Tag Archives: british

Indonistan Pt.2

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BBC dan Guardian ikutan memberitakan Ahok divonis bersalah karena penistaan agama. Iya, saya tahunya dari situ, karena saya malas ngikutin berita online di Indonesia. Berita online di Indonesia masih belum selevel dengan berita TV atau koran, baik dari sisi cek dan ricek, bias, dan juga tata cara penulisan. Mungkin karena mereka maunya cepat, dan jadi yang pertama memberitakan sesuatu, lalu lupa bahwa “cepat” bukan satu-satunya tolok ukur reportase yang baik… “akurat” juga.

Eeeeniwei… saya bukan anak jurnalistik, cuma ikut kelas dasar-dasar jurnalistik satu semester saja. Jadi, biarlah anak (dan lulusan) studi jurnalistik yang mengomentari dunia jurnalisme online di Indonesia.

Kembali ke Ahok saja ya…

Setelah beberapa bulan persidangan, dengan berbagai macam kontroversi saat prosesnya, akhirnya calon mantan gubernur DKI Jakarta itu divonis bersalah juga. Meskipun saksi-saksi yang diajukan ternyata banyak yang bodong, meskipun ada bukti yang ternyata video editan… si Cina Kafir itu divonis bersalah juga.

Saya rasa memang sudah saatnya. Bukan saya menunggu-nunggu Ahok kena batunya, tapi saya tahu bahwa Indonesia belum siap dengan kebebasan berpendapat dan berbicara di ruang publik. Bukan saya merasa Ahok bersalah, tapi saya tahu bahwa negara ini memang tidak adil pada golongan minoritas. Saya tidak perlu menyebutkan contoh, karena semua orang bisa lihat sendiri — bukan cuma kalian yang di Indonesia, orang-orang di sini juga bisa lihat kok. Buktinya sampai diberitakan di BBC dan Guardian.

Kecewa? Hm… iya, sedikit. Kaget? Tidak sama sekali. Ingat Jessica? Atau Antasari Azhar? Sama seperti kedua kasus tersebut, bukti-bukti lemah, saksi-saksi tidak kredibel… tetap saja vonis bersalah. Dan seperti yang saya bilang waktu yang lalu — kalau ini bisa terjadi pada Jessica dan Antasari Azhar — dan sekarang Ahok, ini bisa terjadi pada siapa saja.

Sebenarnya saya malas ikut-ikutan komen… Tapi ini bulan Mei, dan biasanya di bulan Mei saya lebih sensi dari biasanya.

whatever…

Tiba-tiba nyesel revert back ke Bahasa Indonesia. I don’t feel like I want to be an Indonesian right now…

Women And Hobbies

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One of my friend posted this link from MGOTW on his facebook page. This is the link if you would like to click, and if you don’t this is the summary:

It is basically a discussion thread asking why WOMEN don’t have hobbies and lack of creativity. The question was asked by a man, and it was answered mostly by men who agreed with him. The thread was basically discuss how women (or specifically women that these guys have known in person) don’t (or if they do, it would be rarely) involved in any activities other than gossiping (which they usually call “hanging out with the girls”), or stuffing themselves with cake while watching TV, or nagging their other half because they want attention.

Hold on.

I didn’t say that it is 100 percent true.

Afterall, the discussion is in MGOTW, where most users there are likely to have an issue with women in general. If I was a Freudian, I would assume that their mums had tried to breastfed them with lemon concentrate when they were still an infant, making them so bitter about women. So, if you did click the link and were feeling slightly upset… please. It is MGOTW, take anything you read there with a pinch of salt.

But it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t think about what they’re saying though. There’s a reason why lots of people believe that women don’t have hobbies. Even women themselves agree to a degree that their peers seem to be lacking in this department.

Before I continue, I have to say that I have exclude the UK in general. I learned from my years being here, that this country is the “United Kingdom of Hobbyists”. It seems men, women, old, and young… everybody has a hobby. One at least. From stamp collecting, to trainspotting, from Magic The Gathering, to knit, and crocheting… you name it. They have it.

However if I see my friends in Indonesia — female friends, albeit I don’t have many. Ah, even my female family members. It seems that they don’t understand what a hobby is about.

Most of them love being online, looking at interesting stuff in video and repost and reshare, and tag people who actually have hobbies. “Bikin ini dong” (make me this, please). Or making a ridiculous comment about how my cooking and knitting hobby is what define me as a good housewife. Most of them don’t understand that people do stuff just for the sake of it.

People like being solitary, and being passionate about something. People do that to have fun. It doesn’t have to be the man-style hobbies like boxing, fishing, rock climbing. It doesn’t have to be too geeky like gaming, or train modelling. It is something that you do.

Most women I know don’t do this. Even my own mother thinks that hobby is a waste of time. She thought she gardens as a hobby, but to be honest, she just ask someone to do the garden while she enjoys looking at it. She doesn’t read, let alone write. She doesn’t cook, let alone experimenting with baking. But of course… My father is the same.

I don’t think it is all gender related. It is mostly cultural too. My grandfather is a big music buff, he wouldn’t spend a day away from our electric organ, he’s a greenfinger too — a proper one, you could see him on the garden tending our mango trees. My grandmother loves cooking, but she mostly do it as a part of daily chore. I am not sure if it is her hobby, or it is just something she should do because she likes feeding the family.

My sister loves tennis, like my grandfather. If she wasn’t pregnant she would have gone to the court at least twice a week. My other sister… she has a bunch of hobbies from crafting to mountain climbing. My brother on the other hand… I think he’s more like my father. He does game a bit, but I have never seen him with a particular hobby.

See? It is not a gender related thing. It is also cultural, and I believe economic factor plays a big role in it. My parents grew up when things were difficult, so it is impossible to develop a hobby because hobby takes money. I think human character plays a role too, because I found some people just don’t have this kind of passion some other has.

I think introvert people are more likely to develop a hobby because they have time for themselves. They will have time to consider things that they actually like doing, rather than doing things because their pals doing it too.

So…

What’s your hobby?

 

I Am Sorry…

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One of the thing of being English is that you say sorry a lot. You say sorry for almost everything — it is a part of the culture. You apologise when you make the lady in the till wait for two seconds longer while you are rummaging your bag to find that elusive pound coin. You apologise when someone thought you are queuing while you’re actually just standing there minding your own thing. I think it is a part of making thing less awkward. But what do I know. I am not English.

But my husband is English — and he does apologise a lot, just to make sure people would recognise his English-ness — as if that fair skin, blonde hair, and British accent is not enough. And yes he’s born and bred British, and he’s proud of it. I mean, like normal people feeling proud of their nationalities.

But today, he looked mournful, and told me after a long sad sigh:

“Darling I am sorry. I am sorry for being English.”

My heart broke.

I mean it is true that yesterday, for the first time I don’t want to support England team on Euro2016. For the first time I didn’t cheer for them nor Wales the day before. I put away my union jack mug which I normally use for my daily caffeine. And, I am selling my “St George cross” steel boned waist reducing corset.

I mean… who am I kidding? I might get an elocution course to adopt a perfect sound of BBC English accent, or made a long and elaborate speech about how the weather has been while drinking a nice cup of tea — but with this straight black hair, yellow complexion, and slightly slanted eyes I would never be English, would I? Why even bother to try? These people wouldn’t ever see me as one of them, would they?

But when my husband said those two sentences. I feel… ambivalent.

Not once I could put my husband in the same category with these racist idiots who took a childish decision to storm out from EU just because they’re angry. Not once I could see my husband as the same creature who attacks and make hateful remarks to people from different nationalities, ethnicities, nor religions. I could never be able to see her in the same picture with those who use the same word “PROUD”, going on the street telling people to go back to their own country.

But I can understand why he feel bad for being English — as this particular post-Brexit time is just the worst time to be a foreigner in this proud country.

It is the same when I feel slightly offended when these racist bastards make hateful comments to immigrants, or to ethnic minorities. It is the same when I feel incredibly upset when homophobic bastards make ignorant comments about LGBT in Indonesia. It is the sense of belonging that is tainted with negative emotion. Mine with upset and anger. His with shame and guilt.

And I am so sad that he feels that way.

He has done everything that is right. And I know if things go south, he will stand by me. But this is sadly something even he — My Mr.Fix-It– cannot fix.

And it is terrible terrible feeling.

This EU result is not only affecting the country as a whole, but also us as an individual. It might hit some people faster than the other — some might be in denial, or still hoping that things are going to settle down and get better.

I really hope all the scary things would never happen. I really wish for the best for everybody that once the dust has settled, it is not going to be ruins that we see. But for now I would stop talking about EU referendum and the shit that it has brought to us. I would go to my dearest husband, give him a little hug, and console him — while consoling myself.

Good night…

What Would You Do If Your Child Is Gay?

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We have had this conversation a long time ago when I was still hanging out with Onyed’s friends. It was almost ten years ago, can you believe that? So when the question was raised again not so long time ago, on one of my acquaintances on their facebook status. Basically these people are questioning the paternal instinct of people who are supporting LGBT in Indonesia.

I couldn’t and wouldn’t screenshot their status, nor link you back to them, because I don’t want them to go viral. I am with “don’t make stupid people popular” thing, so you should — unfortunately, take it from me or leave it 🙂

Basically they’re saying that they believe that human rights shouldn’t cover being gay or lesbian. They believe that it has gone too far. And to be fair, I don’t care of what they are believing in — it is their human rights after all to have faith in something. But then in the end of their argument they’re asking this:

“To people who are supporting LGBT, what would you feel if it is your child that is gay?”

Ten years ago, I thought it would be fine. Of course. It would be okay to have a gay child. But now I start to question my answer. Do I really want to have a gay child in Indonesia — where they would be persecuted by being themselves? Would I have the heart to let them be bullied by these bigots? If I have a gay child, my problem would not be the fact that they are gay, but the fact that they will have a difficult life in Indonesia.

But what would I feel?

I would feel the same. I would love them all the same. I would support them, and help them to find their true happiness. I would do what I think a parent should do for their children, after making them suffer enough by being born to this world.

I shouldn’t think differently.

Wait… wait… What’s that? Oh! I can hear some of you say: “You are not a parent, and you don’t want to have children anyway… you wouldn’t know how it feels to have a gay child.”

Of course. Well then…

My question is, what would THEY (these idiots) do if they have gay children?

Persecute them? Beat them up until they “repent”? Disown them? Lock them up in their room to straighten them up? Or like my parents — bring them to a psychiatrist who drug them with zoloft to “cure” their gayness?

Don’t you think it sounds like an abuse? Maybe… maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t have a child, just in case you might abuse them in the future…

 

Don’t Be Gay in Indonesia!?!

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I thought we were past this now, and I cannot believe that today, in 2016 I have to write about LGBT again. *deep sigh* *find a happy place*

Right!

I tried to find articles about LGBT I have written in the past. I couldn’t find them. Do you know why? Probably, I have never written about LGBT before. And do you know why? Maybe, in the past people were not such an asshole like people in Indonesia today. Maybe in the past, despite of their opinion about us, they would just leave us alone. Or maybe in the past, people were nicer without so called religions.

from upi.com

I don’t know. All I know is that now media tried to picture us as the bad guy of the universe. Not the people who bombed buildings, not terrorists who ran around shooting police officers, not the group of people who destroy buildings and businesses in the name of their oh-so-mighty-god. Oh no… not the religious leaders who molested their apprentices/students-whatever, not the wife beating abusive father drunken thug who litters on the street. No. The enemy is us… What a sick, twisted mind, that could produce such an ignorant conclusion – thinking that LGBT is a problem?

Or maybe they just don’t think? You know… thinking is a sign of intelligence. Considering Indonesian’s average IQ is only 87 — and there are ten of thousands of us with IQ more than 100 (with some people with IQ more than 130 in Mensa Indonesia), there must be millions of people with IQ lower than 80. It is borderline intellectual functioning. Isn’t it? No wonder they are just so dense… no wonder they failed to contemplate this:

Translated from Bahasa Indonesia: “if a GAY sexually abuses someone, people blame their GAY-ness. Why is it that if a STRAIGHT does the same, it is the individual that gets the blame? (Why don’t you blame their STRAIGHT-ness – as the reason why they sexually abuse people?)

It is 2016. It’s been 10 years since I got acquainted with LGBT communities — from si Onyed, obviously. Superbyq is about to have it’s 6th anniversary. It’s been more than 4 years since I left Indonesia, and almost 2 years of being married. And Indonesia… is going backwards, instead of catching up with other civilised countries. What the F is going on?

Our Minister of Research and Technology made a statement about banning LGBT from campuses. Our so called Mental Health practitioner “revised” the universally acknowledged DSM to his own version and called homosexuals and transgenders as mentally ill. Now, not only the so called religion of peace are making long marches to demonstrate their ignorance on the street, the other religions are following their footstep in the bigotry lane.

If several days ago, Mr. Fix-It and I had the “what if” idea, and thinking of coming back to Indonesia and live there. Now, I don’t think that is the case. I don’t want to live in Indonesia. I don’t think I could live among these people. I don’t think I could survive living among these idea. I don’t think, I could give up my freedom of being me, and going back to where I have to deny my own identity.

I am so glad that in Indonesia we still have people like MerryDT who is still trying to educate these bunch of dimwits — because I have to admit, I don’t have the patience to face these kind of people. People like her are the reason I can still have hope that this country could bounce back and catch up with modern civilisation. But, until then, I would rather stay here where I could raise my rainbow flag, wave it around with pride.

Like I said before… this is a grim time to be an Indonesian.

Prost.

Home

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I know… I know it is a late post, but as I always say… better late than never. You could disagree with that, but let’s agree to disagree. Agree?

Yes. I am home. In this case I am now back in Norwich after a whole month holiday in Indonesia. You might ask me, what I have achieved during my whole month of doing nothing in my parents’ house. Of course you might. And I might answer: WISDOM.

I think “wisdom” sounds much better than “nothing… really”.

Alright… I did not really achieve nothing. Okay? I got something done. I had my hair cut, and dyed it purple (yay me!!), I met my family and some of my friends, and caught up with the latest news, I also had a coil contraception placed inside my tummy (stories about it — coming soon). I also did a little research and looked around the city and contemplating the “what if”.

The very what if we rarely mentioned before.

“What if Mr.Fix-It and I move to Indonesia?”

Of course it is silly considering today’s social and political situation in Indonesia. I really can’t see me living in a country where LGBT is still considered as illegal. I have been living here where people could be themselves without any kind of social punishment — for being themselves. I can’t see how can I live among people who condemn LGBT — even among them are some of my closest relatives (stories about it — coming soon).

But most of all, a month in Indonesia teaches me what it means to be home, or even… what home means for me.

People said that home is where the heart is. I believe so too. But what if you don’t know where your heart should be? My family is still in Indonesia. My parents, my sisters, my brother… my dogs. Life is much easier there as I could get stuff done without lifting my middle finger.  But… at the same time, my one and only beloved husband is here in Norwich. I am the queen of my own kitchen. I am the lady of my own house. My knitting projects are here… My heart is utterly confused.

How do I decide where home is?

Well… apparently it was quite simple. On the day I arrived in Norwich, after 10 minutes taxi ride, I found this:

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It is stuck in my front door by my husband. When I saw it, I knew I was… HOME.

Kitchen And Women in Cultural Discourse

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Despite the fact that percentage-wise there were more famous male celebrity chefs on telly than female chefs, kitchen has always been associated with women. The never ending, and a little bit tired joke about sending women back or chaining them to the kitchen doesn’t help either. I don’t mind being in the kitchen here in my house in the UK, but somehow I feel slightly uneasy to visit the kitchen of our family home in Solo.

I did not understand why. I thought it was just merely because we had a couple of helpers to do all the cooking and cleaning, and our grandmother was pretty strict about who’s being the queen of the kitchen — that I tend to leave the kitchen alone. But I realised that that was not it after being unemployed for some times and spending many hours watching architecture and house moving programme on telly.

I realised that kitchen functions quite differently here in the UK and in Indonesia.

In the UK, kitchen is considered as the heart of the house. It is something to brag about. It is located usually quite close to the main entrance or just next to the garden. It is the place with the highest activity rate: breakfast bar, cooking, coffee-chatting, etc. You would not think twice to invite your friend to see your kitchen, showing off your new hob or just for to get a cuppa. You love your kitchen, everybody loves your kitchen.

In Indonesia, kitchen is a hidden place. You don’t speak kitchen in the living room. It is in the back of the house, where all the dark secret of the house is kept. You would not ever invite friends to have a chat in the kitchen. You would not let her see your new shiny oven, because all your friends need to know is that you can serve them seven dishes meal in the dining room. And that’s it.

How it’s supposed to reflect the society attitude towards women then? It’s pretty obvious isn’t it?

Whenever kitchen is associated with women, how the family’s attitude towards kitchen is very relevant. My husband would never mind coming in and out the kitchen. He wouldn’t mind washing the dishes, and sometimes even getting me a cup of coffee when I was too comfy in the sofa with my knitting. My father, on the other hand, has never set foot in the kitchen since we finished building the house and the kitchen started to function as a kitchen.

The kitchen also reflects how women see their role themselves. When they cook they see it as their duty to provide, and the family has taken for granted the special skills needed to process the raw vegetables to yummy in the tummy. But here, everyday… every single day, Mr. Fix It would thank me for every meal, every cake, and bites of biscuits. Kitchen is where challenges, achievements and fun happen.

In a more modern Indonesia, houses has an open kitchen, but women don’t cook as often. The attitude towards women has shifted with it as well as their role in providing for the family and the households. When we lived in an apartment complex, we ordered delivery more often than we cook, and it was just the norm for every young modern families living there.

In communal place such as student dormitory, kitchen is where the gossip and drama is expected to emerge. It’s where you show off power to tell people who rules the student hall. Although that’s not always the case. The kitchen would be in the middle. It shows how equal everybody was (or should be) in the community.

Isn’t it amazing how kitchen has changed and shaped our perspective of the world? Of ourselves? And wouldn’t it answer my hesitation to start chop chop where I was in Indonesia? Why wouldn’t you take a look in your kitchen and tell me how’s your kitchen has influenced your life?

Mr. Fix-It and The Boiler…

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Last few days were tough…

Mr. Fix-It and I came down with a bug (and PMS for me), which has made both of us feel like crap. It was a constant lethargic feeling, with a headache which was persistently coming and going, and sometimes also followed with muscle pain and sudden blocked nose. It was horrible. The week was draggy for Mr. Fix-It at work. Even for me, a short 10 minute walk to the supermarket felt were agonising.

Of course the changing of the weather did not help. Spring is coming, but –hell, the winter has not yet over with its torturing session. It was cold and dry windy sunny day one day, and wet and slightly warmer the following day. Oh, curse the weather…

But, what makes it worse is that our boiler just went bust last night and it drove my husband bonkers.

I have heard the anecdotes about the Brits and their boiler (try to google it, I could not be bothered to do it today). However I have never imagined that I would be in the position of witnessing it myself.

Sunday morning, I was expecting a nice relaxing weekend with my husband — after a week and an extra day work. Good morning kiss? Nope. Breakfast in bed? You only wish. Warm worry-less snuggle? Not quite.

Once I opened my eyes and ears, I could hear his voice in the background talking on the phone to someone from the council. He said something about the boiler has been dripping, and the pressure is down. I understood that it meant a day without the boiler heating and hot water from the tap. But bear in mind that we do have a separate water heater for shower, so as far as I know I could just walk in to the shower and get wet happily. Electricity was on too, so we could always put the kettle on for if we need hot water for washing up purpose.

I was not worried until I saw his gloomy face.

I prepared lunch (obviously I was hungry as there was no breakfast in bed), and we ate. But he, of course had no appetite and soon after he finished half his lunch, he rushed back to the boiler room to find out how much it has leaked.

It went on and on and on and on again for a day. Well, at least until dinner time. That’s when he decided that there was nothing he could do except to wait for the next day (which is today) for the boiler guy to repair our heating system.

Yet he still made a few return to the boiler room just to give me elaborated reports about how bad the boiler has broken.

No I was not upset or impatient. Of course I was upset that my husband was under a lot of stress, because it was supposed to be his day to relax and wind down. The fact that he was so preoccupied and unable to enjoy his day off was worrying because it means he could not rest to ward off his bug. But I understood that he was concerned with the condition of our boiler, although I could not understand why.

This morning, he texted from work. Seemed lighter and less worried, telling me that the boiler repairman would be here. And he is here now, working on it, while I am typing this.

Well, he said there was NO problem whatsoever. Happily took my offer for tea — which suggested that he is a very well mannered and civilised person, and also competent –obviously.

So, hope for the best 🙂

Cheers

If You Don’t Have Anything Nice To Say…

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There goes the saying…

If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything.

I started to hear about this expression since few years ago, when I got better acquainted with British TV programmes. And the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of it. I would love to live in a place where people would rather embrace the awkward silence than saying anything offensive.

But in our culture, that’s not the case, isn’t it?

While I have been embracing this one British golden wisdom, and trying to apply this in my life, I was bombarded with all the negativity coming from the eastern side of my life. While I was trying to understand the importance of rapport building, and tact management, there are cretinous dimwits that would just trample down everything that I believe is good.

Oh yes, our culture does not recognise tact and rapport building. They would just say it, and say it in your face things that is not theirs to say. For example: a long lost friend just learned how to use facebook found your profile photo amusing. Obviously it is just natural for them to click and comment something about how you have gained/lost so much weight since the last time they’ve seen you — about a decade ago.

Or, you haven’t talked to this mysterious auntie from your grandmother’s brother’s wife since you were born. Probably the first and the last time you talked to her is to say, “fuck off you old hag” in baby language, and then you forgot because you were milk-drunk. But this particular lady thought it is perfectly acceptable to ask you why you haven’t got married while your younger cousins have already got their second pregnancy on the way. And just an icing on the top, they would tell you to stop doing that freelance job because there’s no money in it.

When the first time I invited my husband (then my boyfriend) to Indonesia, I warned him that Indonesian, especially Chinese Indonesian is not known for their tactful behaviour. Not only that our language composition sounds crass, but also that we don’t understand the concept of personal boundaries either. One of the elders would start making gestures of babies and shit, and not even language barrier would stop them from being offensive. I am quite aware of that.

Maybe, it is one of the reason why I am not too keen on the Indonesian Society gatherings. Or bringing my husband to that place, to meet my fellow Indonesians in Norwich. I know in fact that some of them would come across, not only incredibly rude, but also… a little bit twat-ish.

It is embarrassing.

Wait… I am not embarrass with my origin, my culture, or my friends. But I am embarrassed that we are so ignorant, that we as a culture don’t understand how offensive we are to other people. We are so blind to the cultural discrepancies, and forgot that we are no longer surrounded by the forgiving Asians who believe that rapport is just a myth.

I thought the younger generation is not as embarrassing as the older ones. I thought as we are going global, more exposed to different cultures and societies, we learned something about it. No we don’t.

It is not only rooted deep and strong, it is mutated with either North American (I don’t mean USA. Honest!) style bravado and arrogance (“BABE, you have to go to my gym, they’re fab and you can lose that flab”) , or religious bigotry and arrogance (“*gibberish chant from an exotic oiled desert* Man, you are so going to hell if you keep denying the existence of MY god *more gibberish chants*”).

If you are not coming from this particular culture, you would ask, “why can’t they just keep it to themselves? Why do they have to meddle in someone else’s business?”

The answer is they cannot. They physically cannot restrain themselves from being a dick/bitch, and blurt out their mind. It’s like a brain disorder, where they cannot just not say things, no matter how offensive or stupid it would sound. It’s an urge. Like when you are having diarrhoea, and you would have to go… that’s exactly what happens to them. They blurted out shit.

Oh dear, I sounded angry there, didn’t I?

Anyway, anyway… I know that some people found it okay to be commented about their weight, or their marital status, or whatever, by a stranger. I don’t.

So, see you again next time.

Cheers

 

Bybyq and NHS

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Few weeks ago I received a letter from the surgery where I am registered. Oh, in this country surgery does not mean operation, I am not having a surgery. It is just some kind of clinic, where doctors and nurses are working.

The letter, or newsletter I should say, is about a free smear test that I could take, courtesy to the NHS. Isn’t it awesome?

Although I would say that I hate smear test, I love NHS. NHS stands for National Health Service. The name says it all. Basically it is the government funded program for people (citizen and residents) so that they could get a free standardised medical service in the UK. It is believed that the UK healthcare system is one of the best in the world.

If you want to know how it started and how far it has developed, you might want to watch “Call the Midwife”, BBC British period drama set in London 1950s, inspired on a memoir. Oh yes, true story. The free healthcare system in the UK has started long time ago.

With NHS, I could get free contraception, and free smear test. My husband and I can get free GP consultation, and most of the time entitled to get free prescription and standard medication if he needs it. Blood test, STD test, etc. are free too. Most of the time they would even provide free condoms in the clinic. Can’t you see how cunning it is?

The government seems like spending so much money for these services. But actually, if we think about it, it is much cheaper to prevent pregnancy than paying child benefit for people who don’t work. It is much cheaper to supply free contraception than curing STIs or paying for an abortion. It is much cheaper to be able to detect illness before it becomes terminal and would take more money to “fix”.

I think, it is very cunning.

However, many British citizen seems as if they don’t see it as a privilege of living in a first world country. They don’t seem to appreciate these services. They moan when they had to wait hours for a FREE GP consultation. They become very grumpy for not being able to get a quick free fix for whatever illness they have got. I don’t understand.

In Indonesia, we would die for that kind of service.

President Joko Widodo has tried when he was the mayor of Solo and governor of Jakarta, a free healthcare system called Kartu Sehat or Health Card. It is not for everyone, yet, because for a start only the poorest of the poor that can access that service.

However, it was not socialised quite well. People don’t understand that they need to go to a local clinic to get referred to a hospital so that they could use the Health Card. Instead, people went directly to the hospital, asking for a free healthcare, while the hospital knew no shit about what’s going on. In the end, many cynic saw this embryo of a proper healthcare system as a failing system, and tried so hard to abort the embryo.

I can imagine if all social elements in Indonesia support this Health Card system, it should work. My mother taught her factory workers to employ the Health Card to get them and their baby’s health checked. It worked. It should work anywhere in Indonesia too. Imagine that this little healthcare program could be applied all over Indonesia? One day we could get a free healthcare system for everyone.

Would it kill private practice?

Don’t be stupid.

Doctor is needed anywhere. There are private doctors and nurses in the UK, and they are still earning. NHS would not kill private hospital, but it gives the poor their rights to be treated with a standardised medical practice.

So there…