Ayo Kita Berkelahi!February 7, 2011 at 6:55 pm | Posted in gak jelas, katarsis | 14 Comments
Tags: fairness, fighting, life, nostalgia
Let’s not talk about religion or how the Internet is changing the way we think and live. Let’s talk about fighting, and bullies. Most people who know me in person, who have seen me in person, will likely say I’m a wimp and that I don’t deserve anything but pity and disgust. I will take those words as an insult, of course, though I cannot immediately dismiss it as untrue. In my whole life, I’ve only had three fights that count as “real fight” in which I was — I have to be honest — never the man who triumphantly and gloriously prevailed (the first time I was engaged in a duel I was only 10 or 11. I hit a boy on his face, quite hard, with my small (but strong!) fist. He wept like a girl…for a few minutes before he wildly fought back like a bull and almost killed me.) There were times when I felt like I was the strongest boy on this earth of mice and men; when I thought I was more or less comparable to the juvenile version of Jet Li or Kotaro Minami or Yoga Cygnus in Japanese classic Saint Seiya, but that’s only in my head. I was pretty small in size back then, the shortest among my peers, and because of that, every week, during the excruciatingly tedious flag-hoisting ceremony, I was always discriminately asked to stand at the front of the line, facing the sun — its searing heat burned my forehead. It was perhaps, you might say, a healthy Monday morning sun. But, come on, this is upacara bendera!! Nobody likes upacara bendera except those narcissistic, robotic and boring paskibra boys!
To cut the story short, I was (or felt I was) bullied. I never liked being always at the front of the line in every silly occasion in school where our dear underpaid, unhappy pedagogs seemed to be treating us like children in a brainwashing communist country. And I hated it even more when I had to do it because — God knows whose fault — I happened to be the short little boy in class, and, being the smallest (read: weakest), I just couldn’t resist, couldn’t say no! The bullies in the back were probably big boys with a bleak, dark future [I wonder what happened to Berniala, the bad boy who made the meanest teacher in my ninth grade look like a caring, protective father we hate to love], but they were the most powerful people in school and they would surely do anything they thought were fun, hilarious, mundane and meaningless enough to make the lives of people like me as miserable as Marty McFly’s in Back to the Future. I wished I could pick up a fight with one of the bullies and subjugate him just like David did when [with a little hand from Yahweh who favored the future Jewish king] he kicked Goliath’s ass!
Die you Berniala mother fucker!! But it never happened. It just never happened. Why? I don’t think it’s because I’m a wimp. It’s more because at the time I didn’t know Niccolo Machiavelli, that great Italian philosopher, and Matheos (not a Greek philosopher), a friend and life mentor from Kupang.
All Is Fair in War (and Love?)
The US won the war against Japan. They won the war. Period. Nobody says the US was cheating when Washington nuked Hiroshima and Nagasaki, killing God knows ho many. Why? Well, as the saying goes, all is fair in war (thanks Matheos for telling me this). If the Japanese had found the nuclear weapon first, history would have taken into a completely different twist. Indonesia might never exist! Machiavelli was quoted as saying that the end justifies the means. The use of nuclear weapon is justified in a time of war. It brutally killed many, but it also helped end the war. Is it fair? Well, as I said, all should be fair in war, including cheating. There’s no such thing as “honest” and “fair” tactic. Even Prophet Muhammad, believed by the believers to be unbelievably trustworthy, used war tactics and fooled his enemies in many “holy” wars! Ah, now let’s go back to my story about bullies and fighting. I was so wrong for thinking that it was wrong to use any means available to win a fight. I was naive. If the bully was bigger and stronger than me, then the fight was never fair in the first place. Am I right? So why did I feel I was not ksatria enough to use a stick or anything at hand to hurt someone who wanted to hurt me? All is fair in a fight, any fight. And if anyone challenges me for a duel because he hates me, or because I slept with his girlfriend, I will do anything to defend myself. And I will never ever fight like Jean-Claude Van Damme and all the silly actors in any low-budget action movies who could single-handedly kick the asses of many mindless, incompetent supporting actors. I never learned karate, aikido, jujitsu, or whatever, though I knew a great deal about ekkado, teriyaki and yakiniku. But, hey, there’s a reason why the Chinese were colonized by the Japanese and Europeans for decades. Kung fu is no match for firearms. Silat failed to save us from 300 years of humiliation under Dutch imperialism! It’s not how good you fight; it’s that decisive moment that matters; when you either prevail with a slightly bruised face or perish with a badly bruised face, and an unbearably aching, wounded heart. To die as a loser. To die as a big loser.
So I was prepared to do anything to defend myself and protect my girlfriend when we were kind of lost in the wood with two strangers the other day. Nothing happened, though. The strangers turned out be nice folks trying to make a living. But I told my girlfriend when we got home that I was kind of worried about her and would surely fight for her safety if the two guys had meant us any harm. She was not impressed at all, let alone flattered. 😐 She told me she wasn’t worried at all for she could manage to handle the big guy alone and that I could take care of the little guy if they really meant to do us harm. I was a little bit offended and asked her if she is really a good female fighter. And her answer was, “I can beat you in a fight. I can really kick your ass, hunny.” Errrr…for this we men ought to lose the fight. All is fair in war, but probably not in love, never.