Last weekend might be the most absurd day of our wedding preparation.

The first absurdity comes at the sollicitor office. We were there to collect the penupt agreement when somebody yell: “Scal!” My college friend. We still kept our wedding plan among families and limited friends whom we asked for help, and it is a little bit awkward when my friend cought us with our prenupt. Not to mention that, not eeryone will have open mind for a prenupt.

From the solicitor, we drop by at our house for a short discussion, then continue on long drive to photo studios, one of many item yet to be confirmed. We were so exhausted that, we stop for durian ice at nearby street stall. At the casheir, the old lady behind the counter asked: “Are you two going to get married?” Looking us puzzled, she continued: “I overhear your conversation, you two are getting married, right?”

Our quest continued to the jewellry. We need adjustment for the wedding ring, and to craft our name. “I’m sorry but we can’t craft both name with both ring. we need to keep our logo, so we know that it is bought from us, for the purpose of warranty.” OK, this is the first time that Im not allowed to do anything for something I bought! So, I gave him 2 names: “SMURF” for bride’s ring, and “SMORF” for groom’s ring. They are names we used to call each other. I can see the jeweller tried not to laugh - your fault for not allowing us to craft our names.

On then way back home, we were discussing where to eat. Options are all street stall, from porridge, instant noodle, toast bread, etc. But then we passed an Italian restaurant, we mde up my mind in a blink: “Lets dine there”. I have stomach problem, and need to unload, and I guess that restaurant has better toilet than street stall.

Italian food gave ur more booze than alcoholic drink, I guess. Soon after, we start halucinating about what will a man do when he approach a woman at the bar, and how the woman would respond. It turns to comedy-like conversation, which kept us laughing until the end of the night.

Finally, our house has taken its complete shape.

Yeah, the roof  is still without the tile, but it is showing a very nice progress….

And it has the electrical cable laid. We’re not quite happy with the electrical cabling though, since they misplaced few switches at wrong place.

“International Look”, a perfect term to describe how I look. Being born from Asian Family, I inherit the Asian looks, the international looks, from my parents. So Asian that, during my trip to Singapore, China, Japan and Hong Kong, I was often greeted with the local language, being mistakenly perceived as native resident of those places.

It doesn’t stop at foreign land. Last week, I visited a head quarter of a local private company in Jakarta. They hire lots of international consultant, so the receptionist is used to see those Asian faces wandering in their office. Queuing in front of me is native Indonesian, whose company ID card is being rejected. He had to submit government-issued ID card, such as KTP, or Driving License. My turn came, and with my international look, what I need to do is to reply the receptionist with English. “Second Floor”, I said, and BANG, she accepted my company’s ID card, without further inquiry.

Me and my friend, and Indonesian-born who has become foreign citizen, then passed another security check. The security officer, a Native Indonesian, nods at me, while my friend was being held, asked to wait for an employee to walk him through the office. I have to reply, in English of course, that my friend was with me until the security let him go.

The receptionist, the security officer, the person in front of me, and I myself is Indonesian. Written in our birth certificate, passport, and other official document: Citizenship: Indonesian. But why should we receive different treatment because of how we look? And even worse, why should we treat other Indonesian differently based on how they look?

Another friend called me last weekend, inquiring about the earthquake in West Sumatra at the end of September. She expressed his concern that, Indonesian Citizen with “International Look” being discriminated when receiving helps. Part of me wants to believe it, and, having read the top Indonesian news website, I almost decided to withhold my donation.

But don’t we all Indonesian? Those with green passport with Garuda in front of it? Then why should I hesitant to help my own countrymen, if even people from multiple nationality offers their help to us! Those from US, Spain, Australia, Japan, and many more works 24×7, just to save us, Indonesian Citizen. Why don’t we lend a hand, without discriminating based on physical attributes, but based on who need the most?

We don’t need our people to line up on the street when our neighbor disrespectfully claims our culture to be their culture. Nor when they claim 2 islands to be their territory. What we need is to respect each other, to treat Indonesian the same respect as we treat others. If we treat our fellow countrymen disrespectfully, why should we expect others to treat us equally?

Sidenote: I revisited the office this morning, and proudly replied: “lantai dua”, while handed over my KTP. On it written: Citizenship: Indonesian.

I still remember, during my childhood time, when my parents would take me to her house. She knew I was coming, and has prepared all kind of food I can imagine at that time. I will run through the door, going straight to the kitchen, just to know what’s cooking…

Then all my cousin would come to gather at her place. We will run, and run, and run, from the kitchen, through the hallway, into her small living room. We didn’t run quietly, we make noise, a big child noise. And she seems to enjoy looking at her grandchildren having fun at her house.

As we, her grandchildren, grew mature, she grew older. As her grand-grandchildren made their first cry, she grew more and more tired, clearly beaten by time. And today, 21 September 2009, The Creator has finally made His call. He release her from her suffering. At 9 pm, she finally passed away.

There are no cry, there are no sadness. We know that we made her happy while she was with us, that no cry, no matter how hard it is, would replace it. We are happy that she will meet the Creator accompanied with our prayer for her.

We wish her a save journey through our prayer, and we thank her, for a great childhood memory that she left with us, her sons, daughters and grandchildren……

It is amazing to see the progress of the development of our house. Just end of August, when they have completed the foundation, on early September, 50% of the wall for the 1st floor has been raised.

And 2 weeks later, one day before my birthday, we passed by to see that the building has taking better shape. For the first time, we are able to point to it and say: that is a house, that is our house.

“It will be finished earlier”, the contractor said. This time I believe it will, while still crossing my finger.