jahit = sew / penjahit = someone who sews
jahat = evil / penjahat = someone who does evil
pijat = massage / pemijat = someone who gives massages
I was just telling Aswan about Pak Dumeri (who you can read about in number 4 of the list found in THIS blog from January). He is famous as a horse masseuse but can fix any bodily ailment you might have in about 2 incredibly painful minutes of jamming fingers into the right nerves. Anyway, Aswan was asking where he is located at, and we were trying to figure out "sebelah mana" (next to what). And I made some offhand comment that went kind of like this:
"Ya, Pak Dumeri sangat terkenal sebagai penjahit kuda."
Aswan replied, "Hahaha! Salah! Dia PENJAHAT kuda!"
To which I replied, "penJAHAT?! What?!"
To which he finally shouted, "PEMIJAT!"
Basically, our conversation went like this:
Me: Yeah, Pak Dumeri is famous for being a horse tailor. (I meant horse masseuse. The words are similar.)
Aswan: Hahaha! You messed up! He's a horsey evildoer!"
Me: Evildoer?! WHAT?!
Aswan: MASSEUSE!
So basically, I used the wrong Indonesian word. Then Aswan used the wrong word while trying to correct my wrong word. Then I got confused about why he was calling Pak Dumeri evil, having never met him. Then Aswan realized what he had said and that we had BOTH used the wrong word. Then we just laughed a lot.
27 September 2011
So This is Random...
... but if anybody has a few extra minutes and bucks, could you go to a hardware store or Wal-Mart under the guise of wanting to paint every room in an entire apartment building a different color and get them to let you take about elleventy jillion paint cards and mail them to me? I'm not entirely sure why I want them yet, but I want to make something. With every color ever invented, including '79 Camaro.
Kotak Pos #142
Salatiga 50711 Jateng
INDONESIA
That would be amazing. Thanks.
Kotak Pos #142
Salatiga 50711 Jateng
INDONESIA
That would be amazing. Thanks.
26 September 2011
Desk
A certain family from our community is moving soon. I hate it when people leave. But I like buying things for cheap. For example, today I bought nine large, black, handmade picture frames from them for $10. Excited to see what happens with those. But what I am really excited about is the desk I bought from them. It is huge and has lots of compartments and shelves and places for filing things and locks and keys – basically everything that my secret organizational OCD self loves.
This is the desk in their house with their stuff. I’m sure I can find lots of things to fill it up. It is all mine in about a month. Now I just have to figure out where to put it in my tiny apartment…
In other exciting news, they were finally able to identify yesterday’s suicide bomber, I am feeling more healthy, boyfriend has a fever (he said he was cold but was sweating THROUGH his hoodie), and oh yeah – MY FRIEND RUTHIE HAD A BABY! Like an hour ago. Where would I be without Facebook? Clueless is the correct answer.
OK, that is all.
25 September 2011
My Angel
My angel of the day is hotjaga. I got some kind of mild (thank goodness) food poisoning in Semarang on Saturday morning at breakfast. I ate Padang food, which is usually fairly sketchy because they leave the food sitting out in dishes all day long and people come and just help themselves to however much they want. However, the restaurant I ate at was in the mall (seemed more upscale than someplace on the sidewalk), had just opened 30 minutes prior to my eating there (so the food should have been fresh), and I did not eat any of the meat (I never eat meat, on principle, at Padang restaurants). But shortly after, I was watching Rise of Return of the Apes with some friends, and as is my habit in movie theaters, I fell asleep halfway through. But I jerked awake at some point near the end of the movie when I felt my entire breakfast coming up. Luckily, I managed to keep it down. And then I (barely) managed to keep it down through the next 2 malls as well. Unfortunately, my heart was RACING, I was super hot and sweaty even in the AC, and I was dizzy and ended up sitting on the cool tile floors of most stores we went into, much to the amusement of many Indonesian people. The motorbike ride home helped a lot with all the air blowing on me and because I was able to sit down rather than stand. But by the time I got home, I felt pretty miserable and went to bed at 8:30 after making sure an ample amount of lights in my apartment were left on just in case any emergency dashes to the bathroom were necessary.
Thank goodness no dashes were required. I slept soundly for nearly 12 hours but woke up Sunday morning late for church and still feeling pretty miserable. As long as I laid down, I was fine, but as soon as I stood up, I was sweating and dizzy. So that seemed like a pretty good excuse to stay in bed all day, reading Agatha Christie and watching movies. Aswan came over in the afternoon and helped me realize that I hadn't eaten anything since 10:30 the morning before and that I should probably get something in me. We discussed our options, which at that hour mostly included fried things. I finally decided I wanted soup, so he went to the market for me to buy garlic, carrots, potatoes, shallots and celery. I heated it up with some rice in some turkey stock I froze after Thanksgiving last year (I KNEW that would come in handy someday) and ate a little of that. I felt a little better.
This morning I was still feeling a little shaky on my feet and wondering how I was going to walk all the way to school. I figured that once I was here, I could find some way to teach sitting down if I needed to. But it was the actual getting here that concerned me. So I packed up my school things, left my house, and slowly started to walk down my sidewalk. And right at that very moment, who should pull up to the end of my sidewalk (with the sound of resounding trumpets and heavenly hosts singing hallelujah, of course) on his giant motorbike and ask me ever-so-suavely "Mau ikut?" (wanna ride?). My good friend, HOTJAGA! I told him I absolutely wanted a ride, so he drove me to school. Great timing. What a blessing.
There are few things the Javanese love more than some juicy gossip. They will go to great lengths to invent something good to talk about even if everybody knows it's not true. So of course, once hotjaga dropped me off outside my classroom and rode off into the sunset... er... sunrise, my Indonesian co-workers started to ask me, "Did he spend the night at your house?"
*forehead palm slap*
Thank goodness no dashes were required. I slept soundly for nearly 12 hours but woke up Sunday morning late for church and still feeling pretty miserable. As long as I laid down, I was fine, but as soon as I stood up, I was sweating and dizzy. So that seemed like a pretty good excuse to stay in bed all day, reading Agatha Christie and watching movies. Aswan came over in the afternoon and helped me realize that I hadn't eaten anything since 10:30 the morning before and that I should probably get something in me. We discussed our options, which at that hour mostly included fried things. I finally decided I wanted soup, so he went to the market for me to buy garlic, carrots, potatoes, shallots and celery. I heated it up with some rice in some turkey stock I froze after Thanksgiving last year (I KNEW that would come in handy someday) and ate a little of that. I felt a little better.
This morning I was still feeling a little shaky on my feet and wondering how I was going to walk all the way to school. I figured that once I was here, I could find some way to teach sitting down if I needed to. But it was the actual getting here that concerned me. So I packed up my school things, left my house, and slowly started to walk down my sidewalk. And right at that very moment, who should pull up to the end of my sidewalk (with the sound of resounding trumpets and heavenly hosts singing hallelujah, of course) on his giant motorbike and ask me ever-so-suavely "Mau ikut?" (wanna ride?). My good friend, HOTJAGA! I told him I absolutely wanted a ride, so he drove me to school. Great timing. What a blessing.
There are few things the Javanese love more than some juicy gossip. They will go to great lengths to invent something good to talk about even if everybody knows it's not true. So of course, once hotjaga dropped me off outside my classroom and rode off into the sunset... er... sunrise, my Indonesian co-workers started to ask me, "Did he spend the night at your house?"
*forehead palm slap*
News
Hey all. I don't know if you've seen anything about Indonesia in the news today or not. But just in case anybody saw and was concerned for my safety, let me just say that I'm OK. Earlier today, Sunday morning, a suicide bomber attended a large church in Solo and detonated a bomb at the end of the service as he was leaving. So far it has been confirmed that 2 people were killed - the bomber himself and an usher who was greeting him as he left - and several were taken to the hospital with injuries sustained from the blast. Right now, the president is saying that the bomber was a member of a terrorist sect from Cirebon, which is a city in West Java. So far that's all we know.
Solo is about an hour south of where I live. A little close to home, but I am safe. Local churches and Bali (of course, because Bali always goes on alert whenever there's any terrorist activity) are practicing tightened security now.
Right now a lot of Indonesians are disappointed by what has happened. I, frankly, am disappointed by the reaction of lots of Indonesians, which has been to smugly pass around photos of the suicide bomber's body - split open and laying on the front steps of the church. My friends don't understand why I refuse to look at it every time someone tries to show me on their laptop or Blackberry. It sickens me.
And speaking of sick, I got food poisoning for breakfast yesterday. Agaaaaain. Stayed in bed all day today and feeling better tonight. Hoping I can make it through school on my feet tomorrow!
Solo is about an hour south of where I live. A little close to home, but I am safe. Local churches and Bali (of course, because Bali always goes on alert whenever there's any terrorist activity) are practicing tightened security now.
Right now a lot of Indonesians are disappointed by what has happened. I, frankly, am disappointed by the reaction of lots of Indonesians, which has been to smugly pass around photos of the suicide bomber's body - split open and laying on the front steps of the church. My friends don't understand why I refuse to look at it every time someone tries to show me on their laptop or Blackberry. It sickens me.
And speaking of sick, I got food poisoning for breakfast yesterday. Agaaaaain. Stayed in bed all day today and feeling better tonight. Hoping I can make it through school on my feet tomorrow!
21 September 2011
Oh, Wednesday...
Sometimes I like sharing about my day. So I'm gonna do that now.
6:40 - woke up 10 minutes late because my phone keeps changing the time.
7:00 - still made it to school just in time for devotions with the Indonesian staff. Managed to scarf down half a pineapple I found in the fridge on the way.
7:40 - PreCalculus, in which one boy sitting in the front managed to slowly steal all my whiteboard markers AND erasers and sneak them back to other classmates without me EVER actually seeing him do it.
8:35 - Algebra 1, in which I had to explain the concept of grade (in relation to incline) SIX times because nobody can listen the first time.
9:35 - Algebra 2, in which I gave them a critical thinking math activity and told them that they are not allowed to ask any questions about it until the last 10 minutes of class, thinking that this would keep them from asking mindless questions like they ALWAYS do. As it turns out, nobody did the project until the last 10 minutes of class in which I could not keep up with the barrage of questions. Epic backfire.
10:30 - Chapel, in which we had a praise and worship and prayer time and one senior girl shared her awesome testimony with all of us. I love having fellowship in English.
12:00 - Indonesian beef stew for lunch made without any salt or pepper. Yum.
12:35 - Geometry, in which I got told that I look like Beyonce.
1:30 - 9th grade teacher meeting in which we spent an hour discussing what on earth we are going to do to correct these behavior problems. We are going militaristic on them, because we know that is what it's going to take for this group. From now on, they raise their hand before talking. ALWAYS. And when they don't, they have to come to school 30 minutes early the next day and sit in silence. They must also pick up ALL their things (including garbage) when they leave. If the room is a mess when they go, they get 2 extra laps (almost 1/2 mile) in PE. Fingers crossed for successful implementation after meeting with the kids on Friday.
2:30 - madly grade homework for 45 minutes.
3:15 - teacher's meeting.
4:00 - open house at the new boss's house. I found two paintings of African jakaranda trees hanging on his daughter's bedroom door. I knew right away who had painted them. And that was confirmed when I read the name in the bottom corner. M. Mwangi. Martin, my Kenyan dad. And then I almost cried in front of everyone. As it turns out, nobody in my boss's family (they used to live in Kenya) ever even met Martin. They found the paintings in an empty house and kept them. So then I was one of the last to leave because we were all standing around reminiscing about Nairobi... It was really good, but it made my heart miss Africa.
5:30 - come home, realize that Ibu Sri cooked nothing today (because she was busy learning to make Indian curry at someone else's house! Score!) and a friend is coming over soon for dinner. Sit on the couch and check my email.
6:30 - drive to town and buy an awesome nasi bakar meal - rice wrapped in banana leaves and grilled, grilled tempe and chicken, crushed green chilies, and guava and mango juice, because I couldn't actually decide which one I wanted more.
7:00 - said friend comes over and we eat together while watching episode 1 of season 3 of Parenthood!
8:00 - sit around and talk about lots of things.
8:45 - friend goes home and I read one of the American magazines she brought to me. inTouch - December 2010. I am so up to date on my celebrities. Not. But the magazines go through July 2011. So maybe by Sunday I'll be more caught up.
9:45 - start to research places to stay for Christmas Bali vacation. Jealous?
10:00 - BLOG!
And soon, I will sleep. Fuuuuuuull day! How was yours??
6:40 - woke up 10 minutes late because my phone keeps changing the time.
7:00 - still made it to school just in time for devotions with the Indonesian staff. Managed to scarf down half a pineapple I found in the fridge on the way.
7:40 - PreCalculus, in which one boy sitting in the front managed to slowly steal all my whiteboard markers AND erasers and sneak them back to other classmates without me EVER actually seeing him do it.
8:35 - Algebra 1, in which I had to explain the concept of grade (in relation to incline) SIX times because nobody can listen the first time.
9:35 - Algebra 2, in which I gave them a critical thinking math activity and told them that they are not allowed to ask any questions about it until the last 10 minutes of class, thinking that this would keep them from asking mindless questions like they ALWAYS do. As it turns out, nobody did the project until the last 10 minutes of class in which I could not keep up with the barrage of questions. Epic backfire.
10:30 - Chapel, in which we had a praise and worship and prayer time and one senior girl shared her awesome testimony with all of us. I love having fellowship in English.
12:00 - Indonesian beef stew for lunch made without any salt or pepper. Yum.
12:35 - Geometry, in which I got told that I look like Beyonce.
1:30 - 9th grade teacher meeting in which we spent an hour discussing what on earth we are going to do to correct these behavior problems. We are going militaristic on them, because we know that is what it's going to take for this group. From now on, they raise their hand before talking. ALWAYS. And when they don't, they have to come to school 30 minutes early the next day and sit in silence. They must also pick up ALL their things (including garbage) when they leave. If the room is a mess when they go, they get 2 extra laps (almost 1/2 mile) in PE. Fingers crossed for successful implementation after meeting with the kids on Friday.
2:30 - madly grade homework for 45 minutes.
3:15 - teacher's meeting.
4:00 - open house at the new boss's house. I found two paintings of African jakaranda trees hanging on his daughter's bedroom door. I knew right away who had painted them. And that was confirmed when I read the name in the bottom corner. M. Mwangi. Martin, my Kenyan dad. And then I almost cried in front of everyone. As it turns out, nobody in my boss's family (they used to live in Kenya) ever even met Martin. They found the paintings in an empty house and kept them. So then I was one of the last to leave because we were all standing around reminiscing about Nairobi... It was really good, but it made my heart miss Africa.
5:30 - come home, realize that Ibu Sri cooked nothing today (because she was busy learning to make Indian curry at someone else's house! Score!) and a friend is coming over soon for dinner. Sit on the couch and check my email.
6:30 - drive to town and buy an awesome nasi bakar meal - rice wrapped in banana leaves and grilled, grilled tempe and chicken, crushed green chilies, and guava and mango juice, because I couldn't actually decide which one I wanted more.
7:00 - said friend comes over and we eat together while watching episode 1 of season 3 of Parenthood!
8:00 - sit around and talk about lots of things.
8:45 - friend goes home and I read one of the American magazines she brought to me. inTouch - December 2010. I am so up to date on my celebrities. Not. But the magazines go through July 2011. So maybe by Sunday I'll be more caught up.
9:45 - start to research places to stay for Christmas Bali vacation. Jealous?
10:00 - BLOG!
And soon, I will sleep. Fuuuuuuull day! How was yours??
20 September 2011
Lelayu
So I have this friend named Endah. She's not a super close friend, but close enough that when her older sister passed away last night, I felt that I should go to the funeral today. (In retrospect, the funeral was at the perfect time - I got to miss teaching 9th grade! They only had a test though, so it was easy to get a sub to sit in there and proctor for me.) I'd never met Endah's sister, Maria. I knew she'd been struggling with pretty serious breast cancer for most of this year and that she lived in a different town but moved back here in March-ish to be closer to her family while she sought treatment. I also knew that she was married and had no kids. Other than that, no info.
In case you haven't read anything I've wrote about Indonesian funerals before, let me just say that death is very raw here. There is no sugarcoating it. No funeral homes, none of those guys who prepare dead bodies whose job title I can't think of right now because my English is so bad, etc. The family cleans the body and sets it out somewhere in the house. They gather up all the plastic chairs in the neighborhood and set them all out in the street in front of the house and mourners sit there for the services and prayers held on the front porch/driveway, then they go into the house and look at the dead body - usually with the mouth taped or tied shut so stuff doesn't start coming out - and shake hands with each family member. Also, Indonesians don't really cry a lot relative to Americans.
So this morning, I went to the funeral. Sat outside on the green plastic chair under the canopy in the middle of the street until the pastor was done assuring us that she's in a better place. Then I went inside to look at Maria's body, this woman whom I've never met and now never will, and shake the hands of all the family members I've also never met. Imagine my shock when I got halfway through the shaking of hands and found myself face to face with a shaggy looking white guy with a British accent and very very red eyes. I politely shook his hand and moved on.
As soon as we were back in our chairs, I asked a friend why a white guy was inside. "That's Maria's husband. They used to live in England until she got sick." My first thought, of course, is, "Wait. Maria was married to a white guy?! How did I never know this?!" And then my second though was, "Why on God's green EARTH would you LEAVE England and come to INDONESIA to get treatment for cancer?!?"
Here's the story, as far as I've been able to piece together from different accounts throughout the day (I went back for a prayer service at 7 PM also). Maria and George (that's the British husband) lived in England until she got sick. She decided that she didn't want any traditional treatment, but rather herbal/natural treatment. Also, she wanted to be close to her family. So she moved back to Indonesia. George came back with her, but only for a month or two at first, then he had to return home to take care of business, I assume. He returned to Indonesia about a month ago when her condition continued to worsen. At that time, I am led to believe that she had neither breast left (they burst is the account I heard) and only about a quarter of her lungs, but was somehow still hanging on. Three weeks ago, George encouraged her to stop treatment.
I actually heard about that last part before I ever met George. It made perfect sense to me. That is the hardest decision one can ever make, I'm pretty sure, to let someone die rather than watch them continue to suffer, merely painfully prolonging the inevitable. But sometimes, in my Western mindset, it is the right decision. However, I also understand how that is not at all the right decision for most Eastern thinkers. So I was confused, having not met George and not knowing the color of his skin, that he would have made that decision. Once I met him, it all made sense.
Long story short, Maria's family is very mad at him. He took her away from them once when they moved to England. And he took her away from them forever when he told her to stop taking her medicine. For the family, it is George's fault Maria is dead.
They wouldn't even let him in the room with her when she died. They made him leave.
And now here he is. Alone. Living with her family who seem indifferent to him at best. No friends here with him. No family of his own here to support him. He speaks only the smallest amount of Indonesian. And the woman he loves died last night.
I am also led to believe that while Maria was a Christian, George is agnostic.
Tonight at the prayer meeting, George was nowhere in sight. Then several of us got up and sang "It is Well" (talk about a spontaneous singing group. I showed up and was handed the lyrics and told to get up and sing). George appeared. Later, after everyone else had gone home, we had a chance to ask him how he was doing. This is what he said - "Earlier, I was alone in my room. I didn't want to come out. I couldn't come out. Then I heard you guys singing 'It is well with my soul'. And there was something about those words... There was an energy I can't explain. I had to come out. I had to see who was singing. I needed to be here. I needed to feel that energy. It made me stronger. It helped me so much. Your presence here helps so much. I don't even know you guys, but I want to thank you so much for coming. It helped me. Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you..." And then he started to cry.
All day long, I've been thinking about George. He doesn't even speak Indonesian and he's here all by himself with nobody he can grieve with, nobody who understands him, nobody he can even talk to. I felt very strongly that I needed to let him know that he didn't have to be alone, so before I left, I went over and talked to him for a little bit. I said, "I don't know how long you're going to be here, but this group of friends (motioning to the mix of Americans and English speaking Indonesians standing around) hangs out quite a bit. So if you ever find yourself in need of some time out of the house or just someone you can talk to in English, Endah has all our numbers... Don't hesitate to call someone." He shared with me what a hard time he was having, because so many people want to talk to him and ask how he's doing, but he can't express himself at all because he doesn't speak Indonesian. He feels very alone. He said that having someone he could talk to would be really good. Then he asked when we have fellowship. So I told him when and where (3 houses down from the house he's staying in!), and he said he would really like to join us.
I guess I'm writing all this because George is very heavy on my heart today. I can't even imagine the situation he's in, and I can't imagine how it could be any worse than it is. But I don't want to forget about George and the things he said tonight.
I want to ask you to pray for him. He said earlier that this is a dark time for him, but that he knows the light is there and that he will see it again soon. Pray that the light that he finds is the True Light, K? Thanks.
In case you haven't read anything I've wrote about Indonesian funerals before, let me just say that death is very raw here. There is no sugarcoating it. No funeral homes, none of those guys who prepare dead bodies whose job title I can't think of right now because my English is so bad, etc. The family cleans the body and sets it out somewhere in the house. They gather up all the plastic chairs in the neighborhood and set them all out in the street in front of the house and mourners sit there for the services and prayers held on the front porch/driveway, then they go into the house and look at the dead body - usually with the mouth taped or tied shut so stuff doesn't start coming out - and shake hands with each family member. Also, Indonesians don't really cry a lot relative to Americans.
So this morning, I went to the funeral. Sat outside on the green plastic chair under the canopy in the middle of the street until the pastor was done assuring us that she's in a better place. Then I went inside to look at Maria's body, this woman whom I've never met and now never will, and shake the hands of all the family members I've also never met. Imagine my shock when I got halfway through the shaking of hands and found myself face to face with a shaggy looking white guy with a British accent and very very red eyes. I politely shook his hand and moved on.
As soon as we were back in our chairs, I asked a friend why a white guy was inside. "That's Maria's husband. They used to live in England until she got sick." My first thought, of course, is, "Wait. Maria was married to a white guy?! How did I never know this?!" And then my second though was, "Why on God's green EARTH would you LEAVE England and come to INDONESIA to get treatment for cancer?!?"
Here's the story, as far as I've been able to piece together from different accounts throughout the day (I went back for a prayer service at 7 PM also). Maria and George (that's the British husband) lived in England until she got sick. She decided that she didn't want any traditional treatment, but rather herbal/natural treatment. Also, she wanted to be close to her family. So she moved back to Indonesia. George came back with her, but only for a month or two at first, then he had to return home to take care of business, I assume. He returned to Indonesia about a month ago when her condition continued to worsen. At that time, I am led to believe that she had neither breast left (they burst is the account I heard) and only about a quarter of her lungs, but was somehow still hanging on. Three weeks ago, George encouraged her to stop treatment.
I actually heard about that last part before I ever met George. It made perfect sense to me. That is the hardest decision one can ever make, I'm pretty sure, to let someone die rather than watch them continue to suffer, merely painfully prolonging the inevitable. But sometimes, in my Western mindset, it is the right decision. However, I also understand how that is not at all the right decision for most Eastern thinkers. So I was confused, having not met George and not knowing the color of his skin, that he would have made that decision. Once I met him, it all made sense.
Long story short, Maria's family is very mad at him. He took her away from them once when they moved to England. And he took her away from them forever when he told her to stop taking her medicine. For the family, it is George's fault Maria is dead.
They wouldn't even let him in the room with her when she died. They made him leave.
And now here he is. Alone. Living with her family who seem indifferent to him at best. No friends here with him. No family of his own here to support him. He speaks only the smallest amount of Indonesian. And the woman he loves died last night.
I am also led to believe that while Maria was a Christian, George is agnostic.
Tonight at the prayer meeting, George was nowhere in sight. Then several of us got up and sang "It is Well" (talk about a spontaneous singing group. I showed up and was handed the lyrics and told to get up and sing). George appeared. Later, after everyone else had gone home, we had a chance to ask him how he was doing. This is what he said - "Earlier, I was alone in my room. I didn't want to come out. I couldn't come out. Then I heard you guys singing 'It is well with my soul'. And there was something about those words... There was an energy I can't explain. I had to come out. I had to see who was singing. I needed to be here. I needed to feel that energy. It made me stronger. It helped me so much. Your presence here helps so much. I don't even know you guys, but I want to thank you so much for coming. It helped me. Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you..." And then he started to cry.
All day long, I've been thinking about George. He doesn't even speak Indonesian and he's here all by himself with nobody he can grieve with, nobody who understands him, nobody he can even talk to. I felt very strongly that I needed to let him know that he didn't have to be alone, so before I left, I went over and talked to him for a little bit. I said, "I don't know how long you're going to be here, but this group of friends (motioning to the mix of Americans and English speaking Indonesians standing around) hangs out quite a bit. So if you ever find yourself in need of some time out of the house or just someone you can talk to in English, Endah has all our numbers... Don't hesitate to call someone." He shared with me what a hard time he was having, because so many people want to talk to him and ask how he's doing, but he can't express himself at all because he doesn't speak Indonesian. He feels very alone. He said that having someone he could talk to would be really good. Then he asked when we have fellowship. So I told him when and where (3 houses down from the house he's staying in!), and he said he would really like to join us.
I guess I'm writing all this because George is very heavy on my heart today. I can't even imagine the situation he's in, and I can't imagine how it could be any worse than it is. But I don't want to forget about George and the things he said tonight.
I want to ask you to pray for him. He said earlier that this is a dark time for him, but that he knows the light is there and that he will see it again soon. Pray that the light that he finds is the True Light, K? Thanks.
18 September 2011
My Breath Tells the Story of Your Love
We sang a song called "Ajarku Berdiam" in church yesterday. It wasn't the first time I've heard/sung it. But it was the first time that all the words REALLY sunk in. I've been humming it ever since yesterday morning, and I'm pretty sure it's currently my favorite song. The lyrics are:
Ajarku berdiam (Teach me to dwell/stay)
Dekat di hatiMu (Close to Your heart)
Di saat ku berpaling (When I turn)
Temukan cintaMu (I find Your love)
Di sana Kau menanti (You're waiting there)
‘Tuk bawaku lagi (To take me again)
Bersekutu dalam (To fellowship)
Damai yang sejati (In perfect peace)
Ooh, ku damba hadirMu (Oooh, I yearn for Your presence)
Ooh, inilah rinduku (Oooh, this is my desire)
Hidupku hanyalah untukMu (My life is only for You)
Segenap hatiku kagum ‘kan kebaikanMu (My whole heart is amazed in the presence of Your goodness)
Nafasku menc'ritakan kasihMu (My breath tells the story of Your love)
Ajarku berdiam dekat di hatiMu (Teach me to dwell close to Your heart)
And just in case you want to, HERE is a link to the Youtube video of this song, for your listening pleasure.
Ajarku berdiam (Teach me to dwell/stay)
Dekat di hatiMu (Close to Your heart)
Di saat ku berpaling (When I turn)
Temukan cintaMu (I find Your love)
Di sana Kau menanti (You're waiting there)
‘Tuk bawaku lagi (To take me again)
Bersekutu dalam (To fellowship)
Damai yang sejati (In perfect peace)
Ooh, ku damba hadirMu (Oooh, I yearn for Your presence)
Ooh, inilah rinduku (Oooh, this is my desire)
Hidupku hanyalah untukMu (My life is only for You)
Segenap hatiku kagum ‘kan kebaikanMu (My whole heart is amazed in the presence of Your goodness)
Nafasku menc'ritakan kasihMu (My breath tells the story of Your love)
Ajarku berdiam dekat di hatiMu (Teach me to dwell close to Your heart)
And just in case you want to, HERE is a link to the Youtube video of this song, for your listening pleasure.
Health
I AM HEALTHY!
Thanks to some strong antibiotics, 12 hours of sleep Friday night, and even possibly the toxic nastiness my friend gave me.
In other news, I am becoming a jack of all trades.
1. I started teaching guitar lessons to one high school student.
2. I teach piano lessons to one elementary student and might pick up another this month.
3. I now take orders for knitting scarves. Delivering my first order today!
4. To finish off my TESOL, I'm going to be teaching English in some villages on the weekends.
5. I work in a coffeeshop on Fridays.
That's all, I guess. Happy Monday! Or Sunday night, depending on where and when you're reading this...
Thanks to some strong antibiotics, 12 hours of sleep Friday night, and even possibly the toxic nastiness my friend gave me.
In other news, I am becoming a jack of all trades.
1. I started teaching guitar lessons to one high school student.
2. I teach piano lessons to one elementary student and might pick up another this month.
3. I now take orders for knitting scarves. Delivering my first order today!
4. To finish off my TESOL, I'm going to be teaching English in some villages on the weekends.
5. I work in a coffeeshop on Fridays.
That's all, I guess. Happy Monday! Or Sunday night, depending on where and when you're reading this...
14 September 2011
A Gift Horse
An Indonesian friend gave me some medicine for my mouth today. He swears by it. It comes in a brown, glass bottle, Watkins style, and as it sat on my desk at school throughout the day, more than one student asked me why I had a bottle of liquor sitting there. It is called TCP Liquid Antiseptic. I am fairly certain that TCP stands for Toxic Carp Pits, but only because I can't think of anything else that sounds grosser. It hails from the UK and the label claims that it "soothes pain, fights infection for sore throats, mouth ulcers, cuts, grazes, bites, stings & spots". Based on the pungent, pungent smell alone, I was not excited to put this stuff in my mouth. Even in a glass bottle with the lid firmly sealed, I could smell the stuff throughout my classroom. Open the bottle and your eyes water.
But I forced myself to try it tonight with Aswan by my side getting all the things I screamed for. "WATER! OHMYGOSHGETMEWATER!!!! I AM DYING!!!! NO! THE WATER ISN'T HELPING! JUICE, GET ME JUICE!!! AAAAAHHHHH! GUM! I HAVE SOME GUM! TRY THE GUM! OH, MY FACE!!! MY FACE!!! IT IS DYING!" I even brushed my teeth and I still taste this stuff, 30 minutes later...
The up side is that after the initial pain in which I thought it might be burning holes in my gums, it made my whole mouth go numb. Numb enough that I actually COULD brush my teeth, which I just completely skipped over this morning due to the pain level (ssshhhhh.... brushing teeth is overrated anyways).
Also, Aswan took me to the apotek (the drugstore where you can get ANYTHING without a prescription) so I could buy some of the only antibiotic available in Indonesia that doesn't contain penicillin (I'm allergic). I'm sick of not being able to smile, whistle, drink hot or cold beverages, eat without pain or open my mouth wider than 2 fingers width. Gonna nail this infection any way I can - even if that means drinking Toxic Crap Puddles! Or whatever this stuff is called...
But I forced myself to try it tonight with Aswan by my side getting all the things I screamed for. "WATER! OHMYGOSHGETMEWATER!!!! I AM DYING!!!! NO! THE WATER ISN'T HELPING! JUICE, GET ME JUICE!!! AAAAAHHHHH! GUM! I HAVE SOME GUM! TRY THE GUM! OH, MY FACE!!! MY FACE!!! IT IS DYING!" I even brushed my teeth and I still taste this stuff, 30 minutes later...
The up side is that after the initial pain in which I thought it might be burning holes in my gums, it made my whole mouth go numb. Numb enough that I actually COULD brush my teeth, which I just completely skipped over this morning due to the pain level (ssshhhhh.... brushing teeth is overrated anyways).
Also, Aswan took me to the apotek (the drugstore where you can get ANYTHING without a prescription) so I could buy some of the only antibiotic available in Indonesia that doesn't contain penicillin (I'm allergic). I'm sick of not being able to smile, whistle, drink hot or cold beverages, eat without pain or open my mouth wider than 2 fingers width. Gonna nail this infection any way I can - even if that means drinking Toxic Crap Puddles! Or whatever this stuff is called...
13 September 2011
Rains
Yup, it rained. The thunder was right. It rained so hard it woke me up sometime around midnight. And it was still raining when I woke up this morning. I remember it raining in the morning only 2 other times in the past 3 years. It doesn't happen often. It was so dark in my bedroom when my alarm went off this morning that I thought I'd accidentally set it for 5:20 instead of 6:20!
When I walked past the soccer field by my house on the way to school, I saw sprinklers out on the grass. I remembered that they had been running last night - I had been out walking in the dark and enjoying the pfft-pfft-pffffffft sound they made. So this morning, in my newly awakened state, I thought to myself, "Well, the sprinklers were redundant. Except that they were there before it rained. So I guess they can't be redundant. They were PREdundant."
Predundant: Redundant before the fact.
Wow. But it's starting to clear up a bit now. I wore shoes today to protect my feet from the 9th grade. And my mouth feels a little better. So this could be a good, good day.
When I walked past the soccer field by my house on the way to school, I saw sprinklers out on the grass. I remembered that they had been running last night - I had been out walking in the dark and enjoying the pfft-pfft-pffffffft sound they made. So this morning, in my newly awakened state, I thought to myself, "Well, the sprinklers were redundant. Except that they were there before it rained. So I guess they can't be redundant. They were PREdundant."
Predundant: Redundant before the fact.
Wow. But it's starting to clear up a bit now. I wore shoes today to protect my feet from the 9th grade. And my mouth feels a little better. So this could be a good, good day.
Great Experiments…
… In uploading videos. Let’s see if it works! So here are two videos I took a couple weeks ago during Lebaran week. Most everybody returns to their hometown for this holiday, so the roads are crazy mad. And Jakarta, our capital city, becomes a ghost town – as the majority of its population is comprised of people from other provinces seeking the… umm… Indonesian dream? Or maybe just a job in general. Boyfriend and I went back and forth to Semarang (the next town north from us) THREE TIMES during that week – once with a car, once on a bus and once by motorbike. Each time, it took us 2 – 3 hours each way. Ugh. So most of the times, I was bored. So I made videos. Now, let’s see if they upload properly…
For my first attempt, I will hopefully upload a video from our first trip to Semarang to buy clothing for all the village kids sponsored by our community. We took a car because I wasn’t feel optimistic about carrying new clothes for 31 kids on a motorbike in Idul Fitri traffic. This was actually the weekend before Lebaran, and it was the day that most people started traveling. The road was empty in the morning when we went to Semarang, but by evening, the people who had left Jakarta at 4 or 5 in the morning had reached Central Java and the streets were jam packed with vehicles with license plates starting with B (the Jakarta plate prefix). They weren’t all Jakarta plates though! We even saw cars and motorbikes from places as far away as Bali and Sumatra! In this video, you can hear the evening call to prayer start and boyfriend talking to people, telling them to get off the road and break their fast… Haha…
For my second trick, I’m uploading a video from when we were on the motorbike, just because I think it is cool. This was actually taken on the first day of Idul Fitri (which, by the way, is the same thing as Lebaran, in case that wasn’t clear. Two names for the same thing), so since everyone is already in their hometown, the traffic is actually better. The part of the video you see here is that part where we weren’t driving on the sidewalk to get around traffic!!
Welcome to Indonesian traffic! And I apologize in advance if you get dizzy. : )
Thunder?!?
I hear thunder!!!
While I love dry season with my whole heart, I also love the very first rain of rainy season. It is like our 1 day of springtime, when things start to turn green again and the earth seems refreshed and the air stops smelling like dirt. Then the rainy season really starts... And hell hath no fury like the rains. My clothes grow mold and the grass is up to my knees and things flood and I get soaking wet every time I try to go anywhere on my motorbike and my hair is absolutely out of control due to the constant humidity and it is cold and miserable and flash floods wash away little kids never to be seen again and there are mudslides and things burn down and electronics explode from being struck by the lightning and last time rainy season started, it didn't stop for almost two years. TWO YEARS. And it is due to happen any day here now. Rainy season is supposed to happen in the months that have an "r".
The thunder is getting louder. Is it for real?!
While I love dry season with my whole heart, I also love the very first rain of rainy season. It is like our 1 day of springtime, when things start to turn green again and the earth seems refreshed and the air stops smelling like dirt. Then the rainy season really starts... And hell hath no fury like the rains. My clothes grow mold and the grass is up to my knees and things flood and I get soaking wet every time I try to go anywhere on my motorbike and my hair is absolutely out of control due to the constant humidity and it is cold and miserable and flash floods wash away little kids never to be seen again and there are mudslides and things burn down and electronics explode from being struck by the lightning and last time rainy season started, it didn't stop for almost two years. TWO YEARS. And it is due to happen any day here now. Rainy season is supposed to happen in the months that have an "r".
The thunder is getting louder. Is it for real?!
12 September 2011
Like Salt on a Wound
I now officially have physical battle wounds from the 9th grade class. It hurt so bad my eyes welled up with tears right in front of them all. It was an accident on the part of the offender, and he didn't even realize he'd ripped the skin right off my foot. Of course, he wasn't obeying and was doing something stupid, which is what led to him slamming his chair down on my foot WHILE HE WAS SITTING IN IT, then SLIIIIIIIDING it off again.
Now I walk with a limp and my mouth is infected. And swishing with salt water 4 times a day doesn't feel good. And eating hurts. And drinking water hurts. And I can't smile at all. So I would like to whine about it a little bit on my blog. Thanks for reading.
Now I walk with a limp and my mouth is infected. And swishing with salt water 4 times a day doesn't feel good. And eating hurts. And drinking water hurts. And I can't smile at all. So I would like to whine about it a little bit on my blog. Thanks for reading.
Queen of the Random Ailment
And in keeping with my life's theme of random ailments that confound even the medical professionals, I now have infected gums due to an unfortunate incident with a toothbrush. And by "unfortunate incident", I mean I accidentally stabbed myself in the upper left gums with my toothbrush while brushing them on Friday morning. There was no blood and it didn't break skin (do gums have skin?). I spent Friday and Saturday mostly just feeling like I had bruised gums. But yesterday, it hurt to eat and drink and when I woke up this morning, it hurt to move my mouth at all. So I took a look and sure enough, what is bright red and white and swollen all over? MY GUMS! Ugh. So I'm to swish with warm salt water 3 - 4 times a day to try and kill the bacteria all up in there. My first dose is heating up on the stove as we speak.
In other news, I'm pretty sure I drank unclean water last night. And by "unclean water", I mean it came out of the sink faucet and was probably piped in from the nearby lake that all the garbage runs into. I'm not 100% sure about the unsanitary-ness of what I drank though, so I'm trying not to be a hypochondriac about it. Here are the facts: I was at a restaurant with Aswan and the meal had a kick. Not a right away kind of a kick, but the punch-you-when-you're-not-looking kind of kick. It wasn't until AFTER I finished all my food that my whole head felt like it was on fire and the wounds in my mouth were BURNING and there were very nearly tears. I ate some cucumber slices and drank my entire glass of orange juice, which helped, but I needed more. So I stole an ice cube out of Aswan's drink, popped it in my mouth, and was sucking on it for awhile before the burn died down and I realized how NASTY it tasted and spit it out. I realize that I am from the boondocks, but even so, ice is not supposed to taste like manure. I ended up with some unpleasant and semi-explosive stomach issues today (I'm certain your imagination can fill in the blanks there, but if not, feel free to ask me for pictures. Just kidding - I didn't take pictures. That would be gross.), but fingers crossed for no permanent damage.
Oh, Indonesia...
In other news, I'm pretty sure I drank unclean water last night. And by "unclean water", I mean it came out of the sink faucet and was probably piped in from the nearby lake that all the garbage runs into. I'm not 100% sure about the unsanitary-ness of what I drank though, so I'm trying not to be a hypochondriac about it. Here are the facts: I was at a restaurant with Aswan and the meal had a kick. Not a right away kind of a kick, but the punch-you-when-you're-not-looking kind of kick. It wasn't until AFTER I finished all my food that my whole head felt like it was on fire and the wounds in my mouth were BURNING and there were very nearly tears. I ate some cucumber slices and drank my entire glass of orange juice, which helped, but I needed more. So I stole an ice cube out of Aswan's drink, popped it in my mouth, and was sucking on it for awhile before the burn died down and I realized how NASTY it tasted and spit it out. I realize that I am from the boondocks, but even so, ice is not supposed to taste like manure. I ended up with some unpleasant and semi-explosive stomach issues today (I'm certain your imagination can fill in the blanks there, but if not, feel free to ask me for pictures. Just kidding - I didn't take pictures. That would be gross.), but fingers crossed for no permanent damage.
Oh, Indonesia...
11 September 2011
Photos
When I went home with Aswan for Lebaran, I asked his mom if she had any pictures of him as a child. She told me about two pictures she knows of - one of boyfriend by a Christmas tree at church with his older sister and one of her holding boyfriend in her lap when he was a baby. She didn't know where the photos were though, as many of her things have been destroyed over the years by humidity and flooding and others have been lost while moving from one house to another.
Later, boyfriend told me that he actually has those two pictures, so he dug them up and brought them to show me, along with several others from when he was in his early twenties and had a mullet. Um.. Ew.
But I love love love the two of him from when he was little. In the baby picture, his mom is holding him, his older sister is standing beside, and his mom's younger sister is behind. My boyfriend was a fat little Chinese baby!!! Awwwww! As he's gotten older, he's gotten more and more Javanese looking. Most people can't tell that he's half Chinese. Even by the time the second picture was taken when he was 4-ish, he doesn't look so Chinese anymore. I treasure these two pictures, as they are the only physical view I have into boyfriend's childhood!
Toms
When I lived in Kenya in 2007, my flatmate, Megan (only one of the most amazing people in the world), wore Toms shoes basically every day. If you don’t know what those shoes are, it’s OK. You’ve probably seen them on some hipster walking down the street before and just didn’t know it. When I visited her this summer, she still had the exact same pair. She made me try them on so that I could see for myself how comfortable they still were after all that time. She also told me that I should invest in a pair to take to Indonesia with me. They’re not really my style, but they are cute and lightweight canvas shoes, and with a recommendation like Megan’s, how could I resist? So I looked at them in the mall. And realized that there was no way on God’s green earth I could afford these shoes. Oh well… No tears were shed.
A few days ago, I saw an Indonesian friend wearing Toms. Basically, anytime you see something you like and ask the person where they got it at, the answer is one of the following: a) America, b) Korea, c) Singapore, or d) Jakarta. So I asked my friend where on earth she got a pair of expensive American shoes. She said, “Oh, right here in town at that store called Marvel!”
So that night, I told Aswan I wanted to go over there and look at shoes. He said, “Me too. I heard they sell Crocs there too. I want Crocs.” I tried to smile through my dry heaves as I calmly asked him, “You….. Like….. CROCS?!” He went on to explain that he likes the shoes they make for men – NOT the rubbery things with holes in them. Don’t get me wrong – I see the usefulness of Crocs. But I just can’t get over how ugly they are. And almost everyone has them here. They seem to be a pre-requisite for living overseas. “You MUST own Crocs in at least 3 colors.”
Anyways, long story short, we went to the store and I bought 2 pairs of Toms for $20 and boyfriend bought his Crocs for $10. Based on the cost alone, I’m assuming that the shoes have to be fake, but they all came with original tags… And when I researched fake Toms online, the ones I bought don’t have any of the telltale signs. Oh well, I don’t really care. I’m just happy to have new shoes! Because what girl isn’t?!
*EDIT* So I've noticed that pretty consistently every week, the number one most read post on this entire blog is THIS ONE! There are visitors coming almost daily after finding the photos above in Google image searches for fake Toms. So if you're trying to figure out whether yours are fake or not by reading this post, let me conclusively tell you that the Toms shown here are FAKE.
Here is how I know.
1. The V on the top of the foot is a lot wider than on real Toms (I put mine next to a friend's who bought hers from a legit shoe store in America. The V on hers looked tiny in comparison).
2. The writing on the inside of the shoe has a typo and no punctuation at all, which I didn't even pay attention to at first. Pretty sure the manufacturers of the real ones can spell.
Call me morally bankrupt if you will, but I have absolutely no problem buying fake Toms. I don't consider it to be stealing shoes from needy children when I would never have bought a real pair anyways - they don't even sell them in the country I live in. And obvious fakeness aside, I think I'm getting my money's worth out of these shoes. They've held up well, and I'm not the easiest person on footwear. Also, they didn't mold at all during rainy season, which is more than I can say for my more expensive shoes I bought in the States.
A few days ago, I saw an Indonesian friend wearing Toms. Basically, anytime you see something you like and ask the person where they got it at, the answer is one of the following: a) America, b) Korea, c) Singapore, or d) Jakarta. So I asked my friend where on earth she got a pair of expensive American shoes. She said, “Oh, right here in town at that store called Marvel!”
So that night, I told Aswan I wanted to go over there and look at shoes. He said, “Me too. I heard they sell Crocs there too. I want Crocs.” I tried to smile through my dry heaves as I calmly asked him, “You….. Like….. CROCS?!” He went on to explain that he likes the shoes they make for men – NOT the rubbery things with holes in them. Don’t get me wrong – I see the usefulness of Crocs. But I just can’t get over how ugly they are. And almost everyone has them here. They seem to be a pre-requisite for living overseas. “You MUST own Crocs in at least 3 colors.”
Anyways, long story short, we went to the store and I bought 2 pairs of Toms for $20 and boyfriend bought his Crocs for $10. Based on the cost alone, I’m assuming that the shoes have to be fake, but they all came with original tags… And when I researched fake Toms online, the ones I bought don’t have any of the telltale signs. Oh well, I don’t really care. I’m just happy to have new shoes! Because what girl isn’t?!
*EDIT* So I've noticed that pretty consistently every week, the number one most read post on this entire blog is THIS ONE! There are visitors coming almost daily after finding the photos above in Google image searches for fake Toms. So if you're trying to figure out whether yours are fake or not by reading this post, let me conclusively tell you that the Toms shown here are FAKE.
Here is how I know.
1. The V on the top of the foot is a lot wider than on real Toms (I put mine next to a friend's who bought hers from a legit shoe store in America. The V on hers looked tiny in comparison).
2. The writing on the inside of the shoe has a typo and no punctuation at all, which I didn't even pay attention to at first. Pretty sure the manufacturers of the real ones can spell.
Call me morally bankrupt if you will, but I have absolutely no problem buying fake Toms. I don't consider it to be stealing shoes from needy children when I would never have bought a real pair anyways - they don't even sell them in the country I live in. And obvious fakeness aside, I think I'm getting my money's worth out of these shoes. They've held up well, and I'm not the easiest person on footwear. Also, they didn't mold at all during rainy season, which is more than I can say for my more expensive shoes I bought in the States.
10 September 2011
Kindly Pointings
As my father kindly pointed out, I have not written on my blog for awhile. This is largely due to the fact that talking about everything happening in my life lately on the internet would make me a gossip. We have a new superintendent this year, and with new leadership comes a lot of change. I'm trying to be a good example to my more change resistant Javanese co-workers, but if I'm being completely honest, I am having a very difficult time respecting the majority of the decisions of my new boss. I've been praying about this and would appreciate prayers as well. As usual, I am in the thick of things because I am close to the Indonesian staff AND the foreign staff. I hear all the gossip from both sides about most everything that happens around here. A lot of it I'm sure I shouldn't know and it's hard weed out what is fact and what is fiction. Suffice it to say it's been a dramatic and stressful school year so far...
Other than that, uhmmmmm.... I am enjoying teaching middle school less and less. Well, I take that back. Half of it. I love the 8th graders to pieces. They are adorable and always do their best and crack me up a lot; however, the 9th graders are a different story. This particular class needs to go back to 4th grade and try high school again in 5 years or so. They seem to be unable to bring basic things like paper and pencils to class. They also appear incapable of holding in their belches and farts DURING class time. This, in turn, renders them unable to listen to a word I say, generally. I have had classes twice this large before, but I have never in my life had such classroom control issues - even in America! Aduh. Trying to come up with clever strategies to get these guys rolling...
Boyfriend is great and amazing and wonderful, as always. I went home with him for Lebaran (Idul Fitri) because his mom insisted that we come. She isn't Muslim, but even Christians travel to the homes of friends for times of feasting and forgiveness. I have lots of pictures of those 2 days that I need to upload. I met boyfriend's grandmother for the first time. And because she is half blind and I spoke only Javanese to her, we are fairly sure she has no clue that I'm white. Oh, and I also met boyfriend's older brother that he never told me he had. I was kinda mad about that one at first until I realized that he also had two other siblings that HE never knew he had (they died when they were young - before boyfriend was born). That led to some interesting front porch talks with boyfriend and his mom in which she explained her life story. That woman never ceases to amaze me.
So random tangent - when boyfriend was 4, police stormed his house and took away his father. They never saw him again. Aswan remembers that night clearly. You don't forget police kicking down your door and dragging your father away. His mom, who had never worked a day in her life because she got married when she was 17, went to work to feed her 3 kids. She opened a stand on the sidewalk selling pecel, a rice and vegetable dish with peanut sauce. She works there to this day, making $60 - $70 a month. Boyfriend and his 2 sisters went to work in elementary school to pay their way through middle school and high school because they knew they wanted to make something of themselves. That is the life boyfriend has always known.
Here is what we found out together on his mom's front porch last week - she was one of 9 kids (Aswan only knew of 3 aunts and uncles), but 5 of them died before reaching adulthood. His mom got married young and quickly got pregnant with her first child - a boy. When he was 3, he got typhus and died. That same year, she gave birth to her second child - another son. Because of some Javanese tradition that states that when your first child dies, you should give the second one away for its safety, she and her husband decided to let their neighbors (distant relatives who were unable to have children of their own) adopt the second baby. Shortly after that, they moved away, leaving their second child with his new parents. A year later, she gave birth to a baby girl. She died of a high fever when she was 2 months old. Then over the next six years, she gave birth to three more children - Aswan and his two sisters (but not in that order - one is older and one is younger). When their youngest child was 2, her husband died.
The strange thing is that Aswan's mom shared openly with us for the first time about her two children who died. But for his whole life, his mom has never talked about her husband's death, only brushing questions off with "He was sick". Seeing his mom being open, Aswan took the opportunity to ask his mom, "Mom, what sickness killed my dad?" Something shifted in her eyes, and she said, "I forget". "Where is his grave?" Aswan asked. "Lost" was the one word answer we got just before his mom stood up and walked into the house, leaving us on the porch wondering about everything she hides in her heart.
So yup, that was our Lebaran. Lots of traffic and heat and opor ayam (food). We visited 10 houses in 4 cities in 2 days. But life is back to normal as far as the mosques go.
I found some books in English and Toms shoes for sale here locally. The Toms are probably knockoffs, but at least they had the decency to come with original tags. I paid $20 for 2 pairs. I have pictures to post someday, I just never seem to have time.
I got a new layout for my blog, so if you're reading this on google reader, you should look at it.
I've been healthy for 2 weeks now - a record!
There is a lot of gecko poop on my wall that I desperately need to do something about.
I only use the right shift key, never the left one.
I have been writing random things here in an attempt to distract myself from wanting to watch Criminal Minds late at night because I know it will give me bad dreams if I do.
It is after midnight and I have church tomorrow morning. My pastor is in America until the end of the month. I like it when the elders take turns preaching. I also like it when Aswan is the drummer for the worship team. Because I think it's cool that my boyfriend is a drummer.
And... ummm... oh yeah - in the past 2 weeks, boyfriend has been asked in 2 different public places if I am his a) wife and b) sister. Sister? Really? Both of us were stunned at that one.
OK, I think I'm finally tired enough to not want to watch an episode of CM, so I'm gonna go to sleep. Goodnight from Java!
Other than that, uhmmmmm.... I am enjoying teaching middle school less and less. Well, I take that back. Half of it. I love the 8th graders to pieces. They are adorable and always do their best and crack me up a lot; however, the 9th graders are a different story. This particular class needs to go back to 4th grade and try high school again in 5 years or so. They seem to be unable to bring basic things like paper and pencils to class. They also appear incapable of holding in their belches and farts DURING class time. This, in turn, renders them unable to listen to a word I say, generally. I have had classes twice this large before, but I have never in my life had such classroom control issues - even in America! Aduh. Trying to come up with clever strategies to get these guys rolling...
Boyfriend is great and amazing and wonderful, as always. I went home with him for Lebaran (Idul Fitri) because his mom insisted that we come. She isn't Muslim, but even Christians travel to the homes of friends for times of feasting and forgiveness. I have lots of pictures of those 2 days that I need to upload. I met boyfriend's grandmother for the first time. And because she is half blind and I spoke only Javanese to her, we are fairly sure she has no clue that I'm white. Oh, and I also met boyfriend's older brother that he never told me he had. I was kinda mad about that one at first until I realized that he also had two other siblings that HE never knew he had (they died when they were young - before boyfriend was born). That led to some interesting front porch talks with boyfriend and his mom in which she explained her life story. That woman never ceases to amaze me.
So random tangent - when boyfriend was 4, police stormed his house and took away his father. They never saw him again. Aswan remembers that night clearly. You don't forget police kicking down your door and dragging your father away. His mom, who had never worked a day in her life because she got married when she was 17, went to work to feed her 3 kids. She opened a stand on the sidewalk selling pecel, a rice and vegetable dish with peanut sauce. She works there to this day, making $60 - $70 a month. Boyfriend and his 2 sisters went to work in elementary school to pay their way through middle school and high school because they knew they wanted to make something of themselves. That is the life boyfriend has always known.
Here is what we found out together on his mom's front porch last week - she was one of 9 kids (Aswan only knew of 3 aunts and uncles), but 5 of them died before reaching adulthood. His mom got married young and quickly got pregnant with her first child - a boy. When he was 3, he got typhus and died. That same year, she gave birth to her second child - another son. Because of some Javanese tradition that states that when your first child dies, you should give the second one away for its safety, she and her husband decided to let their neighbors (distant relatives who were unable to have children of their own) adopt the second baby. Shortly after that, they moved away, leaving their second child with his new parents. A year later, she gave birth to a baby girl. She died of a high fever when she was 2 months old. Then over the next six years, she gave birth to three more children - Aswan and his two sisters (but not in that order - one is older and one is younger). When their youngest child was 2, her husband died.
The strange thing is that Aswan's mom shared openly with us for the first time about her two children who died. But for his whole life, his mom has never talked about her husband's death, only brushing questions off with "He was sick". Seeing his mom being open, Aswan took the opportunity to ask his mom, "Mom, what sickness killed my dad?" Something shifted in her eyes, and she said, "I forget". "Where is his grave?" Aswan asked. "Lost" was the one word answer we got just before his mom stood up and walked into the house, leaving us on the porch wondering about everything she hides in her heart.
So yup, that was our Lebaran. Lots of traffic and heat and opor ayam (food). We visited 10 houses in 4 cities in 2 days. But life is back to normal as far as the mosques go.
I found some books in English and Toms shoes for sale here locally. The Toms are probably knockoffs, but at least they had the decency to come with original tags. I paid $20 for 2 pairs. I have pictures to post someday, I just never seem to have time.
I got a new layout for my blog, so if you're reading this on google reader, you should look at it.
I've been healthy for 2 weeks now - a record!
There is a lot of gecko poop on my wall that I desperately need to do something about.
I only use the right shift key, never the left one.
I have been writing random things here in an attempt to distract myself from wanting to watch Criminal Minds late at night because I know it will give me bad dreams if I do.
It is after midnight and I have church tomorrow morning. My pastor is in America until the end of the month. I like it when the elders take turns preaching. I also like it when Aswan is the drummer for the worship team. Because I think it's cool that my boyfriend is a drummer.
And... ummm... oh yeah - in the past 2 weeks, boyfriend has been asked in 2 different public places if I am his a) wife and b) sister. Sister? Really? Both of us were stunned at that one.
OK, I think I'm finally tired enough to not want to watch an episode of CM, so I'm gonna go to sleep. Goodnight from Java!
07 September 2011
Someone else's thoughts
So I just found the following as part of a "Things to do for 4th of a July" blog post that I was reading because it came up in a search I did on Google for something entirely unrelated, and it made me feel glad to hear an American say this....
"Think globally. What? A little strange, I know. July 4th is supposed to be about wearing American flag t-shirts and openly hating soccer! It’s the only day of the entire year we can freely say to the rest of the world, “USA! USA! USA!” and not feel bad about it! Right? Right? Well, maybe not.
You see, I can’t help but think of my American friends in Asia, some with young kids who have never stepped foot on American soil, who are living out an oddly-normal July 4th today. The reason? They simply caught the vision that, while it is a nice place to live, America is not the center of the universe. Life actually goes on beyond the purple mountain majesties.
My point? Chill out on how we treat those who are figuring out a new life in this country. Your way of life is comfortable but that doesn’t make it imperative. Recognize the complexities of the world we live in and next time you interact with someone who is new to this country, someone who’s story is more tangled than you can imagine, don’t [complain] about the fact that his English is poor. July 4th celebrates the very thing he is working hard to achieve. Remember the poem written by Emma Lazarus? The one you learned in middle school civics class? It’s etched inside the Statue of Liberty and reminds us that America began as a country by offering freedom to the, “tired… poor… huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” I tend to believe all that stuff is still true about this country. The only difference between you and the guy you can't understand is that your ancestors did the hard work for you. So, no, he doesn’t have to learn English if he wants to live here. Get over it."
- http://ericepperson.blogspot.com/
"Think globally. What? A little strange, I know. July 4th is supposed to be about wearing American flag t-shirts and openly hating soccer! It’s the only day of the entire year we can freely say to the rest of the world, “USA! USA! USA!” and not feel bad about it! Right? Right? Well, maybe not.
You see, I can’t help but think of my American friends in Asia, some with young kids who have never stepped foot on American soil, who are living out an oddly-normal July 4th today. The reason? They simply caught the vision that, while it is a nice place to live, America is not the center of the universe. Life actually goes on beyond the purple mountain majesties.
My point? Chill out on how we treat those who are figuring out a new life in this country. Your way of life is comfortable but that doesn’t make it imperative. Recognize the complexities of the world we live in and next time you interact with someone who is new to this country, someone who’s story is more tangled than you can imagine, don’t [complain] about the fact that his English is poor. July 4th celebrates the very thing he is working hard to achieve. Remember the poem written by Emma Lazarus? The one you learned in middle school civics class? It’s etched inside the Statue of Liberty and reminds us that America began as a country by offering freedom to the, “tired… poor… huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” I tend to believe all that stuff is still true about this country. The only difference between you and the guy you can't understand is that your ancestors did the hard work for you. So, no, he doesn’t have to learn English if he wants to live here. Get over it."
- http://ericepperson.blogspot.com/
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