“Saat PD Lebih Penting daripada Bakat”
Nama saya Joni Setia Budi, manusia yang membuktikan bahwa semangat perjuangan tidak selalu berakhir bahagia, tapi bisa berakhir lucu. Saya ikut tes Nippon Maru di Lombok tiga kali. Tahun 1987 runner up, 1988 runner up lagi. Panitia sampai hafal wajah saya, mungkin setiap lihat saya langsung refleks bilang, “Ah… peringkat dua kita datang.” Materi tesnya itu-itu saja selama tiga tahun. Test Bahasa inggrisnya, level anak SMA, sampai saya hafal jawabannya bukan karena pintar, tapi sama persis dengan 2 tahun berturut-turut. Saya selesaikan hanya 30 menit. sisanya saya pakai buat bengong, nunggu yang lain, sambil mikir apakah runner up bisa diwariskan ke anak cucu.
Tahun 1989. Saya sengaja berpidato pakai Inggris hanya sebagai pembuka, selebihnya bahasa Jepang. Tujuh panelis terdiam, bukan karena kagum saja, tapi mungkin mereka bersepakat: ini baru PY bergengsi nantinya di program. Mereka tidak tahu kalau materi pidato saya itu adalah syair lagu SARAI yang dinyanyikan Zen Matsuo. Syair yang saya kemas menjadi materi pidato seolah menghipnosis Panelis dan penonton dengan intonasi datar, rendah, dan menghentak keras seperti pidatonya Soekarno di lapangan Ikada. Akhirnya, Ketua Panelis pun menyerah dan bilang, “Sudahlah, luluskan saja dia. Kasihan, sudah menyiapkan materi Bahasa Jepang yang menggelegar. Saya takut dosa, kuatir dia tambah stress dan mengarah ke kegilaan”
Masuk Jakarta, saya kira aman. Ternyata malah masuk mode neraka: tes tari, musik, dan paduan suara. Saya disuruh nari—gerakan saya kayak antena TV nyari sinyal. Disuruh nyanyi—nada do saya bunyinya kayak mi yang terjatuh. Main musik? Gitar standar, bunyinya lebih cocok buat ngusir nyamuk. Setelah rapat darurat, senior memutuskan solusi paling aman bagi kemanusiaan: saya dijadikan penari berhala—peran tanpa gerak, tanpa suara, tanpa risiko.
Di kapal, saya dikenal sebagai manusia mode hemat suara. Padahal saat itu saya sudah bisa Bahasa Jepang, Italia, dan Jerman. Tapi saya pilih diam, karena sekali buka mulut, bisa-bisa disuruh tampil lagi. Pernah suatu saat, saya dibully oleh Esti, IPY Solid D. Saya disuruh mimpin tarian Indang alias din-ding mak din-din dari Padang. Lantaran sudah di tengah arena, saya pun berlagak sperti penari professional, meminta mereka semua duduk melingkar dan mengikuti gerakan saya. Walau ngawur, tapis ok yakin, mereka nurut semua. Karena itulah esensi seni: jangan merasa salah pada gerakan yang kau tarikan.
Sementara itu, di kapal, saya cuma ngobrol sama IPY dari Timor-Timor, Lito, pakai Bahasa Italia supaya terdengar misterius. Orang lain kira kami bahas politik internasional, padahal isinya cuma, “Bro,besok kita noodle party dimana enaknya?”. By the way, kami ini anak daerah, istilah resminya KAMSO—Come From Ndeso. Tapi dari ndeso, saya berhasil jadi pemegang gelar runner up abadi. Dan lulus karena dikasihani panelis. Keliling dunia dan punya jabatan prestisius: PATUNG INTERNASIONAL BERJALAN. Moral ceritanya sederhana: kalau kamu tidak bisa nari, tidak bisa nyanyi, dan tidak bisa main musik—tenang, dunia masih butuh orang yang bisa duduk diam dengan penuh penghayatan.
IPY-89
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“When Confidence Replaces Skill”
My name is Joni Setia Budi, a living proof that the spirit of struggle does not always end happily—sometimes it ends hilariously. I took the Nippon Maru test in Lombok three times. In 1987, I was runner-up. In 1988, runner-up again. The committee memorized my face so well that every time they saw me, they probably whispered automatically, “Ah… here comes our second place.” The test materials were exactly the same for three straight years. The English test was high-school level, and I memorized the answers not because I was smart, but because they were identical for two consecutive years. I finished the test in 30 minutes, then spent the rest of the time staring into space, waiting for others, wondering whether being runner-up could be inherited by my future children.
In 1989, I changed strategy. I opened my speech briefly in English, then continued entirely in Japanese. Seven panelists fell silent—not only in awe, but probably because they silently agreed, “This guy could be a prestigious PY in the program.” What they didn’t know was that my speech was actually the lyrics of the song “SARAI” by Zen Matsuo, disguised as a formal address. Delivered with flat, low, and suddenly explosive intonation—like Soekarno’s legendary speech at Ikada Square—it hypnotized both the panelists and the audience. Finally, the head panelist surrendered and said, “Just pass him. Poor guy, he has already prepared such a thunderous Japanese speech. I’m afraid of committing a sin—he might get even more stressed and go insane.”
Arriving in Jakarta, I thought I was finally safe. Instead, I entered cultural hell mode: dance, music, and choir tests. When told to dance, my movements looked like a TV antenna searching for signal. When told to sing, my “do” note sounded like a fallen noodle. Playing music? Standard guitar—its sound was more suitable for repelling mosquitoes. After an emergency meeting, the seniors chose the safest solution for humanity: I was appointed as a ceremonial statue dancer—a role with no movement, no sound, and absolutely no risk.
On the ship, I became known as a low-energy, voice-saving human. Even though I already spoke Japanese, Italian, and German, I chose silence. Experience taught me that once you open your mouth, someone might ask you to perform. Once, I was bullied by Esti, a Solid D IPY, and forced to lead the Indang dance (din-ding mak din-din) from Padang. Since I was already in the arena, I acted like a professional dancer, ordered everyone to sit in a circle, and confidently told them to follow my moves. The movements were nonsense, but I was confident—and they all obeyed. Because that’s the essence of art: never feel wrong about the movement you create.
Meanwhile, on the ship, I only spoke with Lito, an IPY from Timor-Timor, using Italian so we sounded mysterious. Others thought we were discussing international politics, when in fact we were just saying, “Bro, where should we have our noodle party tomorrow?” By the way, we were kids from rural areas—officially known as KAMSO: Come From Ndeso. Yet from ndeso, I became an eternal runner-up, passed out of panelists’ pity, traveled the world, and earned a prestigious title: THE WALKING INTERNATIONAL STATUE.
The moral of the story is simple: if you can’t dance, can’t sing, and can’t play music—relax. The world still needs people who can sit perfectly still with deep artistic contemplate.
IPY-89
