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.