I never got to spend enough time writing about my last days and months in Indonesia. Living life was my number one priority during those final moments, and in many ways, it all seems like a dream now. I awoke after a 2-year fantasy and a 50 hour journey from Medan to Mayfield in my home town in Western, KY. Some things had changed, but not a disorienting amount. Arriving back so suddenly wasn't a startling realization of reality -- but more of a thought-provoking, mystical feeling that's left me to unravel and piece together all that I experienced during a chimeric exodus to South East Asia.
I've been back for about a month and a half now, and I've already met with a number of old friends. My memories of them from up to two summers ago are still as clear as day, and I greeted them as if we had all just graduated together only weeks before. But people here, who's lives had been continuing at a similarly unrelenting pace, saw me instantly back in their lives after 22 months of absence. It's nice to say that friendships don't die easily, and very little, if anything, had been lost between all of us. Nevertheless, seeing everyone still seemed overwhelmingly surreal.
It just so happens, however, that everything that occurred during my life on Java and Sumatra was not a dream at all, and I can remember entire days, even run through the course of a random week, a month, etc. I can look at my experience from a number of different perspectives and angles, and I can understand many different past and future consequences of my time there. It's not a fight to recall the climax, and I didn't wake up before it was over. I left with an astonishing amount of closure, life long friends, the ability to speak a new language, and a clear direction for my career and future. I closed one door, a door to the past, one that is shut any time you experience anything. But I've opened a hundred more, and I can always take a moment to step back and look through the windows that still show a vast panorama of a time that I'm never going to forget.
* * *
There's still much to be shared about what happened in Indonesia, and while some of it will inevitably stay in Indonesia (by my judgment to extend it to you or not), I'll continue to draw on my experiences. However, it's going to be in a different form. I'll probably not have entire posts dedicated to humorous batak anecdotes anymore, but they'll be embedded in new narratives and accounts of my life, which is about to take a drastic turn in a direction that only my time in Boston will give a destination.
That's why I'm happy to unveil a new blog: "Bostoken: Life in Boston"
And you can find it at bostoken.blogspot.com
Please continue to enjoy!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
A Hike from Hell that Lead to Heaven: Part 2 ... kinda
This is an article that I wrote for Madina Magazine out of Jakarta. It's written for an Indonesian audience, and specifically for more educated Muslims. Hopefully you'll find it interesting.
The First Sun of a New Year
Eight Indonesians and one American climb to new levels of understanding.
Blinding clouds converged on us from all directions. My tired lungs ached as my chest painfully squeezed in on them. I had not experienced such a challenge in over a year. Wet and muddy, I forced my legs to stand, and I strained my eyes to see, but with each breath, my open mouth comfortably formed a natural smile. It was a smile that was immediately answered by eight others, and as two warm arms wrapped around my shoulder, our group shared in a mutual sense of genuine accomplishment. Mixed emotions of frustration, euphoria, and achievement defined the mood and helped to solidify an unbreakable bond between nine very new and very unlikely friends.
Since that moment on top of Gunung Sinabung, two and a half kilometers above the earth, I've laughed to myself about what it might look like to see a group of people on Jalan Setia Budi in Medan, huddled together, each in near agony, some with visible wounds, but nonetheless each person still laughing and joking uncontrollably. You would probably suspect that we were all utterly crazy. Maybe you would even avoid walking passed us until you had a sizable friend to protect you. But nothing like this could ever happen on the streets of Indonesia's third largest city. Our unique case of insanity was actually a healthy condition – a condition which could have only been brought on by the emotional, physical, and mental challenges that only an American English teacher and eight Indonesian college students could experience after hiking together, up to one of North Sumatra's highest peaks.
Our journey began on December 30th, 2008 at the campus of North Sumatra University (USU). I was introduced to most of the group for the first time, and friendships began to form on the spot. Pipi, who was already a good friend of mine, had invited me to join everyone on this expedition. A few nights before I had played indoor soccer with Djarot and Reza. However, Gulit, Noni, Yogi, Hussein, and David, I had only met that day. They were all college students at USU. Some had a great deal of experience hiking, and some had never climbed a mountain in their lives. It was a dynamic group, and each of us were equally enthusiastic.
I was the only non-native Indonesian and the only one who had not been raised in a Muslim household, but that was never a concern of mine. Only six months earlier, I had been living and teaching on the campus of a pondok pesantren in Central Java, where I taught for a year without any problems. So even though I had not yet traveled exclusively with a group of Muslims my age, I had already gained a strong appreciation for Islam and a considerable knowledge of Indonesian culture. The contrasts between us were as clear as day, but our countless similarities were already bringing us together. No differences were interpreted as anything negative. Working together, we organized all of our bags, rolled up the tent and mattresses, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and then set off on foot to Jamin Ginting Street, where many buses head straight to Berastagi and to the base of Gunung Sinabung. A new adventure and a new year awaited us all.
Even the first leg of the trip was exciting for me. Bussing cross-country in the United States is an entirely different experience from bussing cross-country in Indonesia. The common occurrences that define public transportation in North Sumatra, which all my new friends habitually ignored, were captivating for me. The iron bars on the outside of travel busses in Medan had always drawn my attention. I had assumed that they were supposed to serve as roll bars. If a bus accidentally tipped on it's side while driving down a curvy mountain road, it seemed to me that these bars would help to prevent broken glass from injuring the passengers. That very well could have been their original intention. However, only as a passenger did I witness a new application of these bars. But startlingly, their new use seemed to present a great amount of danger, rather than protection. They were being used by the conductor who, to my surprise, utilized them to hang, swing, and climb on the outside of the bus to collect money from each passenger. I could have just as easily been watching Spiderman 3, as our Batak superhero risked his life to save everyone on board from forgetting to pay their bus fair!
It is difficult for me to leave the mindset I've always had in the United States. We Americans are a large group of health, safety, and comfort freaks. Our affluent society has molded us so that we have come to expect certain luxuries and some admittedly hard-to-reach standards. For example, I'm accustomed to vehicles traveling smoothly at 100-130 km/hr, while simultaneously obeying very strict traffic laws. A man who climbed on the outside of a bus in my home-state of Kentucky would be out of his mind. Not only would he be braving hurricane-like winds, but he would also be risking unavoidable fines if a policeman happen to see his dangerous behavior. So, when my Indonesian friends saw the genuinely shocked expression on my face, while I was transfixed on our courageous conductor, I was providing just as much entertainment for them as he was providing for me.
In only a day's time, I was going to experience first-hand that the human body is capable of much more on a daily basis than what many of my American friends and I give it credit for. I have always gone out of my way to plan hiking and adventure trips to minimize the possibility of danger. I've tried to bring every single tool that could fit into my bag: tissues, hand sanitizer, band-aids, flashlights, etc. But, when I traveled with this group of eager new friends, who all cared deeply about one another and who were always concerned about each other's well-being in ways other than providing handy gadgets, I could see that my portable necessities were going to become quite secondary. I knew that climbing this mountain was going to be an unprecedented physical challenge for me, but at least the company put my mind at ease.
After arriving at our campsite later that evening, we began to arrange all of our bags in the dark and set up the tent. The night's events would include cooking rice, veggies, and kerupuk on Reza's gas stove, and then playing cards until we could no longer stay awake. That night and the next day were essential for relationship building in our group. With nine people to get up this mountain in the middle of the night, group consensus was going to be important. We did not plan to start hiking until after midnight on January 1st because we wanted to experience the view at the top of Sinabung with the unique lighting of a rising sun. Consequently, we had about 24 hours to relax at the base of the mountain and to strengthen our friendships before we left. The next 24 hours brought us all incredibly close together, and it could have never been planned this way, but I would have been ready to face any challenge with them after creating so much trust in such a short time.
In all honesty though, December 31st was not all fun and games. It was a day of ups and downs. There were invigorating times of warm sun and disheartening stretches of cold rain. The weather prompted a few of us, including myself, to have second thoughts about whether or not we could even get up the mountain. However, we had already come this far, and the elements, no matter how adverse, were not going to influence our decision to climb. The real switch in mood came later that afternoon, and it had nothing to do with the temperature or the rain. Only three days earlier, Israel had begun its most recent bombing campaign in the Gaza Strip, and many of our most deeply-seated and emotional ideologies were placed at the head the table.
Throughout my year and a half in Indonesia, I've been involved in countless controversial conversations about politics, current events, Christianity, Islam, “free sex” in America, and corruption in the Indonesian government. But, until I found myself comfortably lying down in a tent, in one of the most beautiful locations in North Sumatra, I had never felt so challenged and unsure about my own beliefs.
This group of college students was informed, curious, and skeptical of American involvement on a world scale. For the last eight years, the United States' government has given Israel what many believe to be unconditional support, and it's no secret that most Americans do not identify with Hamas, who is currently governing the Gaza Strip. However, even our group of young students realized that if we reinforced our own personal prejudices by blaming a single side of this multi-faceted conflict, we would not be able to accomplish anything. Although many pointed and intentionally powerful questions were raised during our talk, we only used this heated issue as a medium of conversation to learn more about ourselves.
The place where we were born and the way we were raised have everything to do with how we feel about these heavily debated issues. Simply watching one of CNN, The BBC, Al Jazeera, or Trans TV will shape our opinions about people we have never met and who we frankly know nothing about. Noni, Pipi, Djarot, and David were the most interested in talking to me about my opinions concerning The Middle East, and our group of five young people did more to clear up the misunderstandings between us than 500 news programs could ever do. What we truly took away from this conversation actually had nothing to do with Palestine or Israel. We learned together that it is important to first understand a person's background and only then to try to begin analyzing the words that he or she says. It takes much more effort to comprehend why a person believes what he believes, but the importance lies in “Why?” and not in “What?”
No feelings were ever hurt during the conversation, but emotions were high. There was a point when tears actually began to form in my eyes, and everyone realized that we were going too far. Some awkward jokes started to circle around the tent in order to lighten the mood, and I got a pat on the back from Djarot. In some ways I felt embarrassed, but mostly I felt motivated to learn more about my new friends, and I know that they were just as happy to learn more about me.
At about 12:30 a.m. Reza, Hussein, and David became our unofficial group leaders. They lead us up the mountain in the rain, only minutes after the fireworks had ended at our campsite. We had hired no guides, brought only a few flashlights, a few bottles of water, and many of us were carrying packs. The six-hour ascent to the top was not going to be relaxing. On top of this, my sandals, which had served me so well while climbing the much less challenging Gunung Sibayak, were no match for the muddy paths that lead to the peak of Gunung Sinabung. Already slipping around within the first hour, I knew that I was going to have to be extremely careful for the rest of the hike.
We spent an hour and a half just searching for the trail to the top before we even stated to climb. We roamed the mountainside, walking through farmland and accumulating new group members who were also lost in the fields. My American danger alarms were loud inside my head. Only a year before, I had climbed a mountain with a friend who was not expecting such an extreme challenge, and she hurt her leg half way through the hike. I was worried about those in our group who had never climbed a mountain before because, even at this early point in our journey, the group leaders and I were already beginning to get tired. I could feel myself getting frustrated. Already our water bottles were starting to get low, and I began to doubt whether or not we could reach our destination at the top, much less make it there before sunrise.
It is important to have a goal in mind, but the road one takes to achieve his goals is no less important. My time in Indonesia has shown me that when we find ourselves in an unlucky situation, we should not worry about what we can no longer do, but instead consider what we can do at that moment to make our situation better. As I shook my head in disappointment, I looked at the people around me and noticed that I was the only person who was overtly displaying negative feelings. In this situation, which would be terribly stressful for the average group of Americans (or at least the ones I know), I was surprised to find myself still surrounded by smiles, people making jokes, and no one complaining about anything. I left my negative thoughts for a moment and imagined the millions of ways in which this situation could have been much worse. It wasn't so bad. I was with friends, and if there was nothing we could do, we would just make our way back, get some sleep, and always remember the fun we had trying to get to the top of Gunung Sinabung.
As it turned out, we were not far from the trail, and our group leaders, whose egos were the only things in jeopardy, managed to find the path. Soon after that, we found a clean mountain spring and were able to refill our empty water bottles. Our climb to the top remained very difficult and strenuous, but we had a direction, and no one was willing to stop. We reached the peak hours later in a thick patch of fog, and we missed the sunrise. However, the volcanic mountain provided us with warmth as we waited at high elevation for the clouds to clear. Huddled together at daybreak, we cured our chills with the steam pouring off the top of the mountain, and some of us fell asleep, calmly passing the time before the clouds cleared and an astounding view was revealed.
The first sun in 2009 broke through the overcast at about 7:30 a.m. and shed light over hundreds of kilometers in one of Indonesia's most spectacular regions. We could see all the way from the mountains of Aceh to the waters of Danau Toba. I'd never imagined my home in North Sumatra could be so breathtaking, and the light in which I saw my new friends could not have been brighter. Our journey back down the mountain was imminent, but we had already raised our spirits and our awareness to a point where nothing could knock them down.
The First Sun of a New Year
Eight Indonesians and one American climb to new levels of understanding.
Blinding clouds converged on us from all directions. My tired lungs ached as my chest painfully squeezed in on them. I had not experienced such a challenge in over a year. Wet and muddy, I forced my legs to stand, and I strained my eyes to see, but with each breath, my open mouth comfortably formed a natural smile. It was a smile that was immediately answered by eight others, and as two warm arms wrapped around my shoulder, our group shared in a mutual sense of genuine accomplishment. Mixed emotions of frustration, euphoria, and achievement defined the mood and helped to solidify an unbreakable bond between nine very new and very unlikely friends.
Since that moment on top of Gunung Sinabung, two and a half kilometers above the earth, I've laughed to myself about what it might look like to see a group of people on Jalan Setia Budi in Medan, huddled together, each in near agony, some with visible wounds, but nonetheless each person still laughing and joking uncontrollably. You would probably suspect that we were all utterly crazy. Maybe you would even avoid walking passed us until you had a sizable friend to protect you. But nothing like this could ever happen on the streets of Indonesia's third largest city. Our unique case of insanity was actually a healthy condition – a condition which could have only been brought on by the emotional, physical, and mental challenges that only an American English teacher and eight Indonesian college students could experience after hiking together, up to one of North Sumatra's highest peaks.
Our journey began on December 30th, 2008 at the campus of North Sumatra University (USU). I was introduced to most of the group for the first time, and friendships began to form on the spot. Pipi, who was already a good friend of mine, had invited me to join everyone on this expedition. A few nights before I had played indoor soccer with Djarot and Reza. However, Gulit, Noni, Yogi, Hussein, and David, I had only met that day. They were all college students at USU. Some had a great deal of experience hiking, and some had never climbed a mountain in their lives. It was a dynamic group, and each of us were equally enthusiastic.
I was the only non-native Indonesian and the only one who had not been raised in a Muslim household, but that was never a concern of mine. Only six months earlier, I had been living and teaching on the campus of a pondok pesantren in Central Java, where I taught for a year without any problems. So even though I had not yet traveled exclusively with a group of Muslims my age, I had already gained a strong appreciation for Islam and a considerable knowledge of Indonesian culture. The contrasts between us were as clear as day, but our countless similarities were already bringing us together. No differences were interpreted as anything negative. Working together, we organized all of our bags, rolled up the tent and mattresses, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and then set off on foot to Jamin Ginting Street, where many buses head straight to Berastagi and to the base of Gunung Sinabung. A new adventure and a new year awaited us all.
Even the first leg of the trip was exciting for me. Bussing cross-country in the United States is an entirely different experience from bussing cross-country in Indonesia. The common occurrences that define public transportation in North Sumatra, which all my new friends habitually ignored, were captivating for me. The iron bars on the outside of travel busses in Medan had always drawn my attention. I had assumed that they were supposed to serve as roll bars. If a bus accidentally tipped on it's side while driving down a curvy mountain road, it seemed to me that these bars would help to prevent broken glass from injuring the passengers. That very well could have been their original intention. However, only as a passenger did I witness a new application of these bars. But startlingly, their new use seemed to present a great amount of danger, rather than protection. They were being used by the conductor who, to my surprise, utilized them to hang, swing, and climb on the outside of the bus to collect money from each passenger. I could have just as easily been watching Spiderman 3, as our Batak superhero risked his life to save everyone on board from forgetting to pay their bus fair!
It is difficult for me to leave the mindset I've always had in the United States. We Americans are a large group of health, safety, and comfort freaks. Our affluent society has molded us so that we have come to expect certain luxuries and some admittedly hard-to-reach standards. For example, I'm accustomed to vehicles traveling smoothly at 100-130 km/hr, while simultaneously obeying very strict traffic laws. A man who climbed on the outside of a bus in my home-state of Kentucky would be out of his mind. Not only would he be braving hurricane-like winds, but he would also be risking unavoidable fines if a policeman happen to see his dangerous behavior. So, when my Indonesian friends saw the genuinely shocked expression on my face, while I was transfixed on our courageous conductor, I was providing just as much entertainment for them as he was providing for me.
In only a day's time, I was going to experience first-hand that the human body is capable of much more on a daily basis than what many of my American friends and I give it credit for. I have always gone out of my way to plan hiking and adventure trips to minimize the possibility of danger. I've tried to bring every single tool that could fit into my bag: tissues, hand sanitizer, band-aids, flashlights, etc. But, when I traveled with this group of eager new friends, who all cared deeply about one another and who were always concerned about each other's well-being in ways other than providing handy gadgets, I could see that my portable necessities were going to become quite secondary. I knew that climbing this mountain was going to be an unprecedented physical challenge for me, but at least the company put my mind at ease.
After arriving at our campsite later that evening, we began to arrange all of our bags in the dark and set up the tent. The night's events would include cooking rice, veggies, and kerupuk on Reza's gas stove, and then playing cards until we could no longer stay awake. That night and the next day were essential for relationship building in our group. With nine people to get up this mountain in the middle of the night, group consensus was going to be important. We did not plan to start hiking until after midnight on January 1st because we wanted to experience the view at the top of Sinabung with the unique lighting of a rising sun. Consequently, we had about 24 hours to relax at the base of the mountain and to strengthen our friendships before we left. The next 24 hours brought us all incredibly close together, and it could have never been planned this way, but I would have been ready to face any challenge with them after creating so much trust in such a short time.
In all honesty though, December 31st was not all fun and games. It was a day of ups and downs. There were invigorating times of warm sun and disheartening stretches of cold rain. The weather prompted a few of us, including myself, to have second thoughts about whether or not we could even get up the mountain. However, we had already come this far, and the elements, no matter how adverse, were not going to influence our decision to climb. The real switch in mood came later that afternoon, and it had nothing to do with the temperature or the rain. Only three days earlier, Israel had begun its most recent bombing campaign in the Gaza Strip, and many of our most deeply-seated and emotional ideologies were placed at the head the table.
Throughout my year and a half in Indonesia, I've been involved in countless controversial conversations about politics, current events, Christianity, Islam, “free sex” in America, and corruption in the Indonesian government. But, until I found myself comfortably lying down in a tent, in one of the most beautiful locations in North Sumatra, I had never felt so challenged and unsure about my own beliefs.
This group of college students was informed, curious, and skeptical of American involvement on a world scale. For the last eight years, the United States' government has given Israel what many believe to be unconditional support, and it's no secret that most Americans do not identify with Hamas, who is currently governing the Gaza Strip. However, even our group of young students realized that if we reinforced our own personal prejudices by blaming a single side of this multi-faceted conflict, we would not be able to accomplish anything. Although many pointed and intentionally powerful questions were raised during our talk, we only used this heated issue as a medium of conversation to learn more about ourselves.
The place where we were born and the way we were raised have everything to do with how we feel about these heavily debated issues. Simply watching one of CNN, The BBC, Al Jazeera, or Trans TV will shape our opinions about people we have never met and who we frankly know nothing about. Noni, Pipi, Djarot, and David were the most interested in talking to me about my opinions concerning The Middle East, and our group of five young people did more to clear up the misunderstandings between us than 500 news programs could ever do. What we truly took away from this conversation actually had nothing to do with Palestine or Israel. We learned together that it is important to first understand a person's background and only then to try to begin analyzing the words that he or she says. It takes much more effort to comprehend why a person believes what he believes, but the importance lies in “Why?” and not in “What?”
No feelings were ever hurt during the conversation, but emotions were high. There was a point when tears actually began to form in my eyes, and everyone realized that we were going too far. Some awkward jokes started to circle around the tent in order to lighten the mood, and I got a pat on the back from Djarot. In some ways I felt embarrassed, but mostly I felt motivated to learn more about my new friends, and I know that they were just as happy to learn more about me.
At about 12:30 a.m. Reza, Hussein, and David became our unofficial group leaders. They lead us up the mountain in the rain, only minutes after the fireworks had ended at our campsite. We had hired no guides, brought only a few flashlights, a few bottles of water, and many of us were carrying packs. The six-hour ascent to the top was not going to be relaxing. On top of this, my sandals, which had served me so well while climbing the much less challenging Gunung Sibayak, were no match for the muddy paths that lead to the peak of Gunung Sinabung. Already slipping around within the first hour, I knew that I was going to have to be extremely careful for the rest of the hike.
We spent an hour and a half just searching for the trail to the top before we even stated to climb. We roamed the mountainside, walking through farmland and accumulating new group members who were also lost in the fields. My American danger alarms were loud inside my head. Only a year before, I had climbed a mountain with a friend who was not expecting such an extreme challenge, and she hurt her leg half way through the hike. I was worried about those in our group who had never climbed a mountain before because, even at this early point in our journey, the group leaders and I were already beginning to get tired. I could feel myself getting frustrated. Already our water bottles were starting to get low, and I began to doubt whether or not we could reach our destination at the top, much less make it there before sunrise.
It is important to have a goal in mind, but the road one takes to achieve his goals is no less important. My time in Indonesia has shown me that when we find ourselves in an unlucky situation, we should not worry about what we can no longer do, but instead consider what we can do at that moment to make our situation better. As I shook my head in disappointment, I looked at the people around me and noticed that I was the only person who was overtly displaying negative feelings. In this situation, which would be terribly stressful for the average group of Americans (or at least the ones I know), I was surprised to find myself still surrounded by smiles, people making jokes, and no one complaining about anything. I left my negative thoughts for a moment and imagined the millions of ways in which this situation could have been much worse. It wasn't so bad. I was with friends, and if there was nothing we could do, we would just make our way back, get some sleep, and always remember the fun we had trying to get to the top of Gunung Sinabung.
As it turned out, we were not far from the trail, and our group leaders, whose egos were the only things in jeopardy, managed to find the path. Soon after that, we found a clean mountain spring and were able to refill our empty water bottles. Our climb to the top remained very difficult and strenuous, but we had a direction, and no one was willing to stop. We reached the peak hours later in a thick patch of fog, and we missed the sunrise. However, the volcanic mountain provided us with warmth as we waited at high elevation for the clouds to clear. Huddled together at daybreak, we cured our chills with the steam pouring off the top of the mountain, and some of us fell asleep, calmly passing the time before the clouds cleared and an astounding view was revealed.
The first sun in 2009 broke through the overcast at about 7:30 a.m. and shed light over hundreds of kilometers in one of Indonesia's most spectacular regions. We could see all the way from the mountains of Aceh to the waters of Danau Toba. I'd never imagined my home in North Sumatra could be so breathtaking, and the light in which I saw my new friends could not have been brighter. Our journey back down the mountain was imminent, but we had already raised our spirits and our awareness to a point where nothing could knock them down.
Sometimes it takes more than it should: Part 1
How easy it is to make judgments and form conclusions about matters we don't fully understand or about customs to which we can't relate. It's no secret that people do this all the time, and it might even seem trivial to discuss it at this point. As it happens, the importance of openness has been quite the reoccurring theme in many of my blog entries. I have been able to appreciate my time abroad in a very dynamic and genuine way almost entirely because my opinions concerning Indonesia, America, and the world have been constantly changing. Being open to changes like this, as opposed to rejecting them, will inevitably lead to some confusion, but ultimately it's the only way to get to the bottom of things.
The idea of cognitive dissonance suggests that our behavior and our daily routines must be in line with our beliefs and our set of values. Otherwise, how could we possibly maintain our sanity? But, what is it that generally changes when a conflict arises between what we do and what we believe? Our routines and our environment are considerably more difficult to manipulate than what we simply daydream about on a regular basis, so when a problem occurs, the easiest thing to change is, in fact, how we feel about what is going on around us. It's not just common; it's necessary. How could I possibly continue living in a house that I don't own, whose actual owner is apathetic, whose bathroom is infested with cockroaches, if I didn't change (at least slightly) how I feel about cockroaches? Do they bite? No. Do they stink? Not noticeably. Do they crawl on me when I'm sleeping? Not that I know of. I've personally just had to respect the fact that, although my random roommate assignment isn't going to blossom into a cohesive or even a healthy relationship, we'll still be able to tolerate each other until I move out (if I alter my own standard of living).
When we're forced to change our perceptions because of a futile situation, it's not so exciting, nor is the change even always admirable. It's when we reluctantly but voluntarily throw away an obsolete belief that we've acknowledged was hindering our development as an individual. When stated so plainly like this, it's easy to brush off my last statement as common knowledge, and I'll be the first to admit that I've probably had a bit too much time for self-reflection. However, after having lived for almost a year in the middle of a half-Muslim-half-Christian city, which is many times larger than Louisville, KY, I've often encountered people who not only refuse to change their actions based on their beliefs, they even refuse to change their beliefs based on their actions. I know people who simply refuse to acknowledge the reality which with they don't agree, and they continue to lead a life that, in many ways, is quite false. That might be kind of nihilistic, but it's apparently the only way for many of us to function together in plural societies currently, where a large number of people simply don't care to put forth the effort to understand one another.
On a daily basis this year, I've spent more time among more Christians than Muslims. And since I come from a predominantly Christian nation, I'm generally assumed to be able immediately identify with all the Indonesian Christians and “take their side” when it comes to discussing religious topics. Consequently, I have been subjected to a wide-range of critical and sometimes very nasty conversations, which unfairly pigeonhole the very people with whom I spent an entire year during the first half of my grant. I don't have any doubt that just as many scathing conversations about Christians commonly take place within any given Muslim community, but I wasn't exposed to it last year because, even if animosity toward westerners existed in Guyangan, everyone there saw how quickly I would have been alienated by such discussions.
The most common complaint I've heard this year in Medan is one that really strikes a chord with many of my fellow teachers at St. Yoseph, and it stems from nothing but an abysmal attempt to actually understand the other party's intentions. A great deal of Christians here feel very put off by the fact that it is “against Islam” to wish someone a merry Christmas during the holiday season because doing so would “acknowledge the validity of another religion.” After hearing this over and over again, and then after receiving probably 40 or 50 text messages and e-mails from my former students and teachers in Central Java on Christmas day, I could no longer be quiet about it. I finally asked a teacher if they had ever uttered the words, mohon maaf lahir dan batin, to a Muslim neighbor during his/her biggest holiday of the year, Idul Fitri. This Indonesian Islamic seasonal greeting is one that I learned literally within the first two months of living in Indonesia, and of course, my teacher's answer was, “No.”
It's certainly not my intent to pick on only Christianity because, from what I've observed in Medan and in Pati, I could just as easily pull examples from Islam or even Sikhism. It's just that I currently spend a great deal of my time at a Christian school, and this is what's most fresh on my mind. All I wish to express is the importance of understanding and admitting when our society and our own lives have become berkotak-kotak (arranged into impenetrable little boxes).
The idea of cognitive dissonance suggests that our behavior and our daily routines must be in line with our beliefs and our set of values. Otherwise, how could we possibly maintain our sanity? But, what is it that generally changes when a conflict arises between what we do and what we believe? Our routines and our environment are considerably more difficult to manipulate than what we simply daydream about on a regular basis, so when a problem occurs, the easiest thing to change is, in fact, how we feel about what is going on around us. It's not just common; it's necessary. How could I possibly continue living in a house that I don't own, whose actual owner is apathetic, whose bathroom is infested with cockroaches, if I didn't change (at least slightly) how I feel about cockroaches? Do they bite? No. Do they stink? Not noticeably. Do they crawl on me when I'm sleeping? Not that I know of. I've personally just had to respect the fact that, although my random roommate assignment isn't going to blossom into a cohesive or even a healthy relationship, we'll still be able to tolerate each other until I move out (if I alter my own standard of living).
When we're forced to change our perceptions because of a futile situation, it's not so exciting, nor is the change even always admirable. It's when we reluctantly but voluntarily throw away an obsolete belief that we've acknowledged was hindering our development as an individual. When stated so plainly like this, it's easy to brush off my last statement as common knowledge, and I'll be the first to admit that I've probably had a bit too much time for self-reflection. However, after having lived for almost a year in the middle of a half-Muslim-half-Christian city, which is many times larger than Louisville, KY, I've often encountered people who not only refuse to change their actions based on their beliefs, they even refuse to change their beliefs based on their actions. I know people who simply refuse to acknowledge the reality which with they don't agree, and they continue to lead a life that, in many ways, is quite false. That might be kind of nihilistic, but it's apparently the only way for many of us to function together in plural societies currently, where a large number of people simply don't care to put forth the effort to understand one another.
On a daily basis this year, I've spent more time among more Christians than Muslims. And since I come from a predominantly Christian nation, I'm generally assumed to be able immediately identify with all the Indonesian Christians and “take their side” when it comes to discussing religious topics. Consequently, I have been subjected to a wide-range of critical and sometimes very nasty conversations, which unfairly pigeonhole the very people with whom I spent an entire year during the first half of my grant. I don't have any doubt that just as many scathing conversations about Christians commonly take place within any given Muslim community, but I wasn't exposed to it last year because, even if animosity toward westerners existed in Guyangan, everyone there saw how quickly I would have been alienated by such discussions.
The most common complaint I've heard this year in Medan is one that really strikes a chord with many of my fellow teachers at St. Yoseph, and it stems from nothing but an abysmal attempt to actually understand the other party's intentions. A great deal of Christians here feel very put off by the fact that it is “against Islam” to wish someone a merry Christmas during the holiday season because doing so would “acknowledge the validity of another religion.” After hearing this over and over again, and then after receiving probably 40 or 50 text messages and e-mails from my former students and teachers in Central Java on Christmas day, I could no longer be quiet about it. I finally asked a teacher if they had ever uttered the words, mohon maaf lahir dan batin, to a Muslim neighbor during his/her biggest holiday of the year, Idul Fitri. This Indonesian Islamic seasonal greeting is one that I learned literally within the first two months of living in Indonesia, and of course, my teacher's answer was, “No.”
It's certainly not my intent to pick on only Christianity because, from what I've observed in Medan and in Pati, I could just as easily pull examples from Islam or even Sikhism. It's just that I currently spend a great deal of my time at a Christian school, and this is what's most fresh on my mind. All I wish to express is the importance of understanding and admitting when our society and our own lives have become berkotak-kotak (arranged into impenetrable little boxes).
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Pipe Dreams of Becoming a Star
I guess I am officially now on the home stretch of a two-year adventure. However, if you had asked me no more than a few weeks ago, I might have told you that 2009 would mark only the beginning of my real career in Indonesia.
I haven't said much about it, but I am virtually a phone call away from a total lifestyle change. The acting profession is one of great desire and stiff competition. So unless one is content playing a supporting role in his/her local community theater, his childhood dreams of becoming an actor probably don't even cross his mind anymore, much less affect the way he makes decisions concerning his near or distant future. However, if that person happen to want to spend two years teaching English in a country where the average height is about five feet, six inches, and the most advertised product on television is skin-whitening lotion, then his chances of “making it big” would dramatically increase. It's not that I am particularly fond of taking advantage of this unique form of racism, in a country that has suffered a collective inferiority complex after 400 years of Dutch colonization, but it's difficult to ignore the screaming demand of becoming, perhaps, the only young white male in Indonesian show business.
It might sound crazy that I could even hint at the notion of becoming famous in a nation of 230 million people. But I want you to take a step back for a moment from what I've just said. Have you ever met an Indonesian person? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia and who's spent enough time there to learn the language? I've been living in Indonesia for quite some time now, and with all the traveling I've done and of all the people I've met, I have not yet encountered a single young, white male who speaks Indonesian at the level I'm currently at. I don't say this to toot my own horn. Before I ever even began the application process for a Fulbright scholarship, I was looking into The Peace Corps because my primary goal for living abroad was to become proficient in another language. I just happened to end up in probably the only country on earth with all the right chemistry to produce a superstar out of a regular guy who happens to know the local language.
Recently I have been following leads and looking under rocks for opportunities that could put me ahead in this unique field. I've never been completely serious about an acting career here, so much as I have been simply intrigued to find out if it were possible. But that didn't stop me from arranging a meeting with possibly the only successful, full-time American actor Indonesia has ever seen. Jason O'Donnel is quite a man. I've got his card right here. He's 39 years old; he's five feet, nine inches tall, and he weighs 150 pounds. Granted, he was glazed-over drunk when I met him, but I can confidently say he was one of the more annoying people I've ever met in my life. He spent most of the evening avoiding my questions, belittling my Indonesian, suggesting I know very little about the culture, and encouraging me to find work in another country. When I finally got his card (only because our mutual friend, who arranged the rendezvous, all but forced him to give it to me), he began to lecture me about “how show business works” in Indonesia. He discouraged me from contacting his manager, who's number is on the card, because of the fact that she would likely “demand that I sleep with her” before considering to help me find work. He continued to describe her physically, and I began to drift off into another conversation with a few other Fulbighters who had also come to the restaurant.
His threat level was at red, and I had only wished that he could have been honest with me about the realities of being one of the only westerners in the business here. But the fact that he was so protective and ultimately displeased that another white male dared to show interest in his beloved profession only served to raise my confidence even more. By that time I had already become Facebook friends with a few famous musicians, begun writing an article for a magazine who's owner was also one of the producers of Indonesia's biggest movie in 2008 (Laskar Pelangi), and had already been exchanging e-mails with an enthusiastic recruiter for a modeling agency. You might wonder how I've had time to teach this year!
Ultimately, I don't think that this career is going to work for me though. The program to which I have been accepted at Boston University is suited perfectly for me, and I've already taken a two year hiatus from my formal education. If I really do plow through my master's degree and finish it in a year and a half, as the program is designed to allow, I don't feel that I will have significantly lowered my chances to become a hit in Indonesia, should the desire continue to be fueled throughout my time in Boston. Going back to Indonesia to start an acting career in my mid 20s, however, doesn't seem very likely though if I remain diligent enough to earn a Master's of Education in International Development. Indonesia is huge, but I guess Jason might have been right. This island simply isn't big enough for the two of us.
I haven't said much about it, but I am virtually a phone call away from a total lifestyle change. The acting profession is one of great desire and stiff competition. So unless one is content playing a supporting role in his/her local community theater, his childhood dreams of becoming an actor probably don't even cross his mind anymore, much less affect the way he makes decisions concerning his near or distant future. However, if that person happen to want to spend two years teaching English in a country where the average height is about five feet, six inches, and the most advertised product on television is skin-whitening lotion, then his chances of “making it big” would dramatically increase. It's not that I am particularly fond of taking advantage of this unique form of racism, in a country that has suffered a collective inferiority complex after 400 years of Dutch colonization, but it's difficult to ignore the screaming demand of becoming, perhaps, the only young white male in Indonesian show business.
It might sound crazy that I could even hint at the notion of becoming famous in a nation of 230 million people. But I want you to take a step back for a moment from what I've just said. Have you ever met an Indonesian person? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia? Have you ever met an American who's traveled to Indonesia and who's spent enough time there to learn the language? I've been living in Indonesia for quite some time now, and with all the traveling I've done and of all the people I've met, I have not yet encountered a single young, white male who speaks Indonesian at the level I'm currently at. I don't say this to toot my own horn. Before I ever even began the application process for a Fulbright scholarship, I was looking into The Peace Corps because my primary goal for living abroad was to become proficient in another language. I just happened to end up in probably the only country on earth with all the right chemistry to produce a superstar out of a regular guy who happens to know the local language.
Recently I have been following leads and looking under rocks for opportunities that could put me ahead in this unique field. I've never been completely serious about an acting career here, so much as I have been simply intrigued to find out if it were possible. But that didn't stop me from arranging a meeting with possibly the only successful, full-time American actor Indonesia has ever seen. Jason O'Donnel is quite a man. I've got his card right here. He's 39 years old; he's five feet, nine inches tall, and he weighs 150 pounds. Granted, he was glazed-over drunk when I met him, but I can confidently say he was one of the more annoying people I've ever met in my life. He spent most of the evening avoiding my questions, belittling my Indonesian, suggesting I know very little about the culture, and encouraging me to find work in another country. When I finally got his card (only because our mutual friend, who arranged the rendezvous, all but forced him to give it to me), he began to lecture me about “how show business works” in Indonesia. He discouraged me from contacting his manager, who's number is on the card, because of the fact that she would likely “demand that I sleep with her” before considering to help me find work. He continued to describe her physically, and I began to drift off into another conversation with a few other Fulbighters who had also come to the restaurant.
His threat level was at red, and I had only wished that he could have been honest with me about the realities of being one of the only westerners in the business here. But the fact that he was so protective and ultimately displeased that another white male dared to show interest in his beloved profession only served to raise my confidence even more. By that time I had already become Facebook friends with a few famous musicians, begun writing an article for a magazine who's owner was also one of the producers of Indonesia's biggest movie in 2008 (Laskar Pelangi), and had already been exchanging e-mails with an enthusiastic recruiter for a modeling agency. You might wonder how I've had time to teach this year!
Ultimately, I don't think that this career is going to work for me though. The program to which I have been accepted at Boston University is suited perfectly for me, and I've already taken a two year hiatus from my formal education. If I really do plow through my master's degree and finish it in a year and a half, as the program is designed to allow, I don't feel that I will have significantly lowered my chances to become a hit in Indonesia, should the desire continue to be fueled throughout my time in Boston. Going back to Indonesia to start an acting career in my mid 20s, however, doesn't seem very likely though if I remain diligent enough to earn a Master's of Education in International Development. Indonesia is huge, but I guess Jason might have been right. This island simply isn't big enough for the two of us.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
hmmmmm
Sorry about the formatting on the next post. Blogger really isn't giving me a lot of options.
A Hike from Hell that Lead to Heaven: Part 1
Domestic tourism among college students seems to be quite popular in North Sumatra. I've hooked up with a group of students, many of whom are from the English department at North Sumatra University, who always seem to have something going on. I anticipate that the second half of my stay in Medan will be even more action packed, with more indoor soccer and more adventure. I admire that such large groups of students get together fairly often to enjoy their country, and with all it has to offer, as well as inexpensive public transportation, why wouldn't they? Once I get back to the States, I'll be excited to start taking more advantage of the travel destinations around where I live. The U.S. has a great deal to offer in the way of beautiful nature spots, and I don't think that I've taken enough initiative to see them (at least certainly not the kind of initiative I see groups of college students taking here). Of course I've gone on yearly trips to Current River; I've been to Mammoth Cave a few times, but I'd like to make more day trips or weekend trips with groups of friends to sites I haven't been yet, even if they might seem plain or boring. The massive amount of fun i've been having exploring this country, has really sparked a curiosity in me to see what more my own home has to offer.
My New Year's trip with the group of students I mentioned above turned out to be one of the most memorable, exciting, dangerous, and pleasant trips I've ever been on. It was complete with just about every emotion I'm capable of feeling, and thanks to my wonderful new group of friends (who never worry about anything *see previous blog post*) any negative emotion I experienced was quickly blotted out by the constant smiles of eight other people. 
Our journey began on January 30th at the campus of North Sumatra University, where I was introduced to most of the group for the first time. Pipi, who invited me, has become a good friend over the last few months, and I had already played indoor soccer with Jarod and Reja, but the rest of the crew I hadn't yet met. We organized all our bags, rolled up the matresses, collected some money for a group transportation fund, and we set off on foot to Jamin Ginting Street, where many buses head straight to Berastagi. Berastagi is a beautiful city and a well-known tourist spot, about an hour and a half away from our destination, Gunung Sinabung, an active volcano and one of the highest peaks in North SumatraOn the bus ride to Berastagi, I sat next to Pipi and Noni – Noni whom I had only just met on campus. She studies English with Pipi and is quite fluent. Both girls are strong Muslims (Noni wears a head scarf), and both of them are extremely in tune with world events. We had some great conversation, and it was nice to sit down and just talk for a couple hours with some very sharp girls my age. This bus ride was a sure sign that a lot of entertaining chat and productive discussion was to come.
Our bus stopped at one of the larger traditional markets in Berastagi, where many different bus lines run through. It was already a familiar spot for me, so I knew we were about to stock up on the local fried goodies, gorengan, before we continued our journey. We had about 30 minutes to kill before we could board a smaller van, called an angkut, which would take us to the base of the mountain. So of course, the guitars began to emerge from their cases, and some of the guys played a few Indonesian tunes while we waited. A van arrived, and our group of nine adventurers crammed into the back and sat on wooden benches, which stretched lengthwise on both sides of the viehicle. An angkut is about the size of a standard mini-van in the US, so you can imagine how nine people plus the driver would be a tight squeeze. And hence, you can also imagine that when seven others from a different group started to push their way in, a futile situation began to arise. This is the tragedy of public transportation in Indonesia because there are so many people, not enough buses, and each driver wants as much fair as he can get. So, even though it was physically impossible to get seven more people inside, the driver was unquestionably determined to take everyone to their respective destinations. And certainly the latecomers were equally as eager to get back to their homes, rather than wait another half an hour for another bus, which was probably going to be just as full.
I had previously admired the iron bars on the outside of bigger busses in this country, which line the windows from front to back. I had assumed that they were to serve the purpose of roll bars. And that very well could have been their original intention. Roads here twist and turn up and down mountains, conditions vary, and so does the weather, so it's not really anything special to see four-wheeled vehicles oriented in every imaginable way in the grass on the side of the roadway. However, these metal bars, which were most likely initially intended for safety, have fallen victim to the ingenuity of Indonesian drivers, who plan to get the most bang for their gasoline buck. The more people who can fit inside, or outside, means that the driver's gratuities go up for each subsequent trip. The conductor, who collects money from each passenger usually has a permanent spot, hanging on the outside of the bus, as to not occupy a valuable seat. He climbs like Spiderman from the front of the bus to the back, collecting money and using the metal bars as it tears down mountain switchbacks at uncomfortable speeds, while other buses do the exact same from the opposite direction. So, if the conductor can seemingly accomplish this feet safely on the outside of the bus, why shouldn't this exposed but precious space also be used for passengers?
After forcing in three extra people into our mini van, of course, the four remaining commuters were ushered to the roof, in a uniquely Indonesian procedure I like to call, “risking your fucking life.”
Arriving at the campsite later that evening with everyone in one piece was the first major accomplishment of the trip, and I was happy we were able to begin relaxing after the day's journey. We got all our bags in order, which had been serving as cushions for the lucky travelers on top, and we began to set up the tent. Our evening's events were to be comprised of eating rice and veggies with the gas stove Reja had brought and then playing cards until we fell asleep. The tent was a three-room mansion, suitable for probably 20 people. Reja had acquired it after refugees from the 2004 tsunami began to migrate either back to their homes or seek new lives in Medan. He'd gotten the tent for the equivalent of about $40, four times less than the one-person bivy sack I had brought with me.
January 31st was a day of total relaxation. Our plan was to climb the mountain at midnight before th new year, so that we could not only see the sunrise from the top the next morning, but also so that we could enjoy the festivities at the crowded campsite on the lake before setting off. I don't know if the gas stove was ever turned off that day. We were constantly cooking either rice, sardines, or veggies, or we were frying crunchy little cakes called kerupuk. It's a wonder how I didn't get more burned in the strong Indonesian sun, but it seemed like we played cards outside for hours, humiliating the loser by smearing ashes all over his or her face, and then making him run through the crowd to bang on a medal railing with a rock, only to draw hundreds of people's attention to his smudged appearance.Later that afternoon, the mood of the trip went in a slightly different direction. Not that this next fact was ever threatening, or even something I had so much as slightly considered, but there's no denying that I was unique amidst a group of Muslims – informed, curious, and skeptical of American involvement on a world scale. I have had countless conversations about politics, current events, Christianity, Islam, American culture, corruption in Indonesia, the Middle East, etc., but I'd never been as challenged as when talking with Pipi, Noni, David, and Jarod inside Reja's tent.
Since I have been here, I've not only become inexpressibly more informed about Muslim views concerning international politics, but I have become extremely sympathetic. At the same time, however, I have become just as much more patriotic toward my own country. I'm certainly more moderate in my views than when I left for Indonesia, and I can confidently admit that there are certain policies of Greorge Bush's with which I agree. I hate the way the war has been waged in the Middle East, but I am not in total disagreement that something had to be done. Especially Noni and Pipi were asking me deliberately pointed questions, ones to which I had no good answer, but I know that we were able to help eachother understand more about each other's points of view.
Having been here for only a year and a half, I could never say that I know it all, but I do know a lot more about what's going on in the Muslim world, and the most unfortunate problem is that there is very little effort toward creating a mutual understanding. The misunderstandings are as simple as watching only CNN, FOX News, and The BBC, or only watching Al Jazeera, TransTV, GlobalTV, and reading the Jakarta Post. Media just isn't helping relations. Different and exaggerated sides of the story are being told on both ends, and having sat and talked with this group of people, for only an hour, elevated us all to an entirely new level of understanding. I could never exaggerate the impact or the importance of experiences like these because it's clear that this is the only way we're ever going to get the real story. An hour long conversation, where both parties show equal interest in the other's stance can do more good than I can describe.
No feelings were ever hurt during the conversation, but although emotions were controlled, they were very high. When tears began to form in my eyes, so did awkwardly stated jokes with intentions to make light of the situation. The realization that we'd started to go too far was humbling and relieving. I pretty much live for interactions like that, and although I was being tested to my core, I brought up just as many challenging issues for them too. Having friends that I can trust but who also hold vastly different opinions has been one of the most amazing parts of my experience here, and it will be nice to let these friendships really grow over the next many months. I feel that I got very close to everyone from that discussion. I know that they also got closer to me too.
As it began to get dark, we all started falling out. Of course, the previous night none of us got enough sleep, and everyone thought it best to nap before our midnight journey, summiting one of North Sumatra's most challenging peaks. The guitar came out once again, and most of us were lulled to sleep by a couple of the guys' acoustic versions of Indonesian classics and pop songs.
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