THIS WON'T START WITH AN "ANJRIT"

There, I promise.

This post won't be full of fury. Har har. It's gonna be a dolce leggiero tune. Oh I had meant to start with anjrit and write this whole thing in Indonesian but I think writing in dolce leggiero will be a good exercise. I will not dare calling myself a writer if I cannot write anything any other way than full of fury.

So here goes:

**
I arrived home about two weeks ago, tired inside and out. It felt like I had spent the entire day ambitiously trying to give Error Detection Methods lecture to a roomful of monkeys ignorant young learners.

Then I saw it: a letter from the tax office. Stating that I hadn't paid my personal tax for the year 2003 and therefore was given a penalty. True, the penalty wasn't a big sum. But: I had paid my tax. I had filled out those goddamn numerous forms, honestly writing down how much I made, all the way thinking the government owed me money and not the other way around. I had paid the due amount in January 2004.

I was unlucky, to say the least, to have an NPWP of my own. That means I have to report my financial situation to the tax office yearly. How I got that NPWP was a tragic story of itself. Anyway, in 2003 I was more of a freelancer, the companies I worked for didn't cut off my salary for tax purposes, and being a goody-two-shoes I reported that to the tax office. Goddamnit. By golly.

With all good intentions I went to the tax office the following Friday, explained my situation and was told to pay the penalty anyway. I wasn't angry at that time. I just wanted it to get over with. So I filled out yet other forms, and get ready to part with the rest of my allowance for that week. The only problem is: no banks in the vicinity of the tax office can accept tax payment.

Can you imagine? I walked back and forth, and back, and forth, I went into all banks within 800 metres radius of the tax office, and none would accept my money. I walked and walked on the non-existent pavement, fighting for each step against what seemed like a billions of motorcycles. I had smartly left my car at the tax office, thinking the banks were within my walking distance anyway. When the sixth or seventh bank refused my money, I wanted to roll on the floor laughing, along with God.

But the matter was finally settled yesterday, thank God, I'll live happily in my safe little world until they feel like sending me a letter again, I guess. And there was one other thing that happened yesterday that made me so deliriously happy I thought I found the sun inside my purse.
**

There I wrote it. No anjrits in the whole passage. I have just finished re-reading it for the umpteenth time and would like to herewith confirm that I will not dare calling myself a writer.