Two Faces

Everything was well according to the plan: going to Pasar Santa again, having lunch in its wet section, buying used books (and Dusty Sneakers' new book!) in POST, then watching a students chamber orchestra concert. Everything was even better seen in retrospect: to be able to chat and to mock cheesy soap operas with the jocular wet market tenants, also to be able to snatch awesome classic books in cheap prices. The orchestra was good, too, albeit with some tiny, tiny disturbances. One contra bass player's chair was squeaky, the clash cymbals' sound was no longer crisp, and one cello had its strings slapped the fingerboard, producing "flappy" sounds. I'm not an expert in classical music or symphonic orchestra. Hell, I'm not an expert on anything. So they were not a big deal because the rest of the day was too delightful to fuss about small things.

What's not in the plan was this one event, the second anniversary of a reading community in Taman Menteng - a community I was just made aware of by Teddy. (And again, Nitha laughed at my cluelessness about it.) The other option after the orchestra was to watch Guardians of the Galaxy, but why watch something that you can watch later - either legally or illegally?

So off we went, after grabbing a dinner and feeling a little bit posh about ourselves.

The community literally named itself Komunitas Baca-baca di Taman (KBBT). Unlike its straightforward name, its history is rather murky for me. Teddy said that it was initiated by some ex-punk heads there. They ditched their old lives, collected some books, and invited gamins to read every Saturday night. The first three meetings were held in Bundaran HI. They switched place to Taman Menteng because it's quieter, it has more trees, and it's less polluted here, unlike the traffic-heavy Bundaran HI. The community then got bigger and attracted the non-members or everyone who happened to be there to sit and read with them. They make events with tongue-in-cheek acronyms: BiR (beer) that stands for Bincang Ringan (small talk), KuDeTa (coup d'etat) that stands for Kumpul dengan Teman (gathering with friends), and a discussion session called MiRas (liquor) that stands for Mikir Keras (thinking hard).

When Nitha and I arrived, the anniversary celebration had not started.

"Let's play swings!" she asked me. I obliged.

We walked to the northern part of Taman Menteng where the swings located. I laid my eyes to the pyramidal glass house. I've been told that KBBT usually takes place in front of it, so it's likely that their anniversary was there, too. But still, there were not so much activities in its vicinity. Amidst the couples on Saturday night dates, parents bringing their kids to play in the sandbox, cigarette-and-instant-drink-mix sellers on bikes, and some teenagers playing futsal, the glass house shone brightly, illuminated the park and its dwellers. From afar, where I sat on my swing set, it looked like the third world version of Louvre pyramid.

Taman Menteng was previously Menteng Stadium, a football stadium belonged to Persija Jakarta. In 2004, under Sutiyoso's administration, it was planned to be converted to be a park (the plan allegedly date back even further, during Surjadi Soedirdja's administration). It was very controversial. Some individuals in PSSI reacted with disdain. It even almost led to a conflict that almost disband Persija. 30 billion rupiah and almost 3 years later, it was finally open to public as a park.

Ten minutes passed. I said to Nitha, "I think they are getting started. Let's go there."

And there they were. There was this modest make-do stage in front of the glass house, on the side adjacent to Jl. H. O. S. Cokroaminoto. One man, wearing striped T-shirt and three-quarter jeans, played two-piece drum kit. The other man, a middle-aged man with glass, played guitar. He dressed in white Tshirt with batik scarf around his neck, singing some folks songs. A banner in black color is tied in trees. It said happy 2nd anniversary, signed "KBBT - Komazine". There were two other stand banners in white, beside those two guys playing music. One showed KBBT's motto: "Mau Pintar Kenapa Musti Bayar?" (why must you pay if you want to be smart?). The other: "Bawa Buku Buka dan Baca di Taman" (bring books, open and read them in the park); complete with a cartoon of bourgeoisie-looking giant boar in suits and top hat, reading book while stepping on the protesting humans to death. Red stars and the anarchists' Circle-As adorned both banners. KBBT is apparently a redemption, an educative facility for street people, a society of sharing, and a protest to despondent government all at once.

The books were laid on a mat on the terrace of glass house. We looked around. Most of the ones who came wore black T-shirts. The books were mostly Pramoedya Ananta Toer's. And surprisingly, the collection was very extensive. There were Mangir, Larasati, Arus Balik, Nyanyi Sunyi Seorang Bisu, Perempuan dalam Cengkeraman Militer, Arok Dedes, Calon Arang, and of course, Buru Tetralogy. Among Pramoedya's books, there were several editions of zine titled Komazine scattered.

We spoke to a man who introduced himself as Uu'. His face, his long hair, and his stature reminded me of Indonesian young philosopher, Martin Suryajaya. Not that I actually ever met Martin, but his resemblance was quite conspicuous. He manages both KBBT and Komazine. He is Komazine's all-around writer, layouter, editor, and illustrator.

Komazine is an alternative zine with strong left political leaning. The name was derived from "koma" (coma), which according to them is the most apt depiction to describe this nation: in limbo, coma, neither life nor dead. Its life force has been sucked by the corporates and the corrupt governments, leaving next to nothing to the common folks. Komazine is even older than KBBT. When KBBT was born in September 1st 2012, Komazine already issued its 11th edition. It has 16 issues to date. 

"How often is it usually published?"

"It's not regular. We publish it when we're able to publish. The next edition, for instance, will have to be pushed back to October due to some problems."

I held one in my hand. It dated July 2009.

Visually coarse and crudely illustrated, Komazine hosts works and writings from Uu' and his friends. There are writings about social protests, critics to government, propaganda against capitalism. There are also poems and caricatures. And what excited me somehow were the writings about Marx and Bakunin. With all the limitations these people in Komazine have, be it educations, budgets, and literature references, they succeeded in transforming themselves into political educators for other people. This autodidact, guerrilla education is very, very admirable.

I asked if I can buy this one. 

"Well, I didn't bring copies with me. If you want that one we can make you a copy. We have Twitter account. Mention us the issue you want and next week we'll bring it to you."

"Do you have the one that is for sale?"

I grabbed three issues. The young man besides me took one.

"So, how do you know Teddy?" I asked.

"Oh, he just came here one night. And we just 'clicked'"

"He was with Maesy?"

"Oh, the lady? Yeah. She couldn't stand near here, though. She had trouble breathing. Those dudes were smoking. I wasn't. I don't smoke."

"She has asthma."

Beside being used to finance its future edition, the sales of Komazine are used to fund the maintenance of KBBT's books.

"Are you not afraid if these Pramoedya books are borrowed but not returned?"

"No. We have a strict policy regarding this kind of books. It must be returned in the same day."

Nitha then asked, "What happens if it rains?"

"Oh, we're gonna save the books first. We'll wrap them, make sure they're not wet. Don't care if we are soaked by the rain."

The guys playing drum and guitar "stepped down". The birthday party was about to begin. To my surprise, one relatively new TV station also came to report. After asking Uu' for interview and for taping the event, the crew asked me and Nitha to be interviewed. Both of us declined. Nitha said to me that it's very typical for a TV station to find the photogenic ones. Apparently my blob-like appearance was camera-friendly.

"Okay, we're kinda late actually," says the MC, "most of us have gathered anyway. So let us begin!"

Like the books, the stage and its music equipments were collective good. Several people took the stage alternately. Some sang Iwan Fals songs. Some sang their own song bearing the same message of protest to government, support for the labors, and demand for social justice.

One reminded us about capitalism: "The capital is only owned by a few people!"

"Go back to Article 33!" sang one. Article 33 of Indonesian constitution is about social welfare: common endeavor based on kinship principle, ownership of sectors of production which are important for the country and affect the life of the people by the country, and utilization of Indonesian lands, waters, and natural resources contained therein for the greatest benefit of the people. The song conveyed the restlessness of the common folks seeing this nation's resources being exploited for the interests of corporates and foreign countries instead of its own people.

Mbak Tari, one of the performers that night yelled at the end of her song, "The women must fight!"

"The women must fight!" cheered the crowds back.

Socialism, feminism, anti-imperialism. What's not to like here?

One man, said to be the "director" of KBBT then gave his speech. He explained the manifesto of KBBT and its "Mau Pintar Kenapa Musti Bayar?" maxim. He said, our education has failed. He said, our education has been commodified and capitalized. He said that our government is apathetic about education, even more to the marginalized masses.

"Makan sekolahan gak bikin pinter!" (School doesn't make you smart!)

"Ya iya lah. Makan sekolah gimana bikin pinter? Makan apa lo? Bangkunya?" (Of course. How can eating school make you smart? What do you eat anyway? Its bench?) The man in batik scarf took the literal meaning of "makan" (eating) to heckle the "director." The crowds burst in cachinnations.

"Makan buku, lah!" (reading book, of course!)

"Buku apa? Buku nikah?" (what book? Marriage book?) said another. Another hearty laughter.

"Marriage has been commodified by the country!" said the batik scarf man.

"Marriage is a legalized adultery!" I said without thinking.

He conclude that KBBT is here to take back public space for public use. For better use.

"The public place is ours too!"

Next performers was Petruk. He recited one of Heri Latief's poems. After him, Uu' came to the stage and read Latief's poem from the very same book Petruk just read. I admire this community more. We live in a short-attention-span generation; the age where its youths fetishize gadgets and pop stars. This is the age where posting something on Facebook or Path is trendy, and poetry and philosophy are considered vain exercises. In the age where the refusal to learn is epidemic, who knows that our one of the beacons of classical education is in here, in this small park every Saturday night?

"The stage is all yours! If you want to perform anything, perform!"

The event continued. 

"Wiro! C'mon, Wiro!"

Then one group consisting of one girl and two guys. One of them - the one wearing AC/DC T-shirt - I presumed was Wiro. They took the stage and began singing Serenada from Steven and the Coconut Treez.

Nitha and I sat on the floor. We were offered some snacks, boiled cassava, boiled banana, and oranges.

"No, thanks. We've just eaten."

I took an orange. And in a very socialistic manner, Nitha offered her Cha Cha. Some people took and shared it.

The man in batik scarf sat down near us. He introduced himself as Cibal, a member of Komunitas Kretek, a cigarette appreciation community..

"So do you know Mas Puthut?"

"Of course! We had coffee last week."

"Do you know Iqbal? Iqbal Aji Daryono?" Nitha asked.

"Yes! Do you study in Jogja?"

"Naah, I'm not. She is. In UGM."

The MC shouted, "Next, came far away from Tegal, he's gonna read a poem!" His name was Deni or Dani, I can't remember.

I whispered to Nitha, "He came far away from Tegal just to be here? Wow."

"No, you fool. He's probably from Tegal and has stay long in Jakarta." She laughed at my naivete.

Then we traded stories about our mutual friends, about Klinik Kopi in Jogja, about Komunitas Kretek and its Ekspedisi Cengkeh project, about how attractive clover was in Age of Discovery, about Magellan and Columbus.

"KomTek is not a cigarette lobbyist group. We're not from industry side. We are an appreciation group. Every May 31st, on World No Tobacco Day, we make tweets with #TerimakasihTembakau hashtag, providing counter-narrative," Mas Cibal narrated.

He then added, "KomTek Jakarta usually gather in Tebet. Do come sometime."

"I will come some time."

He went and chatted with other people. At one moment he teased a man who brought his Caucasian friend, "I love national products, not imported ones!"

They all laughed boisterously, except the Caucasian. The joke was lost in translation perhaps.
 
The musics then shifted from reggae to slow rock to bluesy-folk interchangeably. Most of them were their own songs, and the message about struggle remained the same. Two faces of music I listened that day. One was the classic that - while aurally sophisticated - was devoid from any resistance elements. It was pure art. The other one was unyielding voice of the working class. It was pure moving force. And I enjoyed both.

I looked again at the stage, at this camaraderie, at the grass root socialism in action. They have been down the street, joining the rally for the labors in Mayday. They even walked to Russian ambassador, campaigning for Pussy Riot to be released. Then I wondered whether our intellectual left ever embraced them. I never studied Marxism extensively, and I know that our lighthouse of the left in Indoprogress are doing very great jobs, but it itches me that our revolutionary movement has two faces. What can this writing, for instance, support our comrades in Komazine? It's too complicated, too abstruse, too pretentious to relate even for me, and especially for them. Mr. Ali Sastro beats me to it in his critic here. I dream that one day both of them can have discussions together. I dream that they can solidify our educational movements together instead of patronizing, or worse, becoming a left hegemony (which is an oxymoron). 

For about 15 years, with not more than four people (Vasily Ignatov, Vera Zasulich, Leo Deutsch, and Pavel Axelrod), Georgi Plekhanov's early works were dedicated to write, to theorize, to polemicize, and to translate Marxist works into Russian. It was almost unheard, and it was not without critics, too. He was accused to divorce Marxism from its mass acts. But without his writings - as Ted Sprague from Militan once said - perhaps there would be no Trotsky, no Lenin, and no October 1917 Revolution. Building the intellectual and theoretical building blocks is of course necessary for a revolution in a country, especially if Marxism is still in infancy there. Without theories, a mass acts will be a bunch of reactionary agent provocateurs incapable of rhetoric, shaky in its ideology. And I am guilty of it, particularly in last presidential election. Frankly, in a hindsight, it distressed me to vote for a president whom I am actually sure that he will speak in a neoliberalese language, instead of obdurately staying in principle. But both Komazine and Indoprogress are both basically trying to educate the masses. Political education is difficult, but writing something perplexing and out-of-touch with proletarian life is not going to make it easier either. Maybe in this I am patronizing, too, but I believe that Komazine can use some supports from good folks from Indoprogress.

Uu' said the celebration would be all night long. Meanwhile, my friend chatted me to come over to Jalan Sabang and have some coffee. I asked Nitha if she's okay to have some coffee. She said yes.

Mas Cibal said, "There's this one good coffee in Cikini called Kopi Tahlil. Pekalongan style. It's made with nine spices. Nine! It's across Holland Bakery."

"Nice! Thanks for the suggestion. Will go sometimes." We excused ourselves to leave early.
 
I said to Nitha while we were walking to the parking lot, "I'm happy."

"I'm happy too," she replied while smiling, "I'm happy knowing that you have something exciting to do while I'm out of town for two weeks."

I will make sure bringing books next time.

A Weekend in the Market

His name is Teddy, and he's one of the most extraordinary man I've ever met. He is my senior from perhaps the most boring college in this country, which is made to supply fresh kids for the most boring jobs in this country. But he is not boring, far from it. He was debating champion, he quit from his governmental job to work in Save the Children and now World Bank(!), and he's one of the most prominent voices of travel writing/travel blogging in Indonesia. Using the moniker Twosocks (perhaps a nod to Kevin Costner's film), he started the travel blog The Dusty Sneakers with Maesy, his wife, who uses the nom de plume Gypsytoes on herself. They immerse themselves in every journey, they feel, they touch the places' history and their people, not only to indulge in sensory perceptions. And such is their trademark, to write story, not some paltry tips or pretty pictures. When my bro, Gita Wiryawan, protested Kompas for not putting Lord Nuran Wibisono in their list of the most interesting Indonesian travel bloggers, I think that, damn, Teddy and Maesy had been subbed, too.

(For a side note, on September 10th they will launch their inaugural book: Kisah Kawan di Ujung Sana. I strongly recommend this book. If you don't believe me, go visit their blog, read their writings. Tell me if you're not interested with their stories.)

Last Friday, through his Facebook, Teddy announced the opening of POST on Saturday, August 30th, 2014. POST is a 2-kiosk-unit space in Santa Market, South Jakarta, designed for creativity melting pots. Everyone can use it for gathering, discussion, book launching, garage sale, whatever. This is a Christmas comes early for struggling indie artists and start-up entrepreneurs who find that capitalism has encroached rent price, since they can pay for using POST in any price they like. And the event for last Saturday was traveler garage sale.

So, in August 30th me and my girlfriend, Nitha, went indeed to Santa Market. It was hot and humid Jakartan midday. Luckily Santa Market is not that far from our places. We parked my motor and, luckily again, we met Teddy right away at the parking lot. Wearing Navy T-shirt and yellowish-dark beige shorts, he told me that he was almost going home to take care the then sick Maesy. But he decided to walk us into a quick tour inside.

Going inside, we strolled directly to second floor. Teddy explained that the lowest floor is the "wet market" (meaning they sell fresh meats, fruits, and vegetables there). The floor above that is akin to ITC, a shopping center for clothes, bags, shoes, and perfumes, mostly counterfeit or cater to lower- and middle-class. Only, it is sadder than ITC. And the second floor is where POST exists.

Looking at the metal roof beams above, I mumbled to Nitha, "It's like that Phillip Seymour Hoffman movie."

"Huh?" she said.

It was Synecdoche, New York. But I refrained.

On the second floor, there are the Japanese vinyl record shop named SubStore, a coffee shop named Bear & Co., another coffee shop called ABCD Coffee (this one is quite famous, I'll tell later), a fried noodle vendor Miechino, a glutinous rice snack seller,  a Germany electric cigarette shop named Snoke, another vinyl record shop named Laidback Blues, a nondescript second-hand clothing store, and of course POST. Most of them open only in the weekends and holidays. They were still closed when I came that day, except Teddy's place, which was full by the traveler garage sale attendees.

"They will open at 3 PM," Teddy said.

We then sat down near the stairs. Teddy proceeded to tell that Santa Market's second floor is now transforming into a creative space for youths, with artsy style. I gazed around and nodded with agreement. The exteriors, typography, and designs altogether seemed to compose a youthful ambiance. Perhaps, there's no more fitting place than this for Midjournal, a website for "cool" Indonesian "middle-class" youngsters (no sarcasm), which, according to Teddy, is about to open its office here. Whether Jakartabeat and Indoprogress soon to follow its steps is unclear, though.

On the back, some crews of a major news channel came out from POST. Apparently its opening already attracted exposure from major media.

It was still crowded with garage shoppers. And maybe still will for this month's weekends. There will be a pop up bookstore, a music appreciation gathering, and Drive Books Not Cars event if I'm not mistaken.

"You can use it for gathering and pay whatever sum you like. In fact, you can pay zilch to me if you're that shameless." Teddy said jokingly.

Teddy's friend, Joan, who was also a superb debater, stopped by to the place where we sat with a tattooed man whose name fleets my memory. I was not sure if he was a debater or not. I forgot if we ever introduced ourselves, either. The tattooed man joins ABCD Coffee course. There are four classes taught here, he said, and their first letters form the abbreviation "ABCD": appreciation, brewing, cupping, and definitive espresso. What's a definitive espresso, I asked. He wasn't sure what, either. We chatted for a while. I bought Yusi Avianto Pareanom's book which Teddy happened to bring with him. Then he said he wanted to go home to tend Maesy, followed with me and my girlfriend saying goodbye to them all, too.

"I'll be back here at 3. Gotta run some errands first."

"Sure!"

At 3 PM when we were back, the parking lots were already full with cars. I was amazed with these young people. My girlfriend was not surprised.

"[Things] like these are not rare in Jogja." said her.

"Yeah, but hanging out in a traditional market? How do they even know this place?"

"How do you not know about this place? It is already 'hype' and well-known, you know."

"Pasar Santa? Really?"

"Yep."

And our guessing was correct, it was full upstairs, too.

All the tenants which were closed were opening. Coincidentally, Laidback Blues' event, "Pasar Ajojing" also had just started. A significant portion of the crowds might be coming for this. Hordes of hipsters and indie-looking folks swarming here and there, wearing obscure band merchs (Dinosaur Jr.!), pop-culture T-shirts (Star Wars!), or floral T-shirts reminiscing of hippies, um, sorry, flower power generations of the 60's and 70's.

Nitha and I went directly to the aforementioned ABCD coffee. Unfortunately, they don't sell iced coffee, even when this place was choking hot and its air was under-circulated. The AC central was only a remnant of Santa Market's glory day. Yet, we relented, ordering a cup of hot cappuccino and a cup of hot piccolo.

Many people were also gathering near this coffee shop. We sat by makeshift stools made from reused wood planks swallowing regrets of not buying cold mineral water. Joan and the tattooed man were there. Tirza and Denny (both were master debaters as well) sat next to us. Above us, there's a wooden signage with "A Bunch of Caffeine Dealer" emblazoned on it.

"I was stunned, never thought I'm gonna meet debating dinosaurs."

"Nah, we're not. Bubu is dinosaur." replied Denny.

Bubu, along with Perry, Patsy, Arif, and Ruli are the ones who brought competitive English debating to Indonesia. They are the Adams and Eve of debating here.

About half an hour or 45 minutes later, Nitha's order came.

"Too much milk." she remarked. I agreed.

It's a kind of unique concept, actually. First, the owner, Hendri Kurniawan, does not have a designated supplier for his coffee. Hendri, who is a certified barista and international level barista competition jury, brings whatever coffee beans he bought abroad (or given by his friends) as the ingredient. Thus, the taste may vary in every time he opens this shop. (My piccolo, which came 15 minutes later, had acidic taste typical to Arabica variant. Too much milk aside, it tasted different from Nitha's, somehow.) Second, ABCD coffee opens whenever it feels like it, so it adds to the aura of mysterious artisanal quality it has. And third, a tip jar instead of a cashier. Again, like POST, you can pay in whatever price you like. This one supposedly conveys a message that drinking coffee is an experience of sharing. But then again, when car-driving people around you dropped 50.000 or 100.000 rupiah bill, dropping 10.000 rupiah will make you either cheap and/or shameless and/or not appreciative in the eyes of the crowds. The power of silent peer pressure will make this shop a lucrative income source nonetheless.

We were hungry, so we visited Miechino. This noodle vendor's sign, a circle with vertical line inside and triangle on a third from top of it, all in red color, reminded me so much of Harry Potter's Deathly Hallows symbol. It was, so far, the food and beverage vendor here that was good. It was not overrated when Teddy said that the noodle was delicious. Minimalistic, with a splash of kuah (watery gravy) and sticky texture, but delicious. In fact, with only 15.000 rupiah a pop, it might as well be a godsend here.

The speakers from Laidback Blues blared acid house and trip hop musics. How very fitting, I thought.

"If we marry, I want these kinds of music in our wedding."

"Okay, so, no Whitney Houston?" I responded

"Yeah. And no Perri... Perri, what's her name? The 'A Thousand Years' singer?"

"Christina Perri."

"Definitely not her."

"Sure. We will make our moms listen to Aphex Twin, too."

We saw Teddy again, this time with Maesy. We introduced ourselves, and then they introduced themselves to new renter beside POST. There I saw Teddy and Maesy, being the walking, living social glue, mingled with almost all the tenants; a nice quality that I secretly envy.

The multitude of people and lack of AC still heated this floor. I yearned for some cold, cold drinks. Bear & Co. was the viable option.

Josh Estey, the owner, was standing behind the counter explaining to Tirza and Denny when we got there. In front of him, was a metal pipe of silvery color emerging from the counter. It branched into two, similar to what you see in hydrant. At its ends, there were two valves, like those on draught beer keg. The left valve was for tea, the right one was for coffee.

"I just got the nitrogen working this very morning. I made this counter by myself, from recycled woods. My friend gave the wood to me." he recounted with pride.

"What's the nitrogen for?" I asked him. I asked because from what I remember from my waking high school time, nitrogen is an inert gas.

"Oh, it's to make the coffee foamy."

"And you infuse carbon dioxide to the tea, like soda?"

"Kind of."

I asked for iced coffee, with lotsa milk. Nitha ordered the tea. They were 20k each. Same price, because this was the opening day. It was until very recently that Bear & Co. had its decor completed. Friends and family helped him, Josh narrated while making our requests.

Nitha questioned, "Where do you get the name 'Bear & Co.'"?

"My kids love bear. Hence the name."

He handed our drinks in plastic cup. "Thank you, Papa Bear!", said Nitha fondly. Josh chuckled. What a jolly sight.

She glanced at me while we walked away, saying "You gotta learn skills like that." As a person prone to faux pas, social niceties is certainly not my strongest suit.

We sipped the drinks in our hands, and we were baffled. This tasted not like coffee and milk, not even coffee, or milk, or coffee and milk in unbalanced proportion, or if it was diluted by too much water. This is something else. And I tasted Nitha's iced tea. It was another je ne sais quoi that didn't taste either like its individual (lemon, ice, and tea) or combined ingredients. So that nitrogen and carbon dioxide had to do something, after all.

We looked at the cup. Nitha said that the cups were hand-stamped by Josh himself, he told her. I observed this flock of young demimonde and their air of retromania once again. And suddenly an epiphany came: this place is a new Mecca of postmodernism and hipsterdom in Jakarta.

Recycled wood planks, hand-stamped cups and business cards, traditional snacks, and the artisanal coffee are the re-adoption of the pasts and the rejection to modernism together with its boring, industrialist, mass-produced commodities. It's an imaginary resistance of course. And these hipsters - which is a subset phenomenon of postmodernism - ironically embrace the proletarian spirit through the lens of the nouveau riches - the elitist, bourgeoisie perspective that they have. Irony is of course an inseparable part of hipsterism; a movement whose complete definition is still elusive to us. Is it an insatiable quest of being different from the hoi polloi, even though it is "mainstreaming" already? Is to be hipster to reject the calling of hipster itself, a perpetual "not me" attitude? Are these people, who try to make sophisticated observational comedy sketches out of ordinary situations (but sadly sound like lame dad jokes) hipsters? Are Puthut EA and Arman Dhani, our own stalwart, intellectual writers, trying to "hipsterize" themselves here?

It came to me that hipsterism possesses both objective and subjective quality in it. First, they have to be affluent, or at least belong to middle-class. Second, they must be quite eloquent, educated, and internet-literate. Third, they have to display their "uniqueness" or contrarian stance in some point. It can be in their attires, their favorite bands, or their uncaring attitude (ironic, I know). These serve as a marker of hipsterism as a stratum of culture different from "genuine", lowbrow culture embraced by the low class. Beyond that, hipsterism steps on the subjective realm. Dialetheistically, hipsters are alike and yet different in their own way. A person who listens to Pitchfork-endorsed bands like Miami Horror (this is my girlfriend) is a hipster for me, whose musical taste is that well-known Radiohead (this still makes me a hipster, too, though). Another person who loves to listen to keroncong or dangdut or Indonesian 60-70's musics or an obscure band from Tanzania is a hipster for both of us. But you can't call a Pantura trucker a hipster for listening to dangdut, for, according to hipster, it's a proper musical taste for them. Hipsterism's outermost layer is accordingly a personal last step of Hegelian dialectics: the synthesis. It is after meeting the antithesis in the form of le grand Autre, the self suffered from lack (manque) to project her ego outward. The synthesis therefore manifests in the radically different self from the big Others: the hipster. A hipster is a hipster in relations to one's concepts about herself and one's perceptions of how Others see her. Of course, I'm pulling all this seemingly sophisticated philosophical legerdemain out of my arse, but where else can you drop Hegel and Lacan? (And am I uber-hipster yet?)

But what justifies the 200-300% mark up or so for the tie-dye scarfs, or the wee traditional glutinous rice snacks here, even though you can find similar products perhaps one floor below? And it saddened me, to see these two worlds collide in this market. Below, the dreary, weary common folks, tired from waiting for the next customer. A middle-aged lady fanned herself incessantly with a thin book due to hot air. A man fell asleep on the floor near his counter. Perhaps, the whole day was wasted without a single customer at all. It pained me to look at this sight of contrasting vistas from above here; from the place where the hypes, the creatives, the differents, spouting buzzwords and making merry in their apparent "profound" style and musical tastes.

But if you ask me whether I will come here again next time, I'd say yes. I will also buy loads of cold mineral water from a vendor a floor below, to wash away not only my bodily heat, but also the guilt of being privileged and a concern troll at the same time.