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.