Is this a growing trend among Indonesian bloggers?

I have found out that at least three of my blogbuddies have decided to restrict their blogs, which means only invited users can read them. They’re quite popular and one of them has been listed consistently on the top 100 in IndonesiaMatters. I asked two of them, and they gave me similar answers: taking a break, reflecting, attending new important thing(s) in life which need full support or concentration, etc. I found them decided to do this almost on the same week.

I have been their avid, loyal reader for months and although I rarely left comments, I visited their blogs almost everyday, literally. I am a very visual person, so I don’t subscribe to their feeds - I’d rather directly visit each blog, which I know, is rather silly and takes so much time, but I can’t help it.

Whatever their reasons to keep their blogs private, I certainly will miss them. I’ve learned a lot from them.

Talking about keeping it private, I once received an e-mail regarding the government’s decision to block Youtube and several other websites. I couldn’t remember who sent the email first, but I was delighted to be part of a more intensed discussion. Naively, I thought we have formed a bond, so when I found out about webscraper, I sent the email to them to find out what they think. I believe I have found sensitive and important issues to discuss, especially because it covers two biggest thing in blogosphere: copyright and privacy. However, several of the recipients asked to be removed from the mailing list or at least not to put their emails on the Cc, because it has security and privacy implications. Ouch!

Mind you this posting is written past midnight and I have to wake up in three hours to catch an earliest flight, and just like two weeks a go when I was about to go back to Indonesia, I haven’t packed a single thing. So I wouldn’t deliver a brilliant analysis on this issue.

I just present this and would love to see what you think: Why blog but then keep it private? Don’t you need readers? Don’t you get a satisfaction knowing that your piece is read and loved by many (isn’t it one of the reasons you went blogging in the first place?)

I have quit my job and left Indonesia a year ago, but still receive job offers from time to time, although no one dares to relocate me back to Jakarta as en expat (*wink). But when I was visiting my ex boss in his fancy office after having dinner with my ex-colleagues, seeing the whole department was still complete and on full force even after 9PM (and received a request if I could help them out since I’d be here for 2 months), I blurted that I would not want to go back to this working habit. And I mean it. I have been there and done that. And I have no intention of doing it all over again, because I have the chance to choose a better life.

Just like most people with so-called important jobs in Jakarta, my days started before six and finished around midnight. I was lucky I lived (still do, actually) in the city so I didn’t have to leave home before 5AM like others, but I still spent 45 minutes to 1 hour to reach my office. Normal days would be getting in the office at 8.30 and finished around 9PM, then it was either having late dinner with colleagues and friends, or attending social gatherings somewhere, or simply going to gym for a couple of hours. I used to work at weekends as well, and if the project was about to complete, I and everybody else would be awake 24 hours and stayed at the project until 3AM. When I was handling the projects outside Jakarta, my days would start even earlier and finish much later. When I moved to a different industry, long working hours remained (I once stopped over in Singapore after 13 hours flight and went straight to the conference room, jet-lagged and all), except that I could at least enjoyed some weekends off.

And just like any other Jakartans, I thought it was normal. It is normal. Some offices have overtime habits so much if we went home earlier we would be teased and end up feeling guilty.

But let’s see.

Many of us turned up late, then after signing in we sneaked out for quick breakfast and were only ready to work after 9 AM. Half of our days were spent for traveling between meeting places and we left at 11.30 for lunch and were back after 2PM. Some of us were online all day with instant messaging and quietly chatting with others rather than trying to finish our jobs quickly. Meetings (if I didn’t run it) usually started late, and the first hour was spent to wait for others to turn up. There were more than one occasion where our workers were just sitting around doing nothing because the material hadn’t arrived on site yet, or the toolkits were lost somewhere and must be delivered again. No wonder it was difficult to finish one simple task, and even if we tried to commit to ourselves, the job was usually linked to someone else who would set it aside and went for breakfast/lunch/meeting and didn’t do it until the last minute.

However, there are people who have no choice but working late, even though they don’t spend their time messing about with unimportant stuff, and try to do five to ten jobs at the same time. My friends are a perfect example. Dinar spends 20 hours a day in the office everyday. I used to be busier than Prila and Debora, but now these two ladies go home later and later each day. And remember my ex-boss and the entire department who were still working when I turned up at the office at 9PM? These people might not remember the last time they went home on time. But again, half of their overtime are due to other factors. With acute traffic jams and our own (and other) inefficiency, we don’t have much choice except spending time longer in the office to be able to finish our tasks.

Working long hours were not only normal in Indonesia, but also in any other Asian countries, although for totally different reasons, like fierce competition. I used to be harassed by my regional client in Singapore who seemed to never sleep at all. When I replied his email at 9PM, he would reply back at 1AM and expect me to be ready with an answer by first thing in the morning - by reminding me regarding his previous email at 7AM. I went for a conference in Shanghai and after we finished at 10PM people still gathered outside the conference room and continued the discussions (I was ready to drag myself to bed but how could I if everyone else was not?).

But then in Scotland, I realize that the pace is totally different. Normal time means we go home around 5PM. Overtime means staying at the office until 7PM. No traffic jam means people can reach their offices between 10 minutes to 30 minutes. Some choose to ride bikes or even walk. It was strange at the beginning to see Stuart at home in the afternoon, because normally we saw each other after 10PM in Jakarta (it took him three hours to reach home from his office!).

And nobody is expected to work overtime if it is not absolutely necessary.

Back in Jakarta since last week and noticing my friends’ long working hours, I cringe, remembering that I used to be like that. I am aware that being in the position where they are right now, climbing the career ladder, trying to finish the project on time, be the best and exceed the target, there is not much choice except doing it. I just wish they realize that this is not healthy in the long run. I hope they remember that there’s life outside their jobs.

It’s just job, after all. Not a matter of life and death. The company wouldn’t collapse if we go home on time. And the task will still be there, everyday, waiting for us to finish. We finish one today, a new one will come the next day. We are just employees, after all, and the office is still running with or without us. And despite what we think, our bosses know that we are not irreplaceable.

** Happy birthday, Dinar. This posting is for you. We have danced for you on your birthday. Now it’s time for you to enjoy your special day. Go home! **

I think the combination of being in a holiday mood, having too many things to do/people to meet/parties to attend, and having crap internet connection at home, makes me abandoning my blog. It has been over a week and I haven’t been bothered to update it.

So I arranged to meet up with Therry at Cazbar yesterday. I thought I would be motivated to write something once I sat down on its wooden chair, had the lamb chop with a non-stop wine supply on the side. But Cazbar’s internet connection was down right after we finished my lunch today, and only bounced back before six, right before the cheese night started, and right before Nonie came to pick me up. So I couldn’t even check my emails, let alone updating my blog there, and must do everything when I got back home. Darn.

Anyway, It is good to be back. Summer has been cold in Aberdeen, and Jakarta is at least 20 degrees warmer, and I enjoy every minute of the heat. I have been pampering myself in the past week, and have been to lunches, dinners and parties I had to force myself to have some quiet nights in to recharge and have some decent sleep in my own bed rather than crashing at Ecky and Sam’s before dawn…

But it’s funny that after only a week I start missing Scotland. I miss the cold (yes, I do!), I miss its quietness and peaceful surrounding, I miss the city’s predictability, I miss its certainty, and I miss its routines.

I went to see my ex-colleagues at Pacific Place because it’s the closest to my ex-office, and the place apparently is very during lunch time, receiving citizens of SCBD. I was going up on escalator to the first floor, walked away from the crowd and found the much less busy one, surrounded by unopened shops, reached the second floor, before I realized what I just did. I avoided the crowd.

I went to Senayan City with my mum and heard the commotion on the main lobby. There was some promotion event in front of the elevator, with only one or two lost toddlers watching the sad guy saying something nobody cared or could hear. Something ticked me off and I felt really mad. I sent text to my friend who knows the owner of the mall, asking why Senayan City becomes a traditional market, with a master ceremony screaming on top of his lung and an ugly echo from bad sound system and speakers. He phoned immediately, asking what was wrong. And then I realized what drove me mad. It was the noise that I couldn’t stand it.

I was in Plaza Senayan last Friday, killing time before going to meet the girls for Nonie’s birthday, and I only managed to keep my composure up to the 9th sales person who offered me an HSCB credit card. The poor 10th guy was shrinking in shock because I barked at him even before he opened his mouth. I felt sorry right afterwards, because I know he worked by commission and tried to gain a new customer. But I couldn’t help it, I wanted to look around without having people in black chasing after me. The perfume lady who touched my shoulder and called me “sayang” (darling) also received my icy look and harsh comments. I wasn’t proud of what I did, but I hate being touched by a stranger, especially the one who shoved a stinky tester under my nose even though I kept saying no.

I arrived at Tabac right at 7 PM and nobody was there. I realized I was back in Indonesia where being late is socially acceptable, so I ordered some lychee martini. It tasted good and I made a mental note to tell this to Tamara, the martini fan. But when Nonie and Ecky arrived we decided to open up a bottle of wine, and we chose something simple, Jacob’s Creek Carbenet Sauvignon. I shrieked in horror when the guy said it’s Rp 500,000. Astagadragon, the same wine only costs Rp 120,000 in Scotland!

Have I become Scottish?

Oh God. Oh God…

Sometimes when you’re sleep deprived, you start imagining things and seeing stars before your eyes. That’s what I thought the first time I saw them.

On the way back to Indonesia I stopped over in Singapore to see my best friend from high school, who’s heavily pregnant and ready to explode any day now. I landed in Singapore at 6 AM and headed for shower room on the second floor in attempt of keeping myself awake. I couldn’t sleep on the plane: the first 4 hours a passenger seating next to me was talking nonstop of being a Jewish and Jewish tradition (my fault, I asked. I should’ve known better about old people, they’re chatty!), and the next 8 hours were spent on watching movies. I was thinking about sleeping for a few hours until the shops open at 11 AM but the transit hotel at Changi was fully booked, and another place offers non-private napping rooms, and the thought of sharing a room with other 7 strangers immediately put me off, so after early check-in for Jakarta and left my hand luggage, I went for Starbucks instead. By 4 PM when heading back to airport after sushi overdose and another cup of coffee, I realized that I had been up for 31 hours and couldn’t wait to go home. I went to boarding room the minute the gate was open, so I could sit down and doze off. But just before I decided which song in my ipod I would use to help me sleep, a lady in red walked toward me and I realize it was Monika, my ex-colleague.

And she’s not alone. There were at least 5-6 of my ex colleagues and bosses who were on the same flight as me (I have a theory that half of Singapore is occupied by Indonesian, and this is the proof) and we exchanged some words before boarding. I was ready to sleep (it had been 33 hours by then), but I must wait for other passengers to seat next to me (a downside of choosing aisle seat), so I spent time by looking around, and there, right across the room, seating on the same row as me, I saw…. them.

I thought I was mistaken. I thought my sleep deprivation had taken its toll. But I know I am good at remembering face. And it’s not that I don’t know them. I know them too well I couldn’t be mistaken, even if they turn up with mustaches or red hair. So after a few blinks and seconds of stare, I knew it’s them.

My first posting back in April 2005 was about her. About them. Back then she and I were joined at the hips and best friends. That until she decided to date him, a married guy with a kid. It’s not like she was my first friend who did it (stop pretending you’re in shock and read this), nor she was the first person who did it in the history of humankind, but the matter became complicated because it involved work, and rather than being smart and handled it with dignity and pride, they decided to run and hide - cut off all contacts with me and other friends - and pretend we never exist. The declared a major cold war with everybody else, rather than tried to gain some sympathy by trying to explain the situation from her point. Their decision has made people never stop talking about them and decide to dislike them. It was tough situation in the office for her, and for me because I kept bumping into her on the corridor but must stop the urge to ask how she was because she always pretended she didn’t see me. The talk behind her back kept on and on, especially because they noticed she was suddenly loaded and the gossip had gone from bad to worse. Rather than facing the reality or trying to tell their side of story, she quit and changed job. She could vanished from the office, but bad memories and reputation linger. I had tried to keep the story balanced in the beginning but have long stopped doing it because she betrayed me as a friend and thought I was with others who condemned the affair (she’s right) hence I was the enemy (she’s wrong. I was still her friend even when she stopped talking to me).

Years later both of them sent me text. She said she’d missed me, and although she didn’t say sorry, the entire message was very apologetic. He sent the similar one 30 seconds afterwards. Apparently their affair has grown to be a real relationship, and it’s serious. He got divorced, and had introduced her to his family. When the texts went to my inbox, I was in Singapore with other colleagues from 9 Asian countries, having a very important meeting, and didn’t want to deal with it. But afterwards I decided not to reply the texts: I was too busy and had no energy for their extracurricular activity, plus I don’t know what they expected from me. I don’t think they need my approval or acknowledgment for their love, so I sensed they needed me because they were about to go public with their relationship, and might need my help to broadcast the new fact to my and her ex-colleagues in a positive mode - but hey, I might be wrong and thought myself to be more important than what they thought about me.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hold any grudge. I don’t have any regrets or resentment. I don’t hate her for what she has done to me, although throwing me away in the garbage bin then decided years later that I was actually worthy, wasn’t really my ideal friendship concept. I simply believe that life goes on and I have been miles away from the issue which I am no longer interested in, and from the people whom are not important to me anymore. So this lucky couple could do it as well. Move on. Face the public with chins up. And do it alone without my help. Until yesterday when I saw them sitting only a few meters away, I never bumped into them even once after they performed their vanishing act. We definitely hung out in two totally different crowds, even though Jakarta is a small village.

However I couldn’t stop myself from smiling yesterday. Of all flight schedules back to Jakarta, they chose this one, with me and other ex-colleagues - who, of course, remember her, him and the affair, very vividly - in it. Their pants must be on fire! Isn’t it ironic, too see everything they have concealed for years, and from everybody, just flashed right there before everybody’s eyes. If meeting me probably wasn’t an ideal situation, meeting these people must be their worst dream.

He sat on the aisle, and I could feel he glanced at me many times. I am sure they know I don’t live in Indonesia anymore, so they couldn’t be sure whether it was me or just someone who looked like me.

But their doubt was vanished when we’re queuing for custom check. My (her) ex-colleagues were standing right next to them and I was on the next line, so they called my name and waved. He, being very tall, could easily turn his head and found the tiny me in the middle of the crowd. He looked at me. I looked past him.

I didn’t see them on baggage collection area. I didn’t even bother to look them up. I was too tired as I hadn’t had sleep for more than 35 hours. I gave my luggage tag to a porter - something I had never done before - and waited for him to collect my luggage.

I went home. I drank from the tap before realizing I was in Indonesia. I had shower. And slept like a baby.

I guess no matter what they have tried to mend this friendship, it wouldn’t work. I couldn’t care less, and she’s too pride (and maybe doesn’t give a damn either). But isn’t it weird, to stand only few meters away from someone we know inside out and pretend they don’t exist?

But, if you were in my shoes, what would you do?

I‘ve been putting the packing activity off forever until the last minute. I have piled everything I know I am taking home in the bedroom corner for days, but every time I wanted to start, I just couldn’t be bothered. Plus I’ve got zillion things to do in the last minute, as usual. This comes from someone who claims that she’s organized. D’oh.

But finally I’ve done it. I finished it a couple of hours a go, and I’m ready for flying back home at tomorrow’s first flight. Since this time is special because I’m having a do in August, I come back with so many things I buy from here. I pray that Indonesian custom wouldn’t check my luggage, because along 6 pieces of paper napkins with tartan motif and the fabric from curtain leftover which I plan to make tiebacks out of it, I have too many things they would consider strange. Like two handbags but almost non-existent clothes. Yeah, yeah, I’m weird.

Since the airport and airline security are tightened more than ever, I reluctantly went to check on each airline’s regulation and Aberdeen airport regulation, just to make sure that my suitcase is according to the airline regulation, and check how many hand bags I can carry to cabin. Early this month my friend Tamara, who is traveling to Rome, NY, Las Vegas, San Fransisco and God knows where else, told me a disturbing news that she, a first class passenger, is only allowed to carry 23 kg luggage! So I have to check whether my allowance is shrunk to be probably 5kg, but thank God, it’s still the same, otherwise I have to say goodbye to Tunnock’s Teacake…

I‘ve learned from my previous experience that airport prefers us to pass the security check naked if they could apply such regulation, so they try to strip us off as much as they can. And after so many embarrassing incidents, I know better, if not all, tricks to keep my dignity intact in the airport and during the journey. I don’t dream to get off the plane looking fantastic like Angeline Jolie, but at least I hope my hair is still in place and my face isn’t swollen and I don’t look like a bag lady.

And here’s what I’ve found so far:

• Don’t wear boots. They would ask you to take them off. Unlike American airports which always ask people to take their shoes off, Amsterdam, for example doesn’t apply such rule, unless you are seen wearing boots. Imagine the scene of a tiny Indonesian girl with two hands full of a bright green suitcase and an oversize handbag trying to take her knee high boots and finding a balance at the same time. With impatient people waiting behind. Not pretty. Plus, your boots might look excellent in winter countries but once you land in a tropical country like Singapore, you’d look like a lost hooker. Believe me. I’ve been there.
• As there’s always a chance that they’d ask you to take your shoes off, you might want to wear socks rather than going commando - I mean, bare feet - if you’re hygiene freak and consider the airport floor yucky. If you decide to wear socks, wear a nice pair. Nothing more embarrassing than having the security guard asked you to take your shoes off and everybody could see your toes peeping from your sad socks.
• Better to wear slip-on shoes. Easy to take them off, as you wouldn’t let the people behind you waiting for you taking your shoelace or buckle off.
• Beware of smelly feet. Make sure when you take your shoes off, the sniffer dog wouldn’t think it finds illegal herbs.
• Forget accessories. Unless you wear gemstones (see, there’s a reason why women love diamonds), or something non-metal, leave your bangles and necklace in your jewel bag in the luggage. The will ask to take your belt off too, so you might want to consider wearing something that can hang still on your hips without your belt on.
• Forget beauty tip of taking your water bottle everywhere so you can achieve 8-glasses-a-day target. They wouldn’t let you, and sometimes you’re lucky to find a vending machine in the boarding room. If you can’t, it means you’re at the flight attendant’s mercy. Singapore Airlines is good as they distribute drink every few hours. KLM will leave you dry no matter how polite or how rude you ask. Good luck.
• Women, forget the urge to compete with flight attendants in beauty department. They can carry full make-up bags. You are only allowed to take your beauty secret liquids in 20×20 cm bag. Just carry the essential, and hope you don’t bump into Brad Pitt or your ex-boyfriend along the way.
• If you travel alone, never, and I repeat, never, carry a suitcase which you couldn’t lift up to your overhead cabin. For years I have had always someone helped me. With a little bit of smile and a helpless look, there’s always some guy who likes to be my saviour and lift my baggage up to the overhead cabin. But my last trip back home from Amsterdam, this damn Spanish couple just looked at me whilst I was struggling to lift my green suitcase up, and the guy only asked, “do you need a hand?” while he was sitting on the window side without even move. Bastard. Or maybe his girlfriend’s fingernails were deeply dug in his arms because he stared too hard at my, ahem, chest. Forget the flight attendants too. They’re not porters. Their manicured hands aren’t trained for dirty jobs.
• It’s a good thing to bring at least some underwear and other essentials in your hand carry baggage. There’s a chance your luggage gets lost somewhere in the air, and you are left without anything unless clothes that stick on your body at the moment. So anything in your hand baggage can come to the rescue. It has happened to me several times especially if I used two airlines on my journey and the counter assistant was not too brilliant, and I was left with no clothes for a day or two.

My time is up now, I have to get up at 3.30 AM alarm, darn!, so I will have to stop. You might want to check out Andie Summerkiss and Toni Wahid for more travel experience.

Happy holiday everybody. And see you in Indonesia - let me know if you’re in Eastern Promise and Cazbar because those are my favorite spots.

This is a wake up call to all bloggers. Somebody - or many people - out there, is/are listening, or to be precise, reading, whatever you say everywhere in the virtual world. It doesn’t matter whether it’s trashy, unintelligent, boring, or lame. It doesn’t matter whether you pour your heart out in your own blog, in a discussion forum, or in social networking websites a.k.a Facebook or MyScape. They will scoop it out, put it together with other comments on the same subject and… (here’s the annoying-slash-scary part), sell it to whoever wants it!!

No, it’s not the “big brother” up up in the sky. It’s not our government. It’s not the internet provider. It’s not Al Qaeda. And it’s definitely not Google or Microsoft.

It’s web scraper companies.

Basically, what they do, is extracting data from various websites, and then processing and analyzing it. The result will be used to predict, or determine, consumers’ sentiments, which will help the marketers to anticipate the customers’ needs and refine their marketing strategy.

Why? Why do our opinions count and are very powerful?

Because the new generation of consumer (like you and me) cannot be easily fooled by traditional mass media and turns to internet as a guide of reference. For example, you want to buy a mascara advertised in some magazine which claims the result will be explosively voluminous. You read the magazine’s review, but you know that the magazine gets paid to promote such mascara. You want unbiased opinion. What do you do? You go online, do a little research, to find what people say about it. Right?

Imagine there are thousands of people saying that turns out they prefer mascara A rather than mascara B. The company now knows they have to boost the advertising campaign for mascara A and finds out how to tackle the problem with mascara B.

Now replace a mascara with something more serious, like mortgage. One customer can worth ?350,000 (or Rp 7billions!!) or even much more. Losing twenty of them will probably cause the company its reputation and its future plan.

That’s why the companies really want to know what their consumers say about their products, and they are willing to pay to tap into consumer’s mind. No wonder whatever you say in virtual world worth some money for web scraper companies. They monitor what you and I say about everything, put it into nice chart or score cards, and sell it back to the companies.

Lots of companies now realize how powerful the internet generation is. Certain company like Nike tries to facilitate and monitor a direct dialog between customers. If you go to Nike+ forum, you will read what people say about a certain product, like running shoes, for example (see here). For you and me, it’s only an outlet to tell them whether we like it or are disappointed by it, or probably share what we feel about Nike’s running shoes. But for Nike, our opinion is priceless: it will determine their next marketing strategy, their technology development, and of course, their next product (money, money, and money). But even that, there are thousands, if not millions, peer-to-peer forums which discuss such thing. Hence the web scraper.

My opinion about Lauren Weisberger’s Chasing Harry Winston has probably been copied and pasted and sent to a company which is interested to turn the book into a movie. If there are other millions of people saying how lame the book is, there will be no movie in sight.

Now here are the questions, and I need some answers from all of you.

• Do you know that web scraper companies exist? Do you know that somewhere out there, some people will copy and paste your comments and sell them?
• You know the general rule, that once you publish everything on the internet, it becomes public property, and can be used by anyone. But knowing that someone uses your comments for their benefits (a.k.a money), do you find it disturbing, or is it alright?
• Do you think this is ethical? Should they ask your permission first before using your opinion?

It would be interesting to know what you think about this issue!

Here’s a question. Why do most of the chick-lit novels have their main characters working either as an author, a journalist, or as an editor in book publishing industry? Remember Candace Bushnell’s Carrie Bradshaw (a columnist), or Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones (an editor) or Sophie Kinsella’s Becky Bloomwood (a journalist), and of course, Lauren Weisberger’s Andrea Sachs who worked at Vogue as Miranda Priestly (the editor)’s assistant in The Devil Wears Prada?

And now the newest Lauren Weisberger novel, Chasing Harry Winston, has one of the characters working as an editor too and another character was to become a columnist.

How original. Not.

The title itself is already confusing, and somewhere in the middle of the book, the famous jewelry name is mentioned - when one of the characters received a gift which was supposed to be the same thing that Salma Hayek had worn for Oscar.

But that’s it. I thought the title is supposed to be a symbol of how desperate the characters of finding husbands, or have their men put rings on their fingers. But no. God forbid if the modern girls from New York ever settle down and dream of simple lifestyle with a husband and babies and a house with white picket fences. Those who prefer to dismiss the author as a backstabbing ditz without a shred of talent will be sorry to hear her third book isn’t entirely unamusing, with some saucy lines and one irresistible character. But anyone looking forward to a dishy beach read à la The Devil Wears Prada will be even sorrier to hear that the fluffy fun bits are lost in a blobby mess of a narrative.

I think I should stop reading chick-lit novels altogether. They become boring and predictable. All characters are beautiful, skinny, talented, successful, unlucky in love - but soon will find the Mr. Right, who is none other than a top notch lawyer, or a successful director with megabucks movies, or a royalty with a house bigger than a football stadium, all possess the best seducing techniques, six-packs abs, and of course, are superbly rich.

Yawn.

The world’s first pregnant man, is preparing himself for the birth of his first baby, which is due in four weeks. Thomas Beatie was born female, named Tracy Lagondino, but had gender reassignment surgery and is now legally male and married to a woman. However he keeps his ovaries and womb so he could have children.

Brave Thomas has caused worldwide controversy over the “reverse” pregnancy, which was the only way he and Nancy could have children.

Mr. Beatie said that “Our situation sparks legal, political, and social unknowns. We have only begun experiencing opposition from people who are upset by our situation. Doctors have discriminated against us, turning us away due to their religious beliefs. Health care professionals have refused to call me by a male pronoun or recognize Nancy as my wife. Receptionists have laughed at us. Friends and family have been unsupportive; most of Nancy’s family doesn’t even know I’m transgender.”

Beatie, also appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show, is proudly showing his growing belly in his exclusive interview with News of The World. He said that he and his wife may have more children in the future.

Picture is borrowed from News of The World.

Apparently the sentence above is really important and must be translated into 50 languages. Forget how to say please and thank you, don’t bother to learn to ask for a direction in a local lingo, as long as you can ask for one more beer in a strange place, you’d be fine, and you’d charm the local girls.

I have checked its translation to Indonesian, and found it incorrect (although people still can understand the query). It is translated to “satu lagi bir, makasih”, which is supposed to be “satu bir lagi, terima kasih”. I guess whoever translates it for the writer must be a non-Indonesian who masters the local language by practice, rather than by taking formal lesson. Turns out when I checked on the comment section lots of people also said that the translation to their respective language is either weird or wrong.

Nonetheless, in a real world, most of the times I see patron don’t even bother to tell the waiters what they want, they simply call the waiter, show their index finger and point it to their drink, and the waiter knows perfectly that they want for another one. No wonder many foreigners still can’t speak Indonesian even though they have been living in the country for more than a couple of years. That’s the blessing of living in Asian countries - you’d get waiter going around tables and check your drink status, you don’t have to elbow other fifty thirsty patrons to get into the bar and wait for 45 minutes, ignored by the barmaids, just to get a drink, like here (last night while standing patiently at the bar, I heard a girl next to me shouted to the barman whether she has to be naked to get served - and was still completely ignored. Yikes).

Now, how do we translate “one more for the road” in Indonesian? Some of my expat friends literally translate it into “satu lagi untuk jalan“, which doesn’t make sense at all. The phrase means a final drink taken just before leaving on a journey, and since Indonesia doesn’t really have a drinking culture, we never say such thing.

Scottish version of the famous Rudyard Kipling’s “If” poem:

If you can bounce in six inch heels all night
And still walk home in your bare feet
If you can keep two passions burning bright
And see there`s still some romance in defeat
If you can hit a foreign beach without a tan
Or brave the howling sleet in just a shirt
If you know you are easily the better man
When side by side with suits in just a skirt
If you can picnic in the pelting rain
With kamikaze midgies in the mud
Or grit your teeth and put up with the pain
Of seeing in the New Year in the scud
If you can wait and wait for 1p change
Then proudly give the lot to charity
And know for certain it`s not strange
To call lunch dinner and your dinner, tea
If you can handle folk who call you jock
Then you`ll have really earned your Irn–Bru
You’ll thank your Mum for keeping you in stock
And what is more, you`ll feel phenomenal too.