Fira Basuki: Her Crash Course on Writing

I recently searched and found archive of writing assessments created during my college years in English Diploma III, Faculty of Humanities (FIB), University of Indonesia.  This is one of them.  Dated 16 March 2005, this piece was submitted for writing project: Biography.

At that moment I was a devoted fan of Fira Basuki’s books, especially after reading the trilogy Pintu, Jendela-Jendela, Atap.  I remember emailing her some questions for supporting facts for my writing.

FIRA BASUKI: Her Crash Course on Writing

I am here now, do you know?

Love me, hate me, kiss me, kick me, tell me, show me or you prefer to wave and shush’ me away?

Far away my land, far away where I came from,

Thousand thousand of miles, just to see you smile,

To blend my sand, to put feet on the ground,

Just to get you to care, and help me to share,

This piece of mind, this heart of mine.

I was alone there, even where people were pushing and rushing, dancing and dining, kissing and dissing.

Standing outside the building, felt like inside the darkroom. Dying.

So, I am here. To find air to breathe, to pump my soul and to be alive. I am here. Please, meet me.

(“Meet Me”, www.firabasuki.cjb.net)

It all started with a poem about a garden written when she was an elementary schoolgirl; Fira Basuki found herself in love with writing.  The next big thing she did was writing a short story “Andri Kamu Nyentrik, deh” on her second grade of junior high in 1986.  Soon, she won several national writing competitions held by magazines and institutions during her high school years in Regina Pacis, Bogor.  “Jendela-jendela” was originally a leisure time project as she entered advanced stage of her pregnancy.  And, thanks to a friend who handed it in to publisher Grasindo, Fira Basuki is now one of famous Indonesian female writers.  Her other pieces of work are “Pintu” and “Atap” (altogether with “Jendela-jendela” as a trilogy), “Biru”, “Rojak”, “Ms. B: Panggil Aku B”, Ms. B: Will You Marry Me?”, and “Brownies”.

Born Dwifira Maharani Basuki in Surabaya on June 7^th, 1972, her writing skill was well developed when she was in the USA.  While studying Communication-Journalism in Pittsburg State University, Kansas, she contributed her writings for local magazines and newspapers Sunflower, Collegio and Morning Sun.  After having Bachelor of Arts in 1995, she continued her graduate studying Public Relations before transferred to Wichita State University to hold her Master in 1996.  She also enjoyed herself as an anchor for CAPS-3 TV in Pittsburg, Kansas.  Going back home to Jakarta didn’t stop her from writing.  She worked for Dewi as a journalist.  Married with one daughter, Fira Basuki now lives in Singapore and has 3 jobs aside from her true passion: writing novels.  She is a Singapore Correspondent for Harper’s Bazaar magazine- Indonesian edition, a part-time presenter for Radio Singapore International, also an Editor in Chief for Spice!.

Family and friends have always been her source of inspiration.  Married to a Tibetan-Philippines Palden Tenzing Galang, Fira enriches her stories with both cultural touch, in addition to her Javanese and knowledge of Singaporean life.  Syaza Calibria Galang, her beloved daughter, in an ‘energizer’ for her.  “Thank you for always kissing Mommy,” she says on each novel written.  Parents, siblings, in-laws, editor, illustrator, publisher, and other senior writers are among those she always thanks to.

Another person doing a good turn is, of course, the friend who brought “Jendela-jendela” to a publisher.  He is said to be a journalist for one of Indonesian medias.  One day, this friend came to see pregnant Fira in her apartment in Singapore.  Fira was in the middle of writing that very novel.  Her friend asked whether he could borrow it for a while.  After he did so, he said that Fira’s novel differed from other Indonesian female writers’.  He was sure that the novel would sell well.  As he came back to Indonesia, he thrust it forward to Grasindo.  And soon after being released, her debut became so much sensational that it was nine-time republished.

Basically, her novels tell stories of human relationships.  They take place in Indonesia, Singapore, and the US, where Fira has been in.  The main characters of the novels are usually women.  It is occasionally said that the main woman character is a resemblance to Fira herself.  And, that the stories are taken from her own experiences.  “It’s not a problem for me.  It means that I’m succeeded in convincing the readers with true-like stories,” she responded.

With all that fun jobs, supporting family and friends, and her success being a famous writer; we may find it difficult to ask for more.  But not Fira.  She still has one more expectation.  “I wish for the day when people notice my writing without having to read my name on it.”  It seems that her wish has stared to become reality.

Sorry Doesn’t Seem to Be the Hardest Word

I recently searched and found archive of writing assessments created during my college years in English Diploma III, Faculty of Humanities (FIB), University of Indonesia.  This is one of them.  Dated 2 March 2005, this piece was submitted for writing project: Autobiography.

The story depicts a humbling experience during my high school years.  It is simply about friendship.  Lesson learned: being sorry is one thing.. saying you’re sorry is quite another.

Sorry Doesn’t Seem to Be the Hardest Word

Today’s apparently a day for me to remember.  Fle’s father rested in peace.  I’d never known him.  I even for the first time met him today.  I saw him lying on a mat in his living room.  People surrounded him; tears were on each and every eye for God had just taken someone out of their lives.

And there she was, my dear friend Fle.  A couple of persons away from me.  On that very moment, I had a mixed feeling.  I felt surprised, sorry and stupid at the same time.  I was terrible.  Then, in a glance, she was standing right before my eyes, crying.

“My father…” she couldn’t finish her words.

“Sorry…” was all that I could say.  I couldn’t think of any other words to say how I feel inside.  It was as if all of my regret, my worries, and my loneliness could only be expressed in those five letters.

Today was the first time I talk to her again, after a long anguished month not saying anything to each other.

***

There she goes again.  Complaining about her father’s health.  She’s getting on my nerves.  I’ve been saying “Don’t worry, God is with you and your father,” like thousands of time.  And all that she can do is crying.  I’ve had enough of this soap opera scene.

Okay, that’s it!  She doesn’t listen to any of my words, so I won’t say no more.  I’m getting tired cheering up her feeling while she doesn’t even listen, for God’s sake!

***

Monday morning.  Fle moved from her chair to another one, far across the classroom.  I was left alone in a table for two.  I never knew why, but I guessed it had something to do with what I said the previous day.  I didn’t remember my words precisely, but I was sure I had somehow made her upset.  As far as I could recall, I was telling her to stop complaining and start praying.  There was nothing wrong with what I said.  Yet, something was definitely wrong with the way I said it.  I had hurt her so deep that she didn’t have any further to say.  She left me without a single word.  I didn’t know for how long.  But it didn’t take too long for me to see that ever since that day I would never be the same again.  I was sorry.  Sorry for hurting her feeling.  Sorry for not be able to listen to her better.  Sorry for not accompanying her during had times.

***

I’ve been learning many lessons in my life.  One of them was delivered on that very day.  Fle’s father’s death has given me a good lesson about feeling sorry.  I was too proud to say sorry from the very beginning.  Look what I came up with: a deep regret.  It’s never too late to learn.  And it’s never too soon to say you’re sorry.