Saturday, February 28, 2015

The Tale of a Grown-up Rabbit

by: Januarsyah Katz

The snow fell onto the grass, freezing and relentless. Yet, I stood still and sobbed. From afar, I witnessed humans were cutting down a fir tree which was of importance to me; it was my mother’s home.
She was a caring mother; a single parent who would do anything for her babies. Underneath the poor tree, she took care of me and my three siblings. Sadly, they were dead right now; a cruel wife of a farmer had put them in pies; just like what she did to my father. Those innocent rabbits didn’t behave badly as one might suggest, they were just being nostalgic.
One day, my happily-married siblings and I visited our kind mother; we missed her very much! After lunch, I felt sick as I ate too much and mother gave me a cup of herbal tea. She coaxed me to stay home and rest, before she and my siblings went down the lane to gather blackberries. No rabbit knew that the land had been bought by the farmer and he set up vicious traps all over the place. WHACK, WHACK, WHACK and WHACK! Spiky metal tore their flesh and kept my injured family there until the farmer came to thrust them into a sack. The ground was sprinkled with blackberries and red with their blood.
My cousin, Benji, had a plan to avenge the death of my sister who was also his dear wife but it didn’t take place as his house was buldozed by a gigantic vehicle. The brave rabbit was inside, resting. He died along with some of his children; their bodies were flat and their intestines sprouted out. At that time, lots of rabbits’ houses were destroyed and all remaining rabbits, including the rest of Benji’s children, had escaped to the unknown areas of the forest, risking their own lives of being eaten by predators.
I stayed; perhaps because I was confused and sad, and after I witnessed my mother’s home being destroyed. I decided to go to the farmer’s garden.
“Don’t go to the farmer’s garden,” my mother would say when she was alive. Before she gave the warning, I knew it’s forbidden to go to that particular area as there were signs along the fence which read, “No entry for those who have no right”. All I knew, my family supposed to have all the rights; my father found that fertile land first! Unlike my siblings, I preferred to break an unfair rule. I squeezed into the farmer’s enclosure and gobbled some lettuces, French beans and radishes. It tasted weird; it must be because of the pesticide he sprayed to get rid of pests. It made me feel rather sick. When I was about to leave, the farmer spotted me. He tried his best to catch me but I was faster and smarter than him; I escaped from the old man after a tiresome run.
“This time,” I thought, “I won’t run. I would do whatzever it takes to avenge the lives of my family.”
One jump at a time, I got closer to the farmer’s house. I dismissed the temptation to visit the new glass houses and eat some fresh vegetable which were protected from the cold snow. The wooden door was newly varnished; it looked shiny but the smell was extremely awful. The farmer’s house had become bigger than the first time I saw it; just like the size of his land; just like the size of his vegetables and fruits; just like the size of his chickens and pigs. Those chickens and pigs were so fat, they had difficulties walking!
When I reached the door, I kicked it with my hind legs at once, thinking about the pies in which my parents and my siblings were put in. I kicked once more, thinking about poor Benji and his children. I kicked it some more, thinking about the life full of resentment and the bleak future I had. I was about to cry before the faint click was heard; someone would catch me!
“This time,” I thought, “I wouldn’t run. They had destroy my house and killed my family and I will do just the same!”
A pretty girl appeared from the back of the door; I had never seen her before. I jumped and kicked her leg furiously. She was shocked and screamed. I got in and ready to attack more people in the house. As I didn’t see anyone, I jumped upon expensive chinas until they fell into pieces; pushed some vintage photograph frames from the tables; defacated on the sofas and the dining table; bumped on every dishes in sight so they would break on the floor! The house was a mess but I didn’t destroy it.
Realizing that I had no capability in bringing down a house, I jumped onto the floor and about to leave the house and reconsider about destroying this house. But round the dining table, whom should I meet but the old farmer himself. My worst adversary.
“You thief,” he said angrily.
I knew I might not have the ability to kill a person; but that didn’t put me down. I would not run away from this wicked farmer. He had to pay for what he had done; I kicked him as hard as I could on his right leg. He screamed as his old and ill leg could be easily hurt. When he fell on his knees, I jumped higher onto his shoulder and kicked his right face. His glasses fell and broke into pieces! I was convinced that I could kill the old man.
Suddenly, everything was dark. Someone came up with a sieve and caught me.
“Now you can’t go anywhere, wicked rabbit!” said the Farmer’s wife, “I’m going to put you in a pie and eat you with my granddaughter!”
On the contrary of what you think, I had predicted that I would end up in a pie. In fact, I was ready to die; what a lonely rabbit could do in such a cruel world? Undoubtedly, the afterlife would be more joyful as I certainly would meet my parents and siblings; and, perhaps the fig tree. We would once again live in a comfortable house happily.
***
“Were you put in a pie?”
“No, of course. I could not tell you this story if I was dead,” I explain.
“Then what happened, father?” asks one of my children, Daisy. She and her brothers jump around my body which has become as fat as the chickens and the pigs. Breathing is no longer an easy task for me and my wife because of the high amount of fat in our body.
“The little girl cried and did not want to eat a rabbit pie. She said that she would like to have me as her pet. After a long discussion, the farmer and his wife agreed to give me as a present to her and put me in this jail. From that moment, they never let me out. I was desperate and lonely, that girl gave me abundant amount of food and cleaned this jail twice a week but none of those made me happy. I kicked the fence as often as possible, not to get out, but to beg anyone to put me in a pie. No one ever did. Instead, the girl captured your mother and imprisoned her with me. Your mother was also furious and sad; she was separated from her family in the wood. At first, we were too busy kicking the fence to introduce ourselves but then we mated as it was impossible to neglect one’s biological needs. Then, the three of you were born. Here. In this very jail.”
“It’s not a jail, Father,” says Blacknose, “it’s called a cage!”
“Then it’s happily ever after, right? You found a new home and a new family!” exclaims Little Benji. He jumps up and down excitedly. I cringe. Inspite of my story, to these children this cage happen to be their home.
I hear a pitter-patter at length; that girl will come very soon. Precisely, the teenage girl appears from the back of the door and approached the cage. My children are excited to greet her; they think she is the saviour. She opens the door of the cage and let my children out to play. She doesn’t let me and my wife out even once, as she thinks we will run away. Stupid girl. Do we even have the ability to do that? I’m too old to lift my fat body, so is my wife.
I overhear their happy voices through the window. Poor children; It is very hard for them to understand that they have surrendered their mind to their worst enemy. Slaves, yes, they have become slaves. I have to be frank with you that end of the story is not very jolly, but in my view, this is what it is: my wife and I, are sentenced for life for remaining angry. Our ability to live in the wild has been stripped as we have depended our lives for so long to species that have killed our loved ones. My children, though, they will probably retell my tale with their own perspective. Perhaps their children will be familiar with this ending: finally, the grown-up rabbit found a new home and a new family. Together these imprisoned bunnies will think that I lived happily ever after, as they think all of them are.

Friday, February 27, 2015

What life means to Indonesian Transgender


People who live in Indonesia, especially in Jakarta have earned amount of money in many ways, they could become for example as parking attendants, peddlers, beggars, buskers, or prostitutes. Selling sex is not only made up primarily of men or women, because transgender people could be a part of it.
Why do transgender/transsexual people tend to involve in sex work? Of course because there are limited access in formal workplace who want to take them in, even though they might have ability to work. For example transgender women, their presence is often related to informal job like beauty salons, bridal make-up artists, or model. Some of transgender/transsexual people, however, have ability to work in the office, instead of to primp, so why then don’t give them a chance?
Can you imagine to live in a society where religion is most likely as the moral frame of reference for whatever you do, and then being a transgender usually considered a sin. Consequently, it will affect their lives and will be uprooted their rights. So, their lives without job and decent education. Therefore, most of them to sacrifice their bodies for men’s desires which some of their guests are hypocrites – insulting the existence of transgender people, but at the same time are attracted to them behind the cloak.
Yes, we have to admit that prostitution has been around before divine religions growth. Many tragic and touching stories, however, have happened by someone who struggles to sell their bodies sexually, it is barely no exception towards transgender people who may have had no opportunity to get a job in the formal workplace.
International programme and organisation such as UNDP, HIVOS, and others, in which ways most of job description offered by them still need to know how far representative of transgender people being part of their programme? Possibly gay and lesbian are most likely to hold important rules in formal workplace, because they don’t have significant problem with their gender identity like transgender do in general. Ironically, when to point out LGBT themes in the public, transgender people or “T” tend to be the only victims targeted by organisational survey. But when will transgender people truly to be part of formal workplace as a professional figure, instead of being an object of the survey?
As a writer myself, I would like to see that transsexual people also have a chance to be politician, the House of Representative (DPR), secretary, or as a doctor or teacher rather than a clown on television. Although some transgender people have educational supports, but if job vacancy are not available or permitted for them is the same thing as zero.
Hence, I think, the Indonesian manpower sector need to enhance job opportunities to be more gender friendly based on diversity of gender. To my knowledge, someone who work in formal sector may use their brain, instead of genital. Except those requirements are the same from prostituting your body in order to earn money.