My Own Force Awakens

I just watched the new Star Wars film. Having stopped being a hardcore fan several years ago, I thought seeing the film would be just kinda fun. I had no expectations of it getting me out of this funk I've been having for a while. Seeing the film totally did that. That film was everything I needed in life. I’m so recharged. I’m not one for making resolutions, but considering my heightened mood from the film, I’d like to list down some things I’d like to work on:

1. I want to be a better daughter, sister, and aunt. After living in family-oriented Indonesia for nearly two years, I’ve been exposed to the great benefits of a strong family. I was raised in an Asian household, but my parents adopted many American habits. My parents encouraged me to be independent and to take care of myself before helping others. While I still believe that is a noble path, I want to be completely there for my mom, my sisters, and my little niece. They’re everything. After my father passed away last month, I feel a sense of responsibility that I cannot wholly fulfill being thousands of miles away, but I will. 
2. I want to be a better Peace Corps volunteer. I have less than six months left of service. I’m so excited to get back to America and to apply everything I’ve learned. But I’m still here, so I want to stay in the present. I’ve halfheartedly picked up mediation to stay in the present, but it is hard. There are so many things I want to do back home, and I often feel like I’m done with this job and am ready to move on. But I know that’s not possible. I’ve made a commitment, and I’m going to finish this on a good note.
3. I want to cut down on smoking. Most of my adventures in Indonesia have been on my bike. I’ve sadly realized that I can’t climb on my bike. My smoker lungs simply won’t allow me. I can do over 100km on a straight road in one day, but a few steep hills? No cigar. I know it’ll be easier to cut down in America because it’s less socially acceptable there, but I will slowly start here. It took my father five whole years to fully quit smoking. I am not ready to quit, but I’m ready to cut down for those beautiful Indonesian rice fields I’ve yet to climb up on my bike. 
4. I want to continue my writing. I know I’m not a great or super compelling writer, but I’d like to become an essayist, not unlike David Sedaris. Big dreams. The only way to get even close to that is to write every day. So here’s my Tuesday effort for you. 
5. I want to be more social. For those that know me well, I’m a shy person because I’m afraid of saying stupid or nonsensical things. I mean, sometimes I’m just socially selective, but most of the time, I’m afraid you’re going to think I’m stupid. This is unhealthy I realize. I can be really brave when it comes to work, and I’d like that to translate smoothly to my personal life. 

Why did the new Star Wars film inspire me to write this? That Rey character is pretty fucking awesome. She’s also super fit, which attracts me so much. Regardless of where she’s from or what insiders say about her parentage, she’s a good person. She saves that little droid from capture, she refuses to sell it despite its worth, and she promises to bring it back to where it belongs. Further, she uses the Force like a pro. Was she even trained? Does part of me want to be just like her? Uh yeah! But sometimes I engage in the Indonesian habit of saying I’ll do something and never do it. It’s going to take me a long time to get to that Rey status, but I’m willing to work on it. In the meantime, I’m going to work on the few things I’ve listed above and hope it’ll get me someplace good.

Positive Experiences

One of my friends back home asked why so many of my blog posts are negative and mostly about crying while I’m smiling in all my Facebook photos. My response: You’re supposed to smile in photos, right? My grimace pose is not as attractive as my hand on hip smiling one. Ami right?!

But honestly, I think it’s healthy that I express my weaknesses through any form. At least I’m not keeping all the negative feelings inside me. But I do have a few positive experiences up my sleeve that I’d like to share:

1. My ibu woke me up early one morning to present a traditional Javanese rice dish eaten on special occasions, after which she sang me a wrongly worded “Happy Birthday.” It was September 24th. My birthday is in the middle of October.
2. One of my Indonesian friends was offered a teaching job after being observed by a senior teacher from that school at my IGLOW IBRO.
3. After feeling a bit insecure for having to wear a pretty ugly teaching uniform, I’m given the cute eyes from the handsome teacher at my school. Swoon. 
4. I dreamt that Freddy Kreuger was transgender and was trying to win the love of the person she loved but just ended up scaring that person. After fearing that this was a different but similar version of my life story, I scored a Tinder match that ended up becoming a relationship for six months.
5. Not all the teachers at my school can speak English, so our communication is limited. But the language we all can communicate with is the language of smoking Indonesian cigarettes. On school trips, the male teachers basically read my mind and find me places to smoke hidden from the students. Now this is integration.
6. I’ve collected an arsenal of bad words in Javanese (all taught by the same male teachers that hide my smoking) in case I ever come across a rude Indonesian that won’t stop harassing me.
7. After my father passed away last month, one of my best Indonesian friends told me: Be strong because you are strong. He understands me so well.
8. During pre-service training, my ibu would put a box of chocolate cookies in front of me as soon as I would sit down to finish Indonesian language homework.
9. I would spend the most awkward mornings with my bapak (host father) before I left for school. He would often mumble to me in Javanese I don’t understand or just smile as I sat down to eat breakfast. One morning, I thought the neighborhood cat had died because bapak kept hitting its back with a stick with no response. It turns out he was giving the cat a massage. 
10. I’m about to complete my Peace Corps service in less than six months.

It took me less than half an hour to compile this list, and I laughed through the entire making of it. That is #11.

Jungle Mode

I have less than six months of service left, and the greatest thing I’ve learned is how to survive on my own. Before serving as a Peace Corps volunteer, I’ve lived away from home but never this far and this long. The mental preparation for this kind of experience forces me to really step out of my comfort areas that are not only good opportunities for me to grow, but also are just plain uncomfortable.

For example, I’ve been living out of my bag for the past year. Volunteers are encouraged to explore the community in which they live, and that requires that I bike everywhere. There are days when I visit a university, another volunteer, or some other organization and there are requests that I make a professional not-sweaty-from-biking appearance. When that happens, I first wipe the sweat from my eyes and open up my backpack of supplies: soap, deodorant, hairpins, underwear, first aid kid, etc. It is honestly exhausting to have to put on my Peace Corps persona after having just biked 10km. But I do it; all the volunteers do.

As a result from the past year’s habitual change, I take all my things with me everywhere. I even did this when I visited California last month. It’s like my safety net. After leaving the house in torn cargo pants and a fully packed bike oil-stained bag, my fashionably clad friend looked at me like:

“Where are you headed, Indiana Jones?”

I often feel and look this way after a long day

Do you ever get into that survivor jungle mode but then forget you’re not in the jungle?

Even my ibu and the teachers at my Islamic middle school started to call me, “Nekat,” which roughly translates to too adventurous or reckless in Javanese. I am just trying to survive in the most efficient way I know how. I am not allowed the convenience of staying clean and pretty because my bike is my main form of transportation, so I adapt. 

I started to realize the negative effects of my ways when I visited my first Indonesian host family last week. After lying on my old bed in my old bedroom and staring at my old Winnie the Pooh clock on the wall, I became very emotional. Nostalgia took over and memories from the past two years flooded my mind. There were memories of the times before I learned how to survive well in this country, which were confusing times. And then there were the times when I felt really integrated and never wanted to go home, and those were confusing, too. Basically, I had a mini cry fest while holding my old Hello Kitty pillow and hearing my host family watch an Indonesian-dubbed SpongeBob Square Pants episode. I tried to time my cries to the laughter of Patrick.

I think my ibu knew that I was crying. She knocked on my door, immediately handed me my favorite cassava chips, and said I could eat rice soon. She took care of me. The night I visited, she cooked my favorite Indonesian foods, bought my favorite snacks, stayed patient while trying to understand my terrible Indonesian, and allowed me so much privacy. She said I didn’t have to worry about anything. It felt really nice to let go of that survivor mode. She’s right. I didn’t have to try so hard to survive in her house, so I just lay down and rested. It was the best sleep I've had in a long time.

Having to turn on my survivor mode for biking home through a flood and thunderstorm and for trying to ignore Indonesian men stare at my chest at bus terminals, it felt good to let go and have my ibu ask if she could put more water in my cup during dinner. Yes, ibu. That would be really nice.

Potential

One Saturday morning, I taught second year English speaking to my university students. One of my students came late and excused her lateness on the man that was harassing her on the bus. I was appalled. She then told the class two more stories about the harassment she experienced while riding the bus. I gave her some tips to deal with that. The whole class seemed curious as to why I would have tips. Apparently, harassment is very common here. It’s common in America, too, but I know many Americans who would stand up for themselves and attempt to stop the harassment. I asked my student what she did when this happened. She said she was afraid. He kept talking to her. She felt uncomfortable the whole time, but did nothing.

The students then said they’ve never been taught to stand up for themselves, excusing harassment as an everyday occurrence like traffic or bad weather conditions. I don’t think that’s right. Any kind of harassment is not okay, so I, of course, discussed with the head of the English Department about the possibility of holding some sort of workshop to teach these girls how to stand up for themselves and to teach these boys how to be allies. He seemed on board. I felt good.

That afternoon, I told one of my friends about my idea, and she doubted the potential of Indonesian students to learn how to stand up for themselves. She basically said sexual harassment is not a good topic for this passive culture. I should choose a softer topic. They will feel embarrassed and uncomfortable, and will be shy to attend. She said my students, who I’ve taught for over a year, would run away from me.

It that true? It’s hard to believe that the students with whom I’ve worked so hard to develop a relationship would run away from me just because I want to discuss a very sensitive topic. I know they will be embarrassed and uncomfortable, but this is an embarrassing and uncomfortable topic. They should feel that way. They need to be given the tools to deal with this problem.

I’ve been raised to embrace the idea that if a topic makes you uncomfortable, you should explore it. Broaden your perspective. Discuss ideas that can potentially make you smarter about the world. I know the Indonesian upbringing is not the same, but my students can, at least, learn how to think this way. As a Peace Corps volunteer, I’m planting seeds. A revolution will not happen overnight. I know this, but a lot more can happen in the next few years if I do this than if I don’t. I must try. I owe it to my Peace Corps service to try as much as I can in the next seven months.

But my friend was right. My students may run away from me. The challenge is not to make this seem like I’m blaming anyone or that I’m trying to completely change Indonesian culture, which can be passive sometimes. How can I integrate the confident, always curious perspective of the world into Indonesian culture? Sure this won’t work in every aspect of Indonesian culture, but I’d like my students to, at least, be able to stop a harasser. They have that potential.

The A Key

My A key has been giving me so much trouble for the past few months. Hell, my whole computer has been trying to kill my cool. Obviously it’s not my computer’s fault if I lose my cool. It’s my own fault. Two months ago, I bought a new charger. I electrocuted myself charging it for the first time in my house. It was a minor electrocution. I buzzed for only a second. I’m okay. The guy who sold me the charger said the charger was legit. Indonesia is known for its replications, but I wanted to believe the guy. I really had no other option, so I just learned how to not electrocute myself again.

I’m currently working on my graduate school application essays, so I need a lot of concentration on the computer. Microsoft Word will be my best friend for the next few months. All of a sudden, the A keyaa starts to malfunction. That key hasn’t been working for the past few months, so I’ve just been copying and pasting that one letter hundreds of times a day. I told a fellow volunteer, “It’s good it’s not a more used key like E or something.” She responds, “But it’s still a major letter.” We both agreed it should’ve been the Q key. I wouldn’t mind at all if it were Q.

Anyway, the past few weeks As have been appearing on my Word documents. It was surprising. I thought the same ghost that’s possessed the students at my school got a hold of my computer. My computer is possessed now. It makes concentrating really difficult because I know at any time As will join me on my exploration of why I’d make a good candidate for San Jose State University’s Speech-Language Pathology graduate program. How in the world am I supposed to focus when I think I’daaaaaaaaaa baaaaaaaaaae aaaa good candidaaaaaaaaaate for this gradaaaaaaaaaaaauate program becauseaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaI’m very oaaaaaaaaarganized and effaaaaaaaaaaaaective in aaaaaaaaaaawhaaaaat I daaaaaaaaoaaaaaa?

It’s not working for meaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

aI never thought Peace Corps challenges would get at me from inside my safe space. My computer is where I’m most comfortable. I like expressing myself through my blogs. At my computer is where I reflect on my problems from the outside world.aaaaaaaaaa I usually feel safe when I reflect. I reflect only when I know I can’t be hurt. It’s genius to get me when I’m most vulnerable. Good one, Peace Corps.aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa But okay. Do your worst. It’s only going to make me stronger.aaaaaaaaaaa

I also could just get my keyboard fixed, but after that tiny electrocution, I reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally don’t want to take aaaaaaanymore chances with my physical health. Mental challenges, okay. But I have a lowaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa physical pain threshold.

I guess I just have to adda thaea backspace button to my list of best friends this year.aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Damn it!aaaa

I Choose Beyonce

After putting Ben Harper’s “Sexual Healing” on blast in the teachers’ room of my conservative Islamic middle school, I started to wonder how pessimistic I’ve become since joining Peace Corps. It’s definitely not Peace Corps’ fault. I’m here. I’m doing my job. It’s just I have seven months left, and all I can think about is getting out. Since I refuse to end my contract, I’ve turned to some self-destructive habits. A few months ago, I wrote a piece on my relationship with Wilson. Wilson is a reference to the film Cast Away in which Tom Hanks’ character develops a weird and dependent relationship with a Wilson volleyball he’s named Wilson.

I’ve removed my Wilson from my life for the past five months. It was easy. I was in a good relationship, and I was convinced I didn’t want Wilson’s attention anymore.

Last week, I spent some time with my Wilson. Things were so good. He was so sweet, so cute, and so kind. Most important, I was desperate for attention. The emotional situation after my break-up was so delicate. I could have chosen to blast some Beyoncé and run away from Wilson that day or I could have revisited an even worse situation with him.

I’m so glad I chose Beyoncé. She has saved my life more than one time in this country. That voice has the power to shake the self-destructive bullshit out of me.

I biked home. There was a baby living at my house for a few days. I love hanging out with babies. They have a similar Beyoncé-esque power to make me reprioritize and realize how stupid my past actions have been. So I just hanged out with the baby at home. He threw up on me. It was still a better time than one I’ve ever had with Wilson. I plan to choose Beyoncé each and every time. And baby vomit.

aaaaaa

Biking Therapy

A few months ago, I wrote a post about my exhaustion from biking. It was about my biking to escape my problems. It was a pretty emo post. Heavily relying on any kind of escapism is unhealthy, and I seriously want to change that habit before I go home in seven months.

I recently went on a 300km bike trip by myself. It was amazing. It was killer and made me cry and left me with bruises all up my behind, but it was awesome. The five things I learned from this trip:

1. Don’t rely on just Indomaret food

Indomaret is like a 7-Eleven. There’s a ton of sugary food to keep you satisfied, but it’s not very wholesome. Eventually, the sugary goodness will get to you, and your biking performance will suffer. Similar to when we eat only junk food while studying for a test or pull an all-nighter at work. It just doesn’t work long-term.

2. Eat even when you do not feel hungry

This is the tip I learned from a previous volunteer. She was adamant about eating lunch before noon. She said even if we don’t feel hungry, our bodies need the good calories. I completely agree. There was a three-hour frame of time when I did not feel like eating anything. I was just too tired. My stomach felt full from all the water, and I was convinced I didn’t need to eat. What a foolish mistake. I started to have some weird spiral vision when I looked down. When that happens, it’s time to eat!

3. Don’t complain to mom (thousands of miles away) about Indonesian traffic

Considering that this was a bike trip by myself, I often became lonely. I called my mom. I asked her how she was, what she was eating. When she heard all the traffic in the background, she asked where I was. I do not like lying to my mom, so I told her I was on a bike trip. Alone. Bad idea. She has rarely supported my recreational activities, excusing long-distance biking as a “boy thing.” I knew she thought she was giving me good advice, but that just made me angry. But Alhamdulillah I am wise to her antics, and slyly ended the conversation on a good note. Regardless, having a conversation with someone that does not support the mentally and physically draining thing you’re doing is not a good idea. It would be better to converse with someone that can keep your spirits up and even kick your ass when you need it to be. 

4. Learn the different tire sounds vehicles make

I have wisely learned the different tire sounds of a motorcycle, car, truck, big truck, minibus, and big bus. Learn them. One second you’ll probably be too tired to look back and see how much you need to edge to the side of the road. Learning those sounds will save you the time and neck-turn energy.

5. Use the time to think of solutions to the problems in your life (don’t just escape them)

The one big problem on my mind was my World Map Project. I picked a wall at my school and started painting a huge world map on it with some students and teachers. The wall I picked is on the second floor balcony overlooking the rice fields, so I got a lot of good wind as I painted. It was an ideal art project experience. A few weeks in, we came across a snag in the process. My original plan was to forgo a blue sea background because I thought the frame was colorful enough and did not require the extra blue that could possibly overpower the calm color scheme I was aiming for.

Anyway, one of the English teachers was upset to hear I did not plan a blue background for the ocean. I tried to accommodate her and warned her that I’d be experimenting with different types of light blue that would not overpower the rest of the colors. I painted it blue the next day. She hated it. I told her it was an experiment and that I’d try again with a different shade of blue the next day. She kept complaining and it bothered me that she did not trust me to take care of this problem. For weeks she praised the work I’ve done with the students and other teachers, but she couldn’t trust me with this one hiccup?

Instead of escaping her and the problem, 50km into my bike trip I tried to plan my next steps: How to make the blue sea complementary with the other country colors and also How to blend the sea with my non-solid frame. I figured it out.

Overall, this past bike trip was great. I got a nice (farmer’s) tan and impressed those truck drivers with my awesome calf flexes. The only unfortunate thing is I immediately gained weight as soon as I got back to my village. My ibu yelled at how thinner I looked and bought all my favorite pastries. Ah! It’s good to be home.

Lastly, I’m planning another bike trip next March to Jogja if any of you want to join me. I promise I won’t eat only Snickers bars or cry hysterically during the trip.

Crying For Badassery

I cry a lot in this country. I cried in the States, but things here seem to set me off more easily. A teacher at my Islamic middle school says something nice to me. Tears start. My host mother says my arms are getting fat. Tears prepare to drop. My friend saves her last piece of chocolate cookie. Girl, get ready for a waterfall!

Despite that melodrama, I have the strongest Peace Corps ally that tries to keep me level headed. She’s ruthless, and she gets shit done. Her badassery is on another level. Envious. Honestly, I’d like to eventually get on that level. Hell, I’m aiming for that badass rugby level where a bloody nose just needs to be wiped before the next tackle. Considering that I still get emotional from being called fat, I say that level is going to take a while to reach. I assumed Peace Corps service was supposed to make me stronger. Although I am much stronger professionally, I’m still a wreck emotionally.

I recently went through a break up. It wasn’t volatile. I still wish him well, but considering that emotions are often known to intensify during Peace Corps service, I was prepared for sad times ahead. The first week, I cried every day. The second week, I binged on everything. It’s funny. The first week, it’s like I expelled my emotions with salty tears. The second week, I tried to replace them by consuming all the things that fulfill my sweet tooth. As it so happens, sweet does not replace the salty.

So, of course, my best ally comforted me using her awesome mix of back patting and ball busting. I needed both. It’s now the third week. I’ve started to wear a rubber band around my wrist that I pull hard and fast every time I think about his sweet smile or New Zealand accent or his really tight *snap*

I’ll try anything.

The first night after the break up, I cried all night. I cried because he and I weren’t suitable for each other, and I cried because I wasn’t strong enough to take it in stride. Obviously my eyes were puffy the next morning, but my eyesight was also strangely clear. From my idealistic and slightly melodramatic perspective, I saw that clearness as I cried all night, so my eyes were clean and ready to see the world. Considering that I cried a lot less than I did my last break up, it seems that Peace Corps is actually helping me to slowly reach that badassery level. I'm ready to see the world again, tissues at hand.

Bros and Bules

Often, we volunteers are called “bule,” derogatory word for foreigner, as we’re passing by. Because I don’t have white skin and have Asian facial features, most Indonesians can’t tell that I’m a foreigner until they hear my voice. So I do get by in a lot of situations without much notice, which is great sometimes. I can often enjoy social activities without the fear of harassment.

Less than a year ago, my Indonesian friends started calling me “mbak bro,” which is a modification of the endearment “mas bro” typically used for men. I love the term. It makes me feel more integrated. It means that despite living in a heavily gender separated society, my friends still accept my less than feminine attributes as part of my role as a female.

Recently, I’ve been getting called just “bro” when I go biking. In the beginning, I thought:

That’s fine. It’s better than being called the derogatory “bule.” Let them think what they want.

It eventually started to bother me because even though I can physically pass for Indonesian and as a result, receive less blatant negative attention, I get another kind of negative attention for not behaving the way an Indonesian woman would. I smoke in public. I have short hair. I wear short sleeves. I ngopi (have coffee) at night. Because of these things, I sometimes I get judged for not behaving as a typical Indonesian woman living in the village would. Men would speak under their breaths about me. They would ask inappropriate questions for being alone at night.

It seems that the other white volunteers can get away with doing these things because Indonesians assume they obviously have a different culture and would naturally behave differently. The white volunteers and I both receive attention for the color of our skin, both usually negative, but different.

Can I just say I’m tired of being judged for my differences? I just want to live my life. My current coping mechanisms have been having coffee in the evenings with my friends while enjoying a few cigarettes. But if how I deal with my problems is a big cause of my problems, what’s the solution? I try so hard to do the culturally appropriate thing, but most of the times I just feel fuck it. I have eight and a half months left. I have good projects in line, and I’ll still try really hard to please people. But I’m also going to enjoy that time of the day when I’m not sweating profusely from my cup of hot coffee and smoke those delicious tar-filled packs until I get back home. If some people think that’s an unhealthy philosophy to live by, that’s okay with me. Let them think what they want.

Bonansa English Show

My very first show with my neighbor, Andini

I had heard of the Bonansa English Radio Show from one of my English-speaking neighbors in the village. The Bonansa Radio Show is an hour-long English radio show broadcasted in Kediri City. The broadcaster interviews a few guests about a certain topic, all in English. At first, I was hesitant to join because it was the radio. I’ve never done radio before back home. But after my neighbor said it would be a great experience for the broadcaster and other radio guests to meet an American, I saw it as part of my job to do it. The funny thing with me is if I assign a task to my job description, my insecurities don’t play a large part in completing the task. Fake it till you make it I guess. After that first night, I was hooked. I was a frequent guest, and it’s never been difficult to say yes to an invitation since.

I guess the difficult question is: What do I make of this experience? Other than contributing to my personal growth and entertaining the broadcaster and listeners with my funny mispronunciation of the Javanese language, I was confused as to what I could make of this. The broadcaster had the great idea of inviting my students as guests so that they could practice their budding English skills and to expose them to different situations.

The first few students I brought were my middle school students. They were very shy, but seemed to enjoy the experience. The next students I brought were my university students. While the experience seemed to increase the ego of some of them, it also brought me closer to one. I teach English speaking to first year university students at the local university. In one of my classes, one of my students, Andy, often talks out of turn, disrupting the class in the process. The first few months were difficult with him. I would talk to him and ask why he would be disrespectful to the learning experience of the other students in class. He would make some flippant remarks, so I just ignored his behavior.

One day, Andy’s classmate said Andy disrupts class because he really wants my attention. I informed the classmate that acting inappropriately during class is the worst way to get my attention. After discussing the issue with some volunteer friends, I decided to invite Andy as a guest on the Bonansa English Show. Maybe that would help release some energy that he reserves for disrupting my class.

From Left: my university student, me, the broadcaster, an English teacher, a university student, Andy

The night of the radio show was one of the most memorable times of my Peace Corps career. Andy showed up and was ready to talk. Right before the show, he shyly came up to thank me for giving him the opportunity to show off his English skills. He even admitted that he was nervous. After encouraging him for a few minutes, he had a successful hour-long show, all the while looking for my encouraging nods.

Afterward, he thanked me again and apologized for being disruptive in class. He said he felt really comfortable with me and that he wanted to be confident like me. We then discussed more appropriate ways to express confidence that didn’t negatively affect other people. It was a good night, and I hope Andy took something from our conversation.

I have about nine months left of my Peace Corps service. It’s time to tie up loose ends and to share what I’ve learned with the new volunteers. They arrived in country a few months ago, so I’ve introduced the Bonansa English Show to a couple of them. I hope it can help them become confident like it did for me and to give them an opportunity to share that confidence with others. There are other Andys out there, and I hope they can all be given the opportunity to discover healthy ways to express confidence like my Andy did.

From Left: an English teacher at Max's school, Max (a new volunteer), a guest, the broadcaster, me

Potter Barn Therapy

I’ve been craving browsing a Potter Barn catalog. I’m in that phase of my service when I feel like my life is so chaotic that I need to be surrounded by something aesthetically pleasing. I need beauty, symmetry, and most important, organization. Once I get my fill, I believe I can return to my Peace Corps life and make some sense of the chaos.

We just finished our Mid-Service Conference. The group of volunteers I’m in has been in Indonesia for about 17 months. The conference was held in a hotel in the capital of our province. We stayed at the hotel for 11 days. It was wonderful. Beds were made every day. Towels were fresh. I’ve never felt so pampered in 17 months! I was finally able to scrub out the bike oil stain from my leg. That alone is success in my book.

During our stay, I even got my hands on an outdated Pottery Barn catalog. That afternoon, I unashamedly stayed in my hotel, ate an Oreo blizzard, and perused those pages for hours in my underwear. I definitely needed the inspiration that came from the beautiful organization in that catalog. Browsing through a Pottery Barn catalog was like therapy for me. I soaked in the organization, the clean lines, and the (omg) symmetry. It helped calm my mind. It helped make my return to permanent site easier.

When I got back to my village, I saw it so differently. 11 days is a long time away. As much as I enjoyed the time away, I missed my site. I missed Kediri. I missed my home. My life in Kediri still seems so disorganized, but thanks to some Pottery Barn therapy, I think I can tackle the last nine months in cool stride.

Ngomong Opo?

I’ve been living here for more than a year, and my Indonesian is not where I want it to be. I was arrogant in the beginning of my service. My language skills were budding, and I thought it would be so easy to become near to fluent living in the village. I thought I’d be conversing with grace and joking with flair. The truth is I can barely order a hot tea. My bad pronunciation is no longer considered cute. It’s just a sign of my incompetence.

I can converse Indonesian with people that know me well. They are used to how I speak, my sentence structure, and intonation. I can talk to them easily. But with people I just met or the waiter at the café, no cigar.

The weirdest thing about this language deficiency is that I’m more comfortable speaking in the local dialect, Javanese, rather than in the national language. While this skill is helpful for getting close to people in my village, it’s completely inappropriate when used in formal situations, which occurs quite often.

I just want to preface that Peace Corps prepared me well in terms of language acquisition. I practiced a lot during training. I practiced with the taxi drivers, my neighbors, and my host family. Things were looking good. I guess I just got lazy when I moved to permanent site. I actively sought out the English speakers in my area and neglected to practice every day with my host family. So while I improved my public speaking skills (in English) and improved my joke telling skills (in Javanese), my Indonesian vocabulary went down. It’s my own fault.

I’m thankful that most people in my province mix Javanese and Indonesian in their daily speech, so whenever my laziness to practice Indonesian leads to a miscommunication or misunderstanding, I briefly excuse my incompetence with the Javanese question:

“Ngomong opo?” (What did you say?)

This usually delights people and tricks them into thinking I’ve totally mastered Indonesian and have moved on to Javanese. They don’t realize that I haven’t even answered the question. This is not a proud moment for me. It actually depresses me, but I’m trying to just survive. My mood is further dampened after I go to my favorite café and try to order a simple hot tea using Indonesian. The waiter replies:

“Ngomong opo?”

Curses! Foiled again!

Peace Corps Chic: Looking Rough in the Rice Fields

We get a lot of free time as Peace Corps volunteers. While most of my time is spent strengthening relationships I’ve developed with the Indonesians in my area, this past holiday stretch has sent most home to spend time with their families. So I spent a lot of time with other volunteers and myself these past few weeks.

First unfortunate realization: I tend to overdue it with the biking when I’m bored. From my experience, biking helps relieve some of the craziness that often envelops me when I spend too much time indoors. I start to doubt my service. I wonder why I’m still here. Am I making a difference? These are the questions that have been plaguing me for the past year. Even though I know I am actually doing projects and am not sitting on my ass, being indoors for hours can cause me to forget all that I’ve been doing. So I bike. A lot.

The first few kilometers are enjoyable. But after realizing I have nothing else planned for the rest of the day, I bike more. A few kilometers turn into several that eventually turn into 50-60 kilometer days. I’m the fittest I’ve ever been, and I’m proud of that. But I need to rest. I am always exhausted, and it doesn’t help when Ibu yells at me for looking so ugly and tired when I come home. Although it’s not ideal, I’d rather be exhausted than crazy.

Second unfortunate realization: Indonesia doesn’t look good on me anymore. The increase in biking and chain-smoking has left me feeling and looking exhausted. I miss the days back home when I could wear make-up, short dresses, and a clear face. This no longer happens here. What one volunteers calls “Peace Corps chic” has overwhelmed my entire lifestyle. I no longer feel pretty. I feel rough, and I look it.

First fortunate realization: I have ten more months of my Peace Corps service. I have a few cool projects I’m excited to see to completion, and I’m especially excited to be able to work on these projects with the very cool Indonesians in my life.

Second fortunate realization: Despite my looking rough, I’ve found someone who appreciates me just as I am. Although I’d rather he know my American self, it’s taken me a long time to get to the point of accepting myself just the way I am, Peace Corps chic and all. And perhaps that’s the best realization and the only one worth remembering. :)

The Iceberg Theory

I just came back from a bicycle trip, so I spent the last few days recovering. Yesterday I slept in, ate breakfast, did laundry, and slept some more. It was a glorious day. After my third nap, I decided to bike to my favorite café for a smoothie. I got on my bike and sped away.

On the way there, I was leered and jeered at by a group of men on a truck. At the next intersection, some young boys yelled, “Bule bule!”* One of those young boys then threw his shoe at me. I just brushed it off and kept biking. About a block from the café, a few guys on their motorcycles slowed beside me and started clapping. I’d accept that behavior if I were competing in the Tour de France, but really, guys?

I started to wonder what happened. Why was the catcalling so bad today? Was it my clothing? I’m wearing long pants and a baggy t-shirt. It really shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing. I shouldn’t have to blame myself for their behavior. This happens regardless of what I wear.

I was especially sensitive to the catcalls today because I interacted with only my host parents, my neighbors, and the many cats in our area. It was a peaceful day in the village. Because I was safe at home, I guess I didn’t bother to put on my “armor.” This is armor I’ve built in Peace Corps to help deflect against any cultural habits that I find offensive.

For example, when the teachers at my middle school engage in their culturally appropriate chatter by calling me fat or mentioning my acne, I’m ready for it. When my ninth grade boys whistle as I pass their classrooms, I’m ready for it. When motorcyclists slow their pace to clap at me, I’m ready for it. But I was not ready for it today.

One of my Indonesian friends said I shouldn’t bike or go out at night because it’s dangerous for women. Women need to be protected, he says. He used money as an analogy. If, for example, we openly display our money when we walk down the street, someone will, of course, want to steal it. I had no response. Only after this conversation did I realize he compared women to money, to an object. Women are not objects. It’s simple really. Women are people and objects are objects. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. Maybe I’ve been conditioned to believe what he has been conditioned to believe.

Being a Peace Corps volunteer is supposed to be tough. I realized that, which is why I built this armor against things I expect to be offensive. Cultures operate differently from one another. But wouldn’t it be great if I didn’t need the armor at all?

Peace Corps suggests we use the Iceberg Theory to understand foreign actions. For example, at the top of the iceberg, the foreign act is the teachers calling me fat. In my culture, that’s incredibly rude. Why does physical appearance need to be mentioned so blatantly here? Although weight is sometimes openly discussed in America, the topic is completely inappropriate in a professional setting.

Coming back to the Iceberg Theory, underneath the surface of the water is the bigger part of the iceberg. This is where intention lies. From my experience, Indonesians tend to express care by asking if I’ve eaten, if I’ve already bathed, and where I’m going. They are just making sure I’m healthy and safe. These are personal questions I answer on a daily basis. So the weight question doesn’t really faze me anymore. They just want to make sure I’m taking care of myself.

But what about my ninth grade boys or the motorcyclists that clap at me? Do they care? It seems that they’re more concerned about acknowledging me as a woman, and as such, an object. They don’t want to make sure I’m healthy or safe. This is not a cultural difference that I can try to understand using a theory. This is a universal problem that typically stems from the objectification of women.

Anyway, I try not to let it get to me. I try to be the best person I can be and do good things. I’ve never been a big picture kind of person, so I really have no clear idea what we can do to change this. I just want to say that I’m tired of wearing my armor for things I shouldn’t have to. Cultural differences: okay. Female objectivity: not okay. I think my time can be better spent on more useful things than on worrying how much of an objectifying beating I can take that day. And I'll step off my soapbox now.

*Bule is a derogative Indonesian word for foreigner.

Just Say No

I’ve always had a hard time saying no. It’s not that those elementary school D.A.R.E classes on just saying no to drugs didn’t help. They did. I attribute my very limited drug addictions to the success of those classes. The problem is I don’t know how to say no to certain people. I am not necessarily a people pleaser, but I feel obligated to say yes, especially to those I admire.

Last week, a teacher at my Islamic middle school asked me to teach his class for him. My first thought was, not surprisingly, “Well I guess I can try.” He’s a good teacher. I’m sure he’s missing class for an important reason. I was ready to say yes, but what came out was, “No.” That was a surprise. Why didn’t I say yes?

Looking back, of course I should have said no. No preparation and expecting me to teach? I don’t pick rabbits out of my hat anymore.

In the beginning of my Peace Corps service, I tried so hard to please people. I devoted to the Yes Man philosophy. This was a new chapter in my life, and I wanted to make the absolute best of it. For the most part, it has helped shape my current good experiences. But in some ways the Yes Man philosophy harmed my development because I wasn’t saying yes to just open up to new opportunities; sometimes I was saying yes to avoid confrontation.

At this time, I’m more comfortable saying no. I mean there will definitely be instances when I can’t say no. No one’s perfect. I still have so many problems, so many vices.

One of my high school teachers said the age range that I’m currently in is the time when people figure out themselves. We figure out how we operate and learn how to test our limits. As nice as that sounds, I don’t think I’m fully there yet. Not yet. But at least I can say for sure that I’m better at saying no, and knowing that makes a big difference.

Mbak Bro!

Most of my students, both middle school and university, fear speaking English because they are worried about making grammatical mistakes. Every time my students say this, I always try to express that their grammatical mistakes are okay. As long as I understand the meaning, mistakes are all right. The point is communication. If they can communicate, I don’t care if they misuse the present perfect progressive tense. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure what that tense is trying to describe.

I try to practice what I preach. I always intentionally, and unintentionally, make mistakes when I speak Indonesian with my students. To err is human. Peace Corps suggested that making these mistakes makes us seem more human to our American-glorifying students, which should in theory make them more comfortable being human with us.

The one instance I surprised myself embracing my humanness was when I responded to “Mas,” which is the identifying term for male in Java. My hair has always been short in this country. It’s just too hot to keep it long. Since having short hair isn’t common in Indonesia, especially in the village, people often mistake me for a boy. I usually just correct them and explain that Americans have flexible style options for both men and women. They usually apologize and seem super embarrassed once I correct them. Not a big deal.

But that one instance I responded to “Mas” was a bit confusing for me. Indonesia has pretty strict gender roles. I’m feminine, but I don’t really fit in. Maybe my not fitting in has allowed me to float around in terms of gender roles. I can be feminine and masculine at the same time. My close Indonesian friends seem to understand this, too, because they call me “Mbak Bro.” Mbak is the identifying term for female in Java. The original term of endearment is “Mas Bro,” which roughly translates to “dude” or “boss.” But because I’m female they’ve tried to integrate my floating personality into the term. In my opinion, it makes the endearment so much more endearing.

As soon as I realized I just responded when someone called out “Mas,” my first thought was:

“What the fuck is wrong with me? Who am I?”

But then I realized that those people don’t mean to disrespect or judge me for having short hair as a female. They are just trying to communicate. And since I want to practice what I preach to my students, I’m okay responding to that term.

Wilson

As much as I’ve developed professionally here, I’m still dealing with the same personal problem. In the film Cast Away, Tom Hanks’ character gets stranded on an island by himself. His only companion is a Wilson volleyball that he names “Wilson.” His friendship with Wilson is explained by desperation. There is no other person on this island with him, and he personifies the volleyball and develops a complex relationship with it.

I want to preface that I’m not comparing my Peace Corps service to being stranded on a deserted island by myself. I have plenty of support here and at home. I am also not comparing the person I’ve identified as my Wilson as being less than human. But I have developed a complex relationship with a Wilson that has harmed as well as improved my overall service.

I found my Wilson eight months ago. The ways Wilson has harmed my service:

• Avoiding certain areas of school so that I wouldn’t have to run into Wilson and in turn, not being able to socialize with certain people 
• Getting unreasonably sad every time Wilson neglects me 
• Causing me to develop an unhealthy relationship with him, a community member I’m supposed to serve as part of my service 

The ways Wilson has improved my service:

• Allowing me to explore past my comfort zone in terms of personal relationships 
• Helping me improve my Indonesian language skills 
• Keeping me busy with other activities in the community in trying to avoid interaction 

For the past eight months, I’ve been debilitated by this relationship. There have been many good experiences with Wilson, and many bad. I quickly learned how to control my destructive outward feelings towards Wilson, but it’s all still there internally.

There’s only 14 months left of my service. If I were to choose to extend a third year, my Wilson would be a major factor in the final decision. I still feel successful as a Peace Corps volunteer. Wilson doesn’t change that. I’m doing things I never thought I could do. I feel like a leader here. I fully intend to continue that feeling back home, but am I willing to prolong this relationship? I don’t know. I just know that I’m excited for the opportunity for Wilson to cast away from my life the way he did for Tom Hanks’ character. It’ll be an incredibly sad moment to see Wilson float away from my life raft, but I’ll be entirely ready when he does. Because when he does, it means that I’ll finally be able to escape the island.

Content

Tonight I had the good fortune of being alone at school, smoking underneath a fan, and listening to Adele on my laptop. I was so at peace I didn’t know if I was happy or sad.

I texted this to my friend, and she responded:

“It sounds peaceful. Just be content.”

I’m pretty content in my village. I think I’ve integrated well and have developed good relationships with my community members. As Peace Corps volunteers, we have lifestyle restrictions. We need to be respectful of Indonesian culture. For the most part, it’s made me evaluate the things that matter most. I’ve simplified my life through this experience.

On the other hand, I’m constantly worried if what I’m doing is culturally appropriate while at the same time trying to keep my American values. As a result, I don’t get to experience a lot of peace within myself. I want to be a good volunteer, and I also want to be true to myself. So when I do get those few chances to do exactly what I want and feel comfortable doing it, I feel a bit uneasy.

But tonight I pushed a few chairs together underneath the fan, lay down on the chairs, and lit a cigarette. My iTunes playlist went to Adele’s “First Love,” and I could hear the rain outside. Only the security was at school, so it was quiet. It was peaceful. And since it was peaceful, I had the opportunity to just daydream. I felt a bit uneasy, but I let my mind wander. It was the most relaxing ten minutes I’ve had in a long time. I daydreamed and felt at ease. So I guess I can call that content. 

Mutual Respect

During my Islamic middle school’s trip to Bali, one of my English teachers said he felt very disrespected by the behavior of the foreigners. They wear bikinis, drink alcohol, and engage in inappropriate physical behavior with each other.

Before coming to Indonesia, I didn’t know this was a very conservative culture. I’m still surprised by how conservative it is, and I’ve been living here for a year. Furthermore, before moving to our respective villages, the Peace Corps volunteers were educated about the Indonesian education system and its culture for three months, yet many of us are still adjusting. My English teacher, who I consider a close friend, said foreigners should research and see what’s appropriate in Indonesia before coming here. I told him:

“I’ve been living here for a year and am still confused by what’s appropriate, and my job is to figure out how to integrate. How can you expect better from a tourist whose main goal is to enjoy life the way he or she knows how?”

That leads to my point: the foreigners in Bali are tourists. They are on vacation. Bali caters to the Western lifestyle, so Westerners will be attracted to vacationing there. They most likely don’t know when they are being disrespectful to the Indonesian culture.

The same applies to my time here. There are some Indonesian behaviors that I consider disrespectful to my culture. Eastern and Western cultures are incredibly different, and that’s okay. But it does prove challenging when I face situations that make me feel incredibly disrespected that I want to go home. Things I consider incredibly private and taboo are openly discussed here. It’s my job to try to understand and accept the differences. It’s not my job to judge or change.

I expressed to my English teacher that I try really hard to understand cultural behaviors foreign to me, and I expect him to try to understand that the foreigners in Bali don’t know they’re being disrespectful the same way Indonesians don’t know they’re being disrespectful to me unless I tell them.

We can’t hate people for being ignorant. We should, instead, use that opportunity to understand that difference isn’t bad. Difference is great, and understanding difference is respectful.

Big Fish

In my small Indonesian village, I’m kind of a big deal. People I don’t know greet me by name every day. It’s kind of strange. I’m a big fish in a small pond, and that kind of power is attractive and really seductive. It’s a kind of celebrity status, and I’m really enjoying it.

But like Ben Parker once said, “With great power comes great responsibility.” The community expects a lot from me. They seem to assume that because I’m American, I know how to do everything. That simply is not true. But sometimes that expectation pushes me to do things I’ve never done before and with a bit of practice, I actually can do anything.

I recently came across this question about capacity and perseverance:

“How would you behave if you were the best in the world at what you do?” – Maria Forleo

I like to think I’m behaving well. I try to be as culturally appropriate as possible with few exceptions. For example, it’s a huge cultural faux pas to eat while standing, let alone walking, but I still eat my apple while walking around the teachers’ office. I’m hungry, and I’ve got places to go!

Otherwise, it’s been a great learning experience. My American status has afforded me the reputation of being an expert at practically everything. While that can be unfair at times, it has also forced me out of my reserved shell. The people here believe in me. It’s so obvious. I worry sometimes that when I come back home to America, who will believe in me so willingly? Will the skills I’ve cultivated here transfer to my American lifestyle? It’s easy to feel superhuman here because people treat me as superhuman. I just hope I can continue that back home.

Everything And Nothing

Due to my excessive free time, I’ve come across a metaphysical phase of my Peace Corps experience. A fellow volunteer texted that she was bored one day. After I suggested she write a story, she said:

“I’m not a writer.”

To which I replied:

“We can’t be tied down by labels in Peace Corps. We are everything and nothing at the same time.”

She later clarified that she doesn’t like writing. But the point is we are given an immense amount of freedom to define the role we take in our Peace Corps community. That freedom can make us feel like we are both everything and nothing at the same time.

Most of the time, that freedom makes me crazy. Every now and then, I take on small projects. But they all seem like side projects based on community interests. Nothing seems unified. Even though my days are filled, I still feel like I’m doing nothing. There has yet to be a defining moment of this Peace Corps adventure. There’s yet nothing I can identify that brings meaning to everything I’ve been doing for the past eleven months.

I feel like I do nothing and am bombarded by feelings of everything. What should I have already accomplished at this time? Am I ready to consider extending a third year in Indonesia? How much rice have I eaten in the past year?

I realize that this problem is mostly about my expectations for this kind of service. I have so many things I want to accomplish, and I fully intend to take on more of my little projects that may seem so little to what I expect in the grand scheme of things. But today I am exhausted. I just want to do nothing by smoking, sipping coffee, and daydreaming for hours clad in a tank top. Considering that in this country it’s impolite for women to smoke and show too much skin and also dangerous for anyone to daydream in fear of devil possession, those precious moments doing exactly what I want are everything to me.

Westernization

One of the English teachers at my middle school asked for help to coach students for an English speech competition. Of course I wanted to help. My students are great at memorizing speeches, but they really need a lot of work on performance. I thought it would be a fun project to improve their public speaking.

The teacher handed me the speech the students found on the Internet (side note: it’s a common Indonesian practice to use speeches found on the Internet for speech competitions). Anyway, I scan the speech for grammatical and language errors. Then I come across the words, “Western” and “destructive” in the same sentence. I pause. I read closely from the beginning.

As it turns out the whole speech is a warning to the Muslim youth to avoid the destructive Western way of living. The first thought: Why the hell did they ask me, a Westerner, to edit this?

I felt a bit betrayed. Did they think I wouldn’t get offended? I mean I understand that there are some aspects of Western culture that go against Islamic teachings. And I respect those differences. Different cultures are bound to clash, but to outright say the Western way of living is destructive is offensive. As I fumed, I decided I’d reword the speech. Western should not be synonymous with bad in this country, and students should not be taught such.

Furthermore, I also realized that the students probably didn’t understand the speech when they found it on the Internet. They probably just Googled, “Good Muslim Values,” and this could have been the first speech to pop up. Regardless, if this speech is out there that means other people have access to it. I wanted to at least stop my students from potentially believing its close-mindedness.

After finishing the speech, I went straight to the teacher that gave me the speech and told her I thought it was incredibly close-minded and impolite to use the speech without my modifications. I said if the students believe that the Western way of living is destructive, what would they think of me? Would they respect me as a teacher? Would they like me as a person?

I just wanted to express that even though I may make lifestyle choices that go against another person’s religious beliefs, it does not mean I’m a bad person. It doesn’t mean that either person is bad. It just means we’re different. Different is not bad. It’s just different. And that’s okay.