necessary documents." That could mean anything. I am finding it hard to contain my excitement but I have learnt that I must stay cool until I actually have the passport in my hand. Oliver wants to go to Disneyland now. So maybe Hong Kong would be a good travel option for us.
Stay posted.

Passport Saga

Passport sagas continue! Yesterday I received an sms from my friend in Lombok to say that there is a little problem with the passport stuff for Oliver. Experience has taught me that in this country that means there is a huge fuck up and no one really knows what to do. Acquiring Oliver’s passport is not going to be as straightforward as the immigration man led me to believe. He seems to be confused because there is mention in one of the documents I supplied of Oliver’s Australian citizenship. Oliver was an Australian citizen for three days. But when the officials at the embassy in Bali discovered that I was not his biological father, this citizenship was revoked. The other problem seems to stem from the fact that Oliver’s mother had a passport with Oliver as an infant in it. This passport has since expired. My elation and over optimism has turned to a dull ache again as I go through yet another ride of officialdom and god knows what with the Indonesian bureaucracy. A few months ago Oliver asked questions about his mother and I told him she was living in Bali and would he like to see her. He did. We met her and he seemed quite unaffected by her. She didn’t exactly gush over him with maternal delight. At that meeting I implored her to help me get him a passport and she refused. As a reason she told me that she intended to marry an Australian man and did not want him to know about Oliver. I don’t care anymore what she wants or thinks. She cannot deny Oliver’s existence. I don’t care if she never sees him or doesn’t want anything to do with him but she is his mother and nothing will change that. She needs to take some responsibility for his future in this matter and I will force her to if I have to. She is the only one who can make this happen.

Invent A Man

Through my long-time friend in Lombok, Achand, I met last weekend a friend of his, Urdik. Achand introduced me to Urdik as, “This is my very sexy friend, Urdik.” Sexy was an understatement. In my time in Indonesia I have seen thousands of men I would describe as very handsome. The proportion of handsomeness here and in Asia seems to be higher than I remember witnessing in Australia. Maybe I am biased though. But Urdik is stunningly handsome. Perfect skin, big brown eyes, beautiful white teeth and an enchanting smile and from our short encounters, a seemingly sweet person as well. Meeting and knowing lots of men led me to think over the weekend about being able to combine the best attributes of all the men I have been close to or met, to make the perfect partner. Gary Crew, an Australian author explores this idea in Inventing Anthony West, where two teenage girls invent the ideal boyfriend. I am sure others have explored this concept too. I would definitely opt for Urdik’s looks. My partner has a significantly sized penis and gentle nature so I would choose those for my new man. My friend Anton has a slim, hairless, but well-defined body and is a little taller than me so his frame would carry the other bits to advantage. Arief’s personality combined with aspects of my partners would be a perfect blend of caring, encouragement, compassion, empathy and trust. Doddy or Martin’s drive or money or power would be handy too. Carlton’s artistic interests and passion would be vital. Michael’s skills with wood and ability to organise would be worthwhile attributes also. His name? That’s a very difficult choice. I’ve always liked the name Elliot. Elliot you are too good to be true!

Passport

Drove to Lombok from Sumbawa in my car at the weekend, which is quite a feat of endurance. I left my house in Sumbawa at 3.30 pm on Friday afternoon and arrived at the hotel in Mataram, Lombok about 10 pm. It's about 75 kilometres from my house to Pototano, which is where the car ferry leaves for Lombok. The ferry takes about two hours to make the crossing. Then another hour and a half drive across Lombok to the city of Mataram, another 70 or so kilometres. Driving across Lombok was the scary bit. It was dark. What with motorcyclists, cidomos, people sitting on the edge of the road, crazy taxi drivers and such, it wasn't a pleasant experience. Indonesian drivers have a completely different code of driving that is quite alarming and different for us from Australia. They don't check for oncoming traffic, they just enter the road without looking and other rather interesting motoring idiosyncrasies. But it was al made worthwhile for two reasons. I met a man from Indonesian immigration who says he can make an Indonesian passport for Oliver, my son. I have been trying in one way or another to procure some official documentation in the form of a passport for him for the past six and a half years. Maybe this time! I will know next week as I have to take Oliver back to have his photograph taken at immigration and the passport will be issued the same day. I am so excited that after all this time maybe he will finally have his own passport. When I asked him where he wanted to go he said, "New York." I will take him there too this holiday if the passport actually happens. The other reason visiting Lombok was interesting and rewarding is a separate story.

Boys Reading

During the vacation all the teaching staff of the school where I work went to the EARCOS conference in Bangkok. I have been there before for previous conferences but this was the best one by far. The workshops I attended were all good but one stood out as significant. While I wouldn’t say it was life changing – it came close. Titled, If You Want Boys To Read Give Them Blood & Thunder! In a nutshell it was about why boys don’t want to read. They don’t bother because the educational community has sanitised the literature we give children so that it is free of any blood and guts whatsoever. The example was used of, Curious George by H.A. Rey, and how when it was first published the character of George was fearless. Over twenty years the same character developed into a scared wimp. When I think back over my teaching career I can think of many examples as a teacher and witnessing other teachers censoring the material children were exposed to. We rejected certain materials as inappropriate. When choosing literature it wasn’t that difficult. The books chosen for libraries have always reflected certain values and tastes and I cannot think of many titles, especially picture books that contain any sort of violence. The presenter illuminated something that I have discovered from raising a son. Despite my best attempts to keep weapons, war and violence from him he naturally craves just those things. He has never owned a toy gun but screams about the house brandishing a stack of cubes in the shape of one. At this workshop it was stated that boys have natural preferences for external conflict and they relish in it. Whether it is in stories or games or videos it doesn’t matter. The children’s literature community and book publishers certainly don’t understand this but the video game designers do. They give boys what they want. I intend to give my son the same. I am not going to rush out and buy him a toy gun but the next time I am tempted to make a judgement about a book or game based on my previous ideas I will stop and look at it in this newfound framework.

Exercising

My resolution to blog everyday hasn't happened but I am going to try and change that. My first blog since the end of February! I have made a few changes in other areas of my life and will try to incorporate daily blogging into that new regime. I used to be addicted to regular gym workouts when I lived in Tasmania. I would religiously train at least three times a week by doing some weights and some sort of aerobics class depending on what was then being bandied about as the latest and best exercise. I remember doing step classes where one would leap over and on a low box to music while watching the instructor manoeuvre through a carefully choreographed routine. Sometimes I could keep up and do all the moves and sometimes I was a tangle of legas and arms. But it was fun. So this week I returned to the gym here at the school and did a workout. Ten minutes on the exercise bike and a program of weights. I am sore now though. I plan to do two sessions per week and will swim once or twice a week too. It has taken so long to get motivated to actually go and I have planned on doing it for ages but once you go the addiction sets in and I am looking forward to my next workout!

Evil People

It has been a very long time since my last blog. I feel another list coming on.
Oh dear. Here goes:
The 10 Worst People Who Have Ever Lived Or Are Still Alive According To Me:

1. Asmali Besar aka Jack. This asshole sucked the life from me. He enticed me into doing really dumb things and made me feel like shit the whole time I was with him. He really was very clever and able to manipulate and was the supreme practitioner of emotional blackmail. (And my god I hope you are reading this because you really need to know what a low-down excuse for a human being you really are.) It’s really funny because one of the staff here at Yoyo’s has a pet weasel and he’s been named Jack, because the staff here hated you too!!!! My time with Jack was a blot on my development as a person and now I wake everyday and relish the fact that he is gone and I no longer have to deal with his psychotic behaviour and subtle mind games. I am happier now than I have ever been and my positiveness is returning.
2. Sorry that one took a while. Number two has to be Aryana or Yana or whatever the bitch’s name was who promised me a passport for Oliver but all she did was steal over 70 million rupiah from me. Long story. See Expatriates In Jakarta - Beware Of This Woman!!
3. Yuki – her friend who put me in contact with her in the first place and is the ultimate slime-ball. I knew him before this stuff with the passport and had sex with him. He wanted to do it again when I met him recently and I refused and I can’t help but think that he tried to get back at me because I said no.
4. Rupert. The ex-principal of the school where I work. Sorry, I know he’s dead as the result of hitting a tree in a skiing accident, but he caused me so much heartache and stress that he has to be on the list. He also did the same to many other people on our staff and was not a very nice person full stop. My black sense of humour has trouble dealing with the image of him in his self satisfied, large payout from the company state blissfully careening down a mountain to end up cold and lifeless on a mortuary slab.
5. Adolf Hitler. Enough said.
6. Paris Hilton. My god, how can someone so vacuous and self-indulgent become a worldwide celebrity? What has she done to make the world a better place and improve the lot of humanity?
7. Pol Pot. The people of Cambodia suffered under this tyrant who was responsible for the deaths of a least a million people through torture, starvation, execution, disease and forced labour.
8. Mao Tse-tung. This revered leader killed between 20 and 67 million people. No one is really sure that’s how horrific this one is! In Beijing I couldn’t believe that thousands of Chinese queue for hours to file past his body in a huge, expensively maintained mausoleum.
9. Nicolae Ceausescu. This Romanian madman issued a decree that all women should bear five children. He also forbade testing of the nation’s blood supply for AIDS.
10. I think nine is enough because the list could go on for much longer. There are many more candidates and what constitutes an evil person anyway? The first four on my list are not evil people compared to last five – they just did bad stuff. But maybe given the right circumstances they could be just as bad. If you are prepared to do bad stuff to one person what stops you from doing it to a whole group?

Hard Heart

I have been in Jakarta on holiday. The rented apartment this time even though it’s in the same building and place is much nicer than the last time I did this and it’s quite a bit cheaper. My partner arranged it by actually making a phone call rather than me doing it all online as I did previously. Jakarta is probably most peoples’ hell on earth. It’s not a tourist destination by any stretch of the imagination. But once you take time to explore and appreciate both its beauty and madness, as I have started to do to, it’s just like any other big city. I actually enjoy being here. I hate the pollution and traffic and about one hundred other things too, but when it comes to the crunch – I love Jakarta and because I have spent a lot of time here now I have become a bit of an advocate for this strange out of control megalopolis. When I talk to most people they base their opinions on my adopted city on pure here-say. Many of them have never been here but they have heard all the stories and been cautioned not to go there. So now when I hear this sort of garbage I make a point of saying, Jakarta is an interesting place – just like any city and have you ever been there? As soon as they pathetically state that their husband has told them how bad it is I then going into hard sell mode. “Do you realise that Jakarta has many international class shopping malls?” That makes them sit up and take notice. It’s a city of immense contrasts and like any huge city you will find obscene wealth protected by the latest electronics and security guards right next to people living on the ground with a tattered piece of blue plastic sheeting, for a roof over their meagre possessions.
Living in Indonesia more so than my home country makes you humble. Sure there is poverty in Tasmania but not on the same scale and nowhere do you see people as deprived as I have seen in Indonesia. It is shoved right in your face here too. Sitting in a taxi at the traffic lights on my way back to the apartment many times, Oliver my six-year old Indonesian son and I have endured the beggars tapping on the window of the taxi. He just hides till they go away. I used to feel guilty and in my early days here I would sheepishly give some money. I don’t anymore. Oliver gets the money. My heart has hardened. I too try to hide which isn’t possible but I don’t ever look them in the eye. One day we arrived at the same traffic lights where several people cruise around the cars like hungry bears after a long hibernation. A young woman with a small child in a sarong taps insistently on the window pleading, “Mister, mister.” I ignore her. Oliver as usual is mortified and tries to crawl under the floor mat. She persists. I ignore her now demanding tapping on the glass. Finally she realises my heart is now hardened to practically anything like this and she bangs the car saying, “Mister kontol!” I know that the Indonesian word kontol is a rude word for penis. The hard side of me couldn’t help thinking as she stood there with the baby hanging off her arms, that maybe if she hadn’t been so fond of kontol, in the first place - she wouldn’t be in the predicament she was now. That’s a hardened heart.

Sushi & Sex

Another list! It’s like a disease - once you make the first one - or is it an easy way out that gets thoughts from the few remaining brain cells I have left, into some physical form?
I am no sage or great intellectual but in my time on this planet I have come to realise that there are some basic tenets of conduct or what I shall call universal truths, that describe and should shape our existence for the short time we have here and I believe the world would be a better place if everyone followed them.
I will impart them now:

1. Love unconditionally.
2. Always insist on and live by the truth.
3. A parent should never ever have to bury their child.
4. Nothing is ever, ever, ever as good as sex.
5. The only farts you will enjoy are your own.
6. Size doesn’t matter.
7. Empathise.
8. Find out who you are as soon as possible in your life so you don’t waste time.
9. Everything you own, have, buy, possess will one day belong to someone else.
10. Worry is a useless, wasteful emotion.
11. The past has gone and doesn’t deserve a second thought.
12. Live for the day.
13. Treat other people how you should be treated.
14. Sushi, mangoes, wine and chocolate are four things almost as good as sex or a fabulous accompaniment to sex. Eaten separately I mean!
15. Always swim and sleep naked.
16. Accept change in all its forms. Your body, your face and externally - as it’s the only thing you can ever be sure of.
17. You will die and no longer exist. (See Suicide).
18. Giving is just as important as receiving.
19. Reject insincerity, dishonesty, carelessness and selfishness in others.
20. Nothing is ever, ever, ever as good as sex. (Didn’t I already put that one in?)

Suicide

Since the morning I discovered my lover of fifteen plus years swinging from the rafters in our garage by his neck as dead as is possible, my life has changed forever. I no longer am obsessed with the future. I am no longer a planner or plotter. I live day by day as much as is possible. My life is here and now. What’s for dinner and will my finicky six year old son eat the food tonight is as far as I get into the future, in a serious way, these days. I find it hard to think about what will happen in three months time and what plans I need to make. Some of my colleagues are incredulous when I state quite triumphantly that I have no idea what I am doing on my next break. They have already made travel arrangements sometimes twelve months in advance. The state of asking: where is the next meal coming from? – almost describes where my life is at, at the moment. It’s a nice existence actually. It is based on the fact that you only get one life and you should just exist in the moment. I am here right now and the present is all that matters – or maybe a few hours into the future or at the very most a few days. I know that one day I won’t exist and that what is now body will become broken down into a more simple form. Maybe similar to that from which I originally came. I have no grandiose ideas that I will arise phoenix like into the stratosphere and exist in sublime peace and harmony with a benevolent saviour or sojourn southwards into eternal damnation. I will rot and dissolve and all the cells that now make me will disperse. The only thing left of me, and only for a short while will be the memory of me within those people who actually knew me or if I leave something behind for more than a handful of people to remember. When the people who knew me die even any reference to me will be gone. That is unless I achieve some sort of fame or notoriety. Dying doesn’t bother me. I am not ready to go yet though. I am here now. I am now and I need to make the most of my time here because when it all adds up in the scheme of six and a half billion people - I am but a speck of crap on the wall and what I do doesn’t really matter a fuck. So I will continue living for the day and satisfying my desires and experiencing life to the full as much as my present circumstances will allow.

Sex In Singapore

One night only in Singapore, to do a new visa so I can keep working in Indonesia. My first free trip - paid for by the company that employs me. I was to have gone once before and even got to the airport ready to leave and it was cancelled at the last minute. The trip was a bit of a mad frantic rush. Left on Sunday evening and arrived Singapore about 10.30 in the evening. Checked in at a hotel about 11 pm and discreetly mentioned to my colleagues that I was too tired and didn’t feeling like going out. Three other teachers were doing the visa run too. They wanted to walk along Orchard Road to look at the Christmas lights. Next morning, I find out the lights were out anyway. Mad rush to phone the Indian guy I’d met on line a few days earlier and see if he was still interested in coming to meet me. He decided it was too late to come out when I called. Shame, as he looked hot when I saw him on his web cam and we chatted. He obviously wasn’t the type of person that does things spontaneously either. Unlike me - I wouldn’t even think twice about going out that late for a sexual rendezvous.
So I was very naughty and went online and invited a complete stranger to my room. Not something you’d do in New York maybe but I have done it before in this part of the world and it’s been ok. I am usually able to tell the sweet guys from the nasty anyway by how the conversation starts. There are several obvious questions that instantly tell you what sort of person you are dealing with. The sex pigs always start off with something straight to the point like: top or bottom? Then the next question will usually have something to do with the size of your penis or whether it has a foreskin or not. And their profiles usually only have pictures of specific parts of their anatomy and no face picture. When a guy says: Hi, how are you? And he has a full-face picture smiling at the world, you know you are dealing with a reasonable human being.
We chatted a bit on line, swapped pictures and he didn’t seem like a psychopath. He arrived and looked very shy. Quite a passionate time was had is all I am going to say. I had a night in Bali too on the way home, but it deserves its own post.