American?

I'm becoming more American.  Or maybe just more of the stereotype. In the states, I was the 'lets get Indian food tonight or oooo there's a new French bakery kind a gal. Only under the cover of a late night out, would I wind up at a fast food joint. Here, America is packaged into a neat box labeled KFCMickeyBK. The more pressure I feel to assimilate, the more I drown myself in the greasy eats. It's the burgers, the botoxed fries, the lifeless lettuce thats got me cheesing. I latch onto anything that reminds me of home and somehow here, it's all better than gold. 

I want this experience to be an exchange. I haven't found the balance yet. I've had to adapt to so much so quickly, that I forget what it's like to be American. What does that even mean? American. I can talk about Indonesian culture more easily. I'm envious that they're so proud. So united. I don't think I've ever felt either back home. Their culture is so rich and they're so set on protecting it. To mask my jealousy, I guess I'm hyping up fast food chains…(really mani) I've got to find a better representation than pizzahut. It's hard to be an example of my culture, when I am mimicking another but I guess thats what I do. My mother calls me the chameleon. I love to absorb new things. But a chameleon has no place. It just moves and transforms it's skin to blend, but it's never the tree or leaf it clings to. I might've come to Indonesia thinking I'd find a home. That who I was would make more sense. I don't know. I'm afraid if I let go and just change skin again, I'll never know. 

Just Say Yes

I've never really applied the philosophy before, but right now it seems applicable. 

I found myself yet again, holding my breath, faking confusion as a relative asks me to join in yet another event where I must introduce myself. It's 9:30pm. I'm beginning to nod off. Knock Knock. Yesss. ibu wants you to go see a relative because his daughter went to America. Hm. If this were America, I know I could give a quick hey nice to meet cha, feign some other obligation and be on my way. But this is not America. After assuming various facial expressions of discomfort, I reluctantly produce a smile and just say yes. 

I arrive to a houseful anxiously awaiting my arrival. There are around 30 people, all relatives, lining the interior of the house. After greeting each member, I'm lead to the group of English Speakers. The room falls silent and the examination begins. 

"When did you study in America?"

"Last April." 

"How long did you stay?"

" Since I was born."

"Oh sorry. I meant how long did you stay in America?"

"Oh yeah!... last April."

 "Oh. Okay." 

The conversation goes back and forth like we have rehearsed the script. Both parties trained in pretending to understand the other. Lots of smiling, everyone in the room hanging onto each word. And the 2013 Academy Award goes to.....Training hit the nail on the head. I'd practiced this scenario before. The unplanned beckoning to this house or that was what I signed up for. There must be something in between sips of tea, broken English and gum filled smiles. The tea was delicious. They were nice. She was sweet. An hour later, everyone wanted to practice their English. You like it here? Where you live? How long You stay here? Later Come back here again. We take you to the waterfalls and gardens. Thank You Thank you Hatur Nuhun. End Scene. 

I'm glowing. The night was quite nice. My desa looks different at night under the glow of street lamps. It's peaceful. Every time I say yes, Indonesia unwraps itself. I used to shake it like a Christmas present, waiting for it's contents. Now holding it in my hands, I know that only time will bring me closer to the reward. I stayed up even later to watch a live Badminton match next door. I'm scheduled to play tomorrow night. I really do like Badminton. Wish me luck. 

Symphony No. Nol

I woke up in a funk today. Indonesian households usually go to sleep with the lights on. Some believe the cultural difference is to keep the ghosts from seeping in. I believe I will not get used to this. I suddenly awoke this morning to the sound of roosters screaming and my ibu managing bahasa in the same pitch right outside my door. I can't even really call it a door. There's a door, but with an opening above it that brings in more light and sound than if I were to have the door open. Being a mostly muslim country, the call to prayer is always the first to wake me up. I can hear the chants blaring through speakers around the desa around 4:20 every morning, which also lets the ibus, naneks, bibs, wanita's and perempuans know that it's time to wake up. So thus the orchestra of sounds commences and ' oh! I have front row seats. 

The call to prayer starts strong, harmonized by the echo of another call to prayer signaling the first half. The crackle of the radio and screech of the faucets and water stomping the ground lets you know that intermission is now over please return to your seats. Pshhhhhhh the wok goes with grease sparking Pop Pop.BOOM ieeeek the kitchen door crashes and creaks, Clank Clank the pots are at war. ERRRRRRummmARHHHerrrrrr! the low thunderous stream of burps. PitterPatterPitter tiny feet slap the ground. Bink   Bink  Bink   Bink hammers push nails in outside my window. TETEH! NONIS! MISSss! Dum Beep Beeeeep Alladin has entered the building. The electric piano is now the star of the show and "it's a whole new world!" 

I mind as well just burst out laughing. The sounds could not be more ridiculous. I am absolutely powerless. It's 5 minutes to 5 and there is nothing I can do. Before I pop a vein, I close my bloodshot eyes and let out a deep sigh to accompany the sounds. Jasmine said it. It's truly a magic carpet ride…

Smile!

So… I'm here! Annnnd it's crazy. We were already advised, as a joke, to wear helmets while we walk down the street and maybe throw in a life vest in case it floods… I'm gonna take that absolutely seriously. There is traffic like I've never seen and people for days and days. I did say I wanted to be near a city, but this is 42nd street crowd piled on sewers in BedStuy Brooklyn. Most people speak Sundanese, which I know about none of so I'm sure I seem a bit bougie and slow with my bahasa and baby like pronunciation. 

Take a left, take another, keep straight and my house is tucked in between two houses "under construction." To be fair, the inside is well maintained with a fully furnished bedroom waiting for me. I receive visitors like the queen, sitting perfectly poised, exaggerating my enunciation. It's a new feeling, having so many guests. You have to come up with new ways of introducing yourself so that you don't get bored of yourself. I might've thrown in a British accent a couple of times here and there. Darling You didn't! Oh but yes, yes I did! 

On saturday I went to my principle's house. The 3hr drive there, took around 7. With the traffic, babies running across the street, motorcycles balancing every household item there is, beggers, sellers and random goats, it was a bit longer than expected. They took me site seeing and we had lunch in this gorgeous deer park on the water. I leaned back balancing on my palms, face to the sky, eyes closed, when a shadow crept over me. Photo Miss? There was a circle forming around me of visitors and locals. My principle leaned over like an agent informing me that it was now time for photos and signing. Ah yes, yes of course! 

I'm already tired and it's only 2pm. I hope my celebrity dies down. I haven't been able to absorb all the newness because I have to always be new to everyone I meet. Things already seem old, if that makes sense. Here we go. We got this. Two years. Smile! 

The Wait

What time is it? Better yet what day is it? Is it possible for time to slip by slowly and race by so fast? The other day I woke up and forgot how old I was. I panicked and clawed at the seconds in search of the answer. 

Oh. I remembered. I'm older than I thought. My back aches. I don't know if it's from the mattress or poor diet. I eat rice too much. Everywhere is rice. All I eat is rice. With every stretch, I hear a crack. I wait a couple of minutes before easing out of my mosquito net. I've got one week left here. My adventure is about to begin and yet I feel like it's nearing an end. Am I even physically prepared for this? I can smell the veggies dying in the wok. My Nanek's at it again. I've grown so familiar with the sounds and feel of this house and now it's time to move on. But to where? 

Will the west be like the west in the states? I think of all the stereotypes between the two. People are already warning me about "those people" and "our people" and "their ways" and "our ways" West Coast and East Coast are at war and I'm not pack'n. Boom!

But here it goes, regardless it goes. Time. It keeps pushing me along. It tells me where to go, when and for how long.Time. It needs to wait. It needs to go. This Time it's time for me.