Pramoedya Ananta Toer (February 6, 1925 - April 30, 2006)
Pram died yesterday on Sunday, April 30 2006. I just found out today from one of my mailing lists. I only know him by name, his titles, and the articles people wrote about him, but I still feel this sense of loss. A mild shock and frustration. He's (arguably, people say, I'd like know myself) the best writer and educator Indonesia has in the 20th century and dammit, I haven't read any of his works. How could he die just like that?
I'm being irrational. He is (was, was, was!) a guest editor on the literary magazine I sent my short story to, and just by a glimmer of hope and chance, I'd like him to read that story. He's like an idol. You want him to notice, no matter how improbable it is. Shit, I can't help being selfish. I am losing something I can take pride of. In the midst of our shitty country's turbulent atmosphere, you take comfort in knowing that someone is steady. He is larger than life because other people and countries acknowledge him. Everytime I see his name, there's respect. There's comfort. Something's all right, not all is fucked up. We can be okay too. He's ideal, y'know? And if one person can be like him, then you know there's an assurance that it's okay to be idealistic. Because it can be achieved.
I am upset. This is insensible. His death, me, the unfairness of all. Illogical, screwed. What else do we have now?
*sigh* Rest in peace, sir. Your struggle is over. I'm slowly feeling the wheel of time when names I know start dying before me. Yours, I'd like not to forget.
7th: Call home. Eat cake. Light candles.
13th-15th: Fasting. 8th anniversary. Prepare Mylanta.
14th: lucathia_rykatu's b'day. ♥