Motorcycle Musings

Top Three Life Lessons Gleaned from Riding my Motorbike

1) Go fast or go slow…but don’t fluctuate. It seems that when I am feeling particularly lax and drive leisurely, the other moving vehicles on the road don’t really bother me. They do their thing, and I do mine. When I am aggressive and swerve around others, as long as I’m confident, all is well. It’s the days when I am bipolar in my speed…hesitant in whether that becak driver really IS worth cutting off or not…when I get into trouble. I guess we should be content with however speed we’re going in life and know that we’re in control. If we’re too busy deciding, we lose the joy of the drive (and lose balance and skid).

2) Be in the present moment…or you’ll get rammed by a minibus. One typically hot and humid day, I was driving along Jalan Karya engrossed in some fantasy involving jalapeno bagels and garden vegetable cream cheese. I would share more details but that would be inappropriate in this public arena. [[side note: bagels don’t exist here]] Drooling over thoughts of philly cream chease, I kind of went on autopilot. It happens so easily when you’re driving a car. You get from point A to point B and don’t even remember what roads you just took. Unfortunately, a motorbike requires a much more heightened state of awareness. Just as the chunk of bagel was dangling from my fingers about to drop into my mouth, a frenzied HONKKKKK snapped me out of my dream. I was mere inches away from running into a dull orange minibus that happened to be driving on the wrong side of the road. The drivers frustrated glare met mine. Anyways, I learned that regardless of where your mind leads you, sometimes its important to stay in the present...To live in that moment and absorb all the sounds and colors of the world that surround you. Its no fun to live passively in daydreams. And its definitely no fun to get run over by a minibus.

3) The paths are unlimited…adventure awaits. While some friends and I were driving around Lake Toba (Hells Angels style, YEAH WE’RE HARDCORE), we went through some pretty rough terrain and witnessed some spectacular views. It was empowering to be able to drive myself around (a lot of women here would never attempt to try to ride one), and it was suddenly so clear to me that I could go anywhere I wanted. Literally. If I wanted to drive from northern Sumatra to the south and then take a ferry to Singapore and then backpack through Asia living off the land and people's kindness…I COULD! Nothing was stopping me except me. I think I forget sometimes that I can create my reality and shape my world the way I want. Unbound by responsibilities and obligations of debt, children, a job...I own my days. And freedom IS *oh* so sweet.

More updates and pics to come. Its been a very very busy past few months. I've been reminded how blessed I am to be alive and for this experience...sans bagels and all.

Indonesian Cheek Kisses.

gone local

for the context of this picture refer to the paragraph entitled :THURSDAY

“There came a time, (s)he realized, when the strangeness of everything made it increasingly difficult to realize the strangeness of anything.” –James Hilton, Lost Horizon

Many of you have inquired about what a typical day is like for me here. I, unfortunately, have to respond by saying that there really is no such thing as a “typical day.” But I can tell you how last week went and maybe it will help elucidate life in Medan.

MONDAY: I woke up Monday groggy and pining for another hour in bed as usual. I clumsily put on my black pin-striped trousers and long-sleeve sweater (to cover my arms) and cursed the five mosquitoes that ate a fabulous meal from my face. I proceeded to rush to school on my motorbike; instead of passively riding on the sides of the road, terrified of what type of fast moving vehicle was moving my way, I sped. I snaked in and out of the slower folks and skillfully dodged the motorcycle drivers that were coming in my direction (since people like to drive on both sides of the road here). I think the only way the Indonesian survive being a polite and stoic people is by"letting it all go" behind the steering wheel. Their true rage reigns forth in the form of intermittent HONKS.

I flew over a few sleeping police (speed bumps,) cutoff a truck or two, snarled at a driver that nearly ran me over, and arrived at school in record time. 10 minutes. I took off my helmet and gleefully smiled to myself. Take THAT you ANAK-ANAK MEDAN. Driving here should be considered an extreme sport. I have to say, I think I would make a pretty decent competitor. I took off my helmet, untwisted my ponytail, and vigorously raked my fingers through my hair to evenly distribute the sweat that had collected at the nape of my neck and the top of my forehead.

Students here are incredibly polite and bow when you walk past them. They also love to say hello—most of them only knowing the phrase “hello miss” or “good morning” in English. My walk down the main walkway usually elicits at least 15 to 20 “HELLO MISS!” except that miss doesn’t sound like “miss” that rhymes with “kiss.” It instead rhymes with “geese.” (the long /i/ for all my fellow phoneticians). Their smiles soften the shell of the misanthrope I resemble in the mornings, and I cant help but laugh. “GOOD MORNING!!!!!” I yell back. I make my way to the teacher’s lounge. Ibu S.H., a boisterous and puerile 47-year old woman, accosts me with another, “Good Morning FIDIIIIIIII.” (v’s are often changed to f’)

“Pagi ya bu.”

“Hai, Vidhi! Do you like SEX?”

Lady, I just woke up. I am not ready for this.*face frozen in consternation* “Uh, apa? What?”

“Do you like sex? Sex is like making looooove. You know it?” *dancing and indonesian song about love and sex ensue*

“Hm. Ngak tahu bilang apa.” ‘Hm. Dunno what youre saying.’

I look over to the rest of the teachers, and they snicker. I am speechless. I smile and say I have to run to class. The first bell already rang five minutes ago. No one moves. I nudge the teacher I am supposed to be working with for the morning and she sighs. She grudgingly gets up from her seat, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I escape the teacher’s lounge. I timidly walk into my first class, 10-7, and they erupt in hoorays.

“Good morning class!! What’s up?”

“Not much, just chillin Miss.” Nice. At least they’ll remember one thing I taught them.

I laugh and we proceed to the present-perfect…

***

TUESDAY: Hail the rain gods for they have heard my prayer. My alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m. and I smile a secret smile to myself: it's raining. Indonesia has two seasons, rainy and not-rainy. Regardless of the annual rainy season that inevitably arrives (oh my goodness!!) EVERY year, the Medanites still do not know how to handle coexisting with the rain. Motorbikes pull over to the side of the road, the street children crouch under whatever shelter they can find, and the men immediately stop their work to flip open a cigarette box for a quick smoke. A few months ago, when it rained really hard one morning, I left my house 10 minutes early to get to work. This is what the average American would do to get to work in the midst unfavorable weather. I got to work a little damp but exactly on time. To my dismay, no one else had arrived! When students and teachers started pouring in a half-hour to fourty-five minutes later, I asked what any American would ask.

“Kenapa?” ‘Why?’

The answer was unanimous and told frankly: “Hujan.” ‘rain.’

Thus, this rainy Tuesday morning of January 26^th 2010, I would not react like a rude time-obsessed foreigner. I reset my alarm for thirty minutes later and then leisurely headed to the school with just a drizzle misting me from above. When I got to the teachers lounge, I noticed Ibu T.T. (the woman I was supposed to working with that morning) giggling and gossiping with another teacher. I glanced at the clock; it was 8:00 a.m. School starts at 7:30. I asked her why she wasn’t in class, and she casually replied, “rain.” It wasnt raining into the roofed classrooms was it? Didnt think so...

“But its 8:00 am!!”

“Oh yes yes, lets go now.”

We arrive to class and all of the students are in their seats waiting. She begins her lesson and finishes at promptly at 8:15. (I am supposed to start teaching at 8:15). A few months ago, I would have gotten up and started. I told her no, that she was really late and she should finish her lesson. She got the hint.

On Tuesdays I have a full plate of teaching. 6 periods. By the time I got to 10-2 (my last class), I was exhausted. Most of my classes are lower level on Tuesdays so teaching them is a bit rough. They don’t say much and generally don’t ask very many questions. Sometimes I have to go student to student asking if they have understood me. Usually I get a handful of “ngak mengerti, Miss.” ‘don’t understand.’

So after using large hand gestures and explaining what a “favorite childhood memory” is to my students for fifteen minutes, I continued my lesson. We had been working on descriptions, so I asked the students to draw their favorite childhood memory. As I started walking around the room checking pictures, a group of guys called for my attention. I walked over and saw that they all had blank pieces of paper. “Ayo, cepat la. Favorite childhood memory.” ‘Lets go, quickly now. Favorite memory.’ Jovi had a question.

“Can we draw your body, Miss Vidhi.” *peals of pubescent laughter*

“Uh, no,” I stammered. Was I dressed too provocatively? I then realized that I was fully covered in loose material from head to toe. Maybe my hair was in a sexy, flirty hairstyle? Nope, it was in its usual taut bun. I rolled my eyes, but the damage was done. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and wanted to die right then and there. I don’t know how this sixteen-year old kid got the best of me, but I had no idea how to react. The other teacher that was in the room didn’t speak good enough English to even catch what Jovi had said. I told him to get to work and walked from the snickering corner feeling awful. The girls are usually the brightest in most of my classes and they hardly ever misbehave. But the boys… Its really tough teaching the boys sometimes. You want to be friendly and approachable so they listen and respect you-but you want to be stern and unyielding to those who misbehave. Unfortunately the ones who misbehave are the ones who need to most help. I wrapped up the class feeling off-kilter, but hey you cant win em all.

***

THURSDAY: We had just finished the part of the activity where the students try to match a picture of a memory with its description. During this activity, the girls usually shriek when they find a match and awkwardly jump up and down due to their constricting long skirts. The guys get excited too, but they calmly fist-pump the air. I had just settled the students into their seats when the other teacher walked in. I took my seat and let her continue with her portion of teaching. She finished ten minutes early, and asked the students if they had completed their verb-list homework . Groans rippled through the air. “Have you done it? When will it be done?” asked Bu Leli, who always assigns homework but forgets to mention the day it is due. Someone snickered and snidely replied, “Next year aja, Mam.” The class burst out laughing (myself included). Ibu Leli was peeved. She narrowed her oval eyes to mere slits and pointed straight to Beni.

“Di Depan, sekarang.” ‘To the front, now.’

Beni, head hung in obvious shame, slowly plodded his way to the front. He held his breath waiting for the punishment. Would he have to recite 100 verbs in the past tense? Would he have to write 50 more verb lists for homework? Or worse yet, would he have to write a five page paper on why it is impolite to disrupt a class with a snide remark?

Ibu Leli swiftly walked to the back of the room and grabbed the polka-dotted umbrella that was lying prostrate on the floor. She quickly pushed a red button which breathed life into the polka-dotted rain guard. Determined with alive umbrella in hand, she walked back to the front of the room and stuck the open umbrella in front of Beni’s plump face. His punishment had nothing to do with English or discipline. His punishment was to hold the umbrella for five minutes in front of the class. Beni was embarrassed but could not hide his smile. The girls, laughing, immediately grabbed their cellphones and started taking pictures. The guys started chanting, “nyani, nyani”. ‘sing, sing’

It was confirmed. Ibu Leli said that Beni had to sing a song and dance to complete his punishment. Beni laughed and willingly obliged. I quickly had a flashback to my first month of teaching. I remember being appalled when the tardy student had to sing as a punishment for being late to class. Today, I cracked up. Who was I kidding? Watching a smug sixteen-year old sing and dance with a polka-dotted umbrella was too hilarious. I laughed so hard my eyes started tearing. This kid was that good. After the bell rang, I didn’t rush out as I usually do after my last class of the day. I hung out with the students that were still taking pictures; I wont lie to you, if I had a camera on my phone, I would have taken a picture too.

***

I promised my English Club students we would watch the Pursuit of Happyness on Friday. I also promised them popcorn and soda. I do not own the movie nor do I know where I am going to find popcorn for 50 students…true to the Indo style, I promised something I don’t know how to accomplish. But also true to Indo style, I am sure Ill figure it out by Friday.

Either you sway to the direction of the wind or spend your energy fighting the undeniable course of nature. I finally feel I’ve earned the right to call this city mine. Some days it frustrates the hell out of me and some days I never ever want to leave. One day when I was feeling particularly homesick, I updated my facebook status asking the question: “Why does Indo not have cough drops, Greys Anatomy, or Granola bars?”

One of my precocious students wisely commented, “Because Miss, this is Indonesia. Things are Different here.”

an epic december

it is almost february, and i assure you, i am not sure how that happened. two days ago was my five month anniversary here in medan. WOW. SNAP. CRACKLE. POP. SPICY. NASI GORENG. THAT. IS. A. LONG. TIME. rewind?

december was an epic month. i had six weeks of vacation starting december 4th-january 11th. i utilized this travel time to its full potential. i started off by visiting tana toraja in sulawesi where death seems to be a larger celebration than life. i then went to yogyakarta--"the heart of java." borobudur (the largest buddhist temple in the world) was a hop, skip away so we went and saw that too. one day we caught a sunset at a beach an hour south of yogya which was incredible. jimmy, akin to a five-year old child, was playing with sticks and stones and floated away in the ocean current for a while. good thing hes twice the size of the ocean. after lots of medicinal laughs and prawn jokes, i continued on my journey to flores. i met up with seb, ashley, and aaron in bali and we were off for our "remote" adventure. in flores, the beauty was dramatic and magnificent. the people were friendly but not overbearing. i learned that in the flores dialect of indonesian, i am considered "manis" but not "cantik." i will never be "cantik." in indonesian, "cantik" means pretty and "manis" also means pretty but i am yet to figure out the different connotations. in flores however, "manis" is only reserved for women who are darker. "cantik" is only for the whiter, pure, angel-skinned women. interesting. i saw many black sand beaches, indescribable sunsets, and serpentine switchbacks. in flores, like much of indonesia, nature commanded the people to obey to its whims and ways. in indonesia it seems nature refuses to be manicured.

after my trip to flores, i spent two days in jakarta (aka sebs house where i took over) where i met up with raj (pre usa departure for his 2 weeks) and hung out with angie and kerry. kerry met me up in jakarta before our two weeks in thailand and vietnam. on the night of raj's flight, we all went out to some fancy club and the doorman made raj change because he was wearing khaki shorts and BOAT shoes. pants were necessary to enter. CONVENIENTLY, a pant-rental place was just downstairs. raj, exalted by his new style, showed up five minutes later in black adidas sweatpants splattered with white paint stains. peeking out from under his sweatpants were his tan boat shoes. now he was dressed well enough to enter the pulsing halls of club X2. oh indonesia, how i adore thee. we laughed and danced the night away to bad house music.

the next morning kerry and i departed for vietnam. as the plane was descending into HoChiMinhCity, i realized i was going to vietnam. 5 minutes later i realized i was in vietnam. I WAS IN VIETNAM. saigon (or HCMC) is a throbbing, compact city filled with enough motorbikes to pollute the entire universe. i thought traffic in medan or jakarta was bad. stoplights in saigon literally had 7 rows of motorbikes impatiently waiting to step on the accelerator. french baguettes lined the sidewalks next to stands of dried squid fluttering in the breeze. the vietnamese (generalization coming up) are vociferous when angry and are not shy to invade your personal space; they gave a hearty smack on the leg when they felt wronged. after living in a country where outbursts of emotion is hardly ever seen--even when someone is furious--vietnam was quite a shock. we visited a few sites in saigon, among them the vietnam war remnants war museum (which used to be named the us war crimes museum). after overhearing a british couple snickering about the war in afghanistan, kerry and i couldnt help feeling that there would be a similarly named museum in afghanistan one day. to say the museum was depressing would be a gross understatement. we also met up with a friend of a friend, trang, who took us out at night and introduced us to all her friends. she was one of the nicest people i have ever met. from saigon we flew to bangkok and saw many temples, floating markets, and buddhas. we spent five days in a swanky hotel (for free courtesy of kerrys moms friend) and our last night ended with a spectacular new years. we were caught in the middle of an asian times square where we were in the midst of an asian mosh pit. after we escaped the moshing folks, we found our way back to our hotel and watched the fireworks burst over bangkok from the 32nd floor. being a place where temples spotted the landscape more often than churches left me feeling more spiritual than i had felt in a while. from bangkok we headed to hanoi, the capital city of vietnam. from hanoi we tookoff to ha long bay. (i remember randomly sending wyatt an email about wanting to go there one afternoon when i was looking up interesting places in the world while procrastinating writing my thesis senior year) i couldnt believe i was actually there. jagged rock formations with lush green life jut out from the placid water. the vietnamese call the bay "descending dragon." it was cloudy and grey when we arrived there but the beauty refused to be cloaked by the clouds. it was stunning.

i arrived back in medan on january third with a renewed appreciation for indonesia. medan is starting to feel like my own; its not just some foreign city i am living in. four more months left...time is running faster than me. i should probably start sprinting...

cheers to an incredible beginning of a new year. as my penpal jonthon coined, "twenty-ten, so damn zen."

love.

life in pictures...words to follow

pak dedicating a song to me during the school's annual bazaar on nov.21st...something about my smile, haha.

students advertising their bazaar table to raise money for their extracurricular groups.

our team competing in the poco poco competition at the bazaar with the entire school watching.

me with some students at the school.

me and k in bali on october 24th.

(kerry is my best girlfriend here--she teaches in jepara (on java) and is my travel buddy for the next few weeks...i don't know what i would do without her).

john, me, cici, and rez(a) at the top of gunung sibayak, after a long hike on november 7th . it was their (ci and za) first real hike, and they were exhausted. we found a teal sulfur lake.

me. i was really excited to find the lake.

with the kids on the way up to the top.

i acquired bamboochuck fighing skills on the climb up. indo ninja style.

dont believe me? come visit.

"John, should I wear my fleece pants or jeans to go swimming in the sulfer pools?"

I apologize for being lame and not updating.

I am so busy its unreal. Well, actually its very real/apparent because I am tired and sleepy and slowly becoming fat. I am going to share some pics and then tell y'all about teaching and a local NGO I have become infatuated with.

Here are some pics from hiking in the Sumatran jungle / Lake Toba. I also have pictures from Bali but cannot currently locate that camera...will post those later.

hello.

Yogi making tea in the morning

Sumatran jungle crew in Sibolangit (village of the sky).

traditional Batak house from Samosir Island.

a really large banyan tree on Samosir, the island in Lake Toba.

the largest lake, Lake Toba, in Southeast Asia! (its the size of Singapore)

the quintessential Indonesian man (notice the cig in his left hand).

Teaching: I love it. I teach at my school, SMAN3, Tuesday through Friday and on Mondays I teach art and English at a KKSP (a local NGO that works with street children). Most of my classes at the school are around 40-50 students. That’s double a normal U.S. high school classroom. Also, my official job is “English teaching assistant.” In Indonesian, this translates as “qualified high school English teacher” because out of the 7 teachers I work with, 6 leave the classroom when I enter. Here, instead of the students changing classes after each period, the teachers change classrooms. This leads to restless students that are eager to learn anything that I have to say because I make them move around. This also leads to a very sweaty me because unlike most of the teachers, I like to get to class on time. I am also usually wearing a sweater and long pants. Did I happen to mention the trivial fact that I AM BASICALLY ON THE EQUATOR?? Each class I teach is about 45 minutes, but sometimes the teachers “forget” to come back and I end up making something up for the remainder of the time until the teacher returns. Teachers at my school (and apparently in Indonesia as the ETA meet up in Bali revealed) are notorious for being late and frequently leaving class. Most teachers also just stand at the front of the classroom and talk for 45-90 minutes. Students are basically in zombie mode by the time I get to them and cheer and clap when I enter the classroom because I don’t stand at the front and talk at them for 45 minutes. (I feel a little bit famous at school, its really strange) They are also very…uh…high school. They giggle constantly in class and there is clandestine handholding in the hallways. And most of them love to learn and readily soak up what I have to say. A power like that is both exciting and exhausting since I have to carefully craft my words all day, even when I’m not in the classroom. A few students have sent me messages after classes and have told me that they learned x, y, or z and/or are excited for the next class. Or they tell me that I made them wonder about x, y, or z. Knowing that at least one person has learned something from my constantly perspiring, confused 23-year-old self is enough fuel to keep me going for the next 6.5 months. (yes, its already been 2.5 months here!! )

At the NGO (KKSP) that I am volunteering/interning at (http://www.kksp.or.id/en/), I have decided to work with a group of 20 boys ranging from the age of 7-23. They all live in a shelter called Rumah Musik (House of Music), and they work on the street playing music for money. Most of them do not have schooling background and live, sleep, and chill at the shelter. Each person usually earns around 50,000 Rp. ($5 US) in a week.

They also smoke. Constantly. When I asked why they all smoke like chimneys, Y (age 23) told me that having an addiction is cheaper than buying his dinner every day.

Last Monday I hung out with them on my own. The first few times I met with them, Ali (their main coordinator from KKSP) was with me, so he could translate the difficult stuff. Ali is also the guy I went camping in the jungle with. He's a very chill laid back 30-year-old guy with a big heart and a passion for justice. This past Monday, Ali was still kickin it in the jungle, so I went to with Rumah Musik on my own. I was really nervous since my Indonesian is decent but shaky and I would be attempting to connect with 20 boys/men. At first it was awkward, and we just languidly stared at each other for a while. I asked myself who I thought I was and what on earth possessed me to come to Indonesia. Just as the butterflies in my stomach were starting to crawl up my throat, one of the guys picked up his guitar and started strumming. I have had a long-running love affair with the sound of an acoustic guitar and our romance continued in the dark open room of Rumah Musik. I started to hum and soon, everyone was playing either the drums or guitar and we had a drum/guitar circle going. They taught me one of their songs they wrote and I sung. I then translated it into English, and we created an English version of the song and harmonized. We did a quick English lesson, and I promised them next time we would do an art lesson. As I left, they walked me out to my motorbike and laughed as I forgot to put my kickstand up before I started the gas.

Heres part of the song:

seuma orang itu guru

alam raya sekolahtu

sejatralah bangsaku

'all the people are teachers'

'great experience is my school'

'in prosperous solidarity is my nation'

I'm surprised at how much I enjoy teaching. The high schoolers and the kids at Rumah Musik have reminded me of the simplicity of life--despite the seeming complications.

While we were camping, I was sitting staring at the mountains that surrounded us and Ali asked me why I was always smiling. I was taken aback by his question and didn't even realize this was the case. I laughed and all I could spit out was, "I'm so lucky."

During my fourth period class today, another one of my students asked me why I was always smiling. I had no idea that I have a smile glued to my face...but apparently the fact that I love it here and am learning so much shows.

This weekend I am going to the hills with some of my students. They have been excited about it for weeks, and I am looking forward to hanging out with them outside of school.

Thanks for all the love you have sent me. All the e-mails and messages really help ground me when I am having my lonely moments.

peace from the southeast.

random pics

with a bunch of students at a housewarming party afterschool

i spoke in indonesian and they in english

big, hearty belly laughs at miscommunication and lots of high school gossip

my bathroom. i have no sink, but i have clean water. bonus.

my room! [notice my motorcycle helmet on the bed] :)

the head master, his wife, me, science teacher, and ibu zulfah (my counterpart/awesome english teacher) at halal bihalal [big lunch to ask mutual forgiveness week after eid]

halal sprite.

color conscious

after two weeks of observation (october 9, 2009):

the first few days i walked around in the school, i received many double takes.

let me share a conversation i had at least fifty times in my first week at SMAN 3.

Random teacher (to Ibu Zulfah): *nodding at me* siapa? ('who is that?')

Ibu Z: Oh! that is vidhi! she is our new english teacher from america. dari america, ya.

*Random teacher cautiously steps towards me and examines me from head to toe.*

Random teacher: cantik, ya. tapi hitam. orang india. ('very pretty. but black. she is from india)

Ibu Z: No, no she is from America. She can speak fluent American English.

Random teacher: *stares suspiciously* nga. orang india! lihat! ('no. shes indian. look!')

Me: saya dari america tapi orang tua dari india. saya tinggal america. ('i am from america, but my parents are from india. i live in america')

Random teacher: Ah. Tahu BOLLYWOOD? DANCE, YA? wooo, dance! show dance! bisa bahasa indonesia, seperti 0rang indonesia, bagus! (' can you dance like a bollywood? dance! you can speak indonesian! you are like indonesian! great!)

Me: sorry, i cant dance like a bollywood star. yes, i am learning to speak indonesian. *slightly amused smile*

end scene 1.

i am not exaggerating. this very scenario happened fifty times. the first time, i laughed and was very amused. by the 49th time, i was over it. in the end, when i divulge that my parents are from india and i was, indeed, born in india, the teacher's eyes light up and they point at me as if they have figured me out. puzzle solved. boxed, packaged, and sold. they were "right" all along. i always smile and try to explain that i am of both worlds but my sharp nose and slightly slanted eyes seem to speak louder than my words. and then the bell rings and i must go to class to answer more questions for "observation."

its very frustrating to never quite fit into a place. in india, i would never be considered indian enough. my walk is too western, my dress too modern. my ideas drenched in "corrupted american ideology." in the states, i am initially identified by my cultural background. my skin and face giving me away before i am ready to share. i find myself, especially here, reevauating my identity and what components are relative in creating an identity. sure ethnicity is one part--a genetic piece of the puzzle. but i dont think i even know what race is anymore. however, i love blending in whenever i walk down the road.

regardless of the frustrations, i feel that i am fulfilling my duties in being a cultural ambassador. many of my students have asked why i am not white, and this gives me a great platform where i can start talking about cultural diversity in the u.s. and although the teachers give me a hard time about being non-white, they have accepted me as a sister and "one of them." they love that i am darker and tell me i could be indonesian. they tell me i am "hitam-manis" ('black-sweet'), which means i am pretty and sweet even though i am black and tell me that they think i am much nicer than other bules 'foreigners' they have met.

no one knows very much english at all. the men at school love to tell me i am beautiful and ask me to go to the movies with them. (they are all married and innocent, so it is just funny and flattering). i randomly hear "i love you, miss vidhi" in the halls from the boys and the girls. sometimes i feel like i am teaching in a middle school as opposed to a high school. the women always compliment me on my figure, hair, and face. and everyone, EVERYONE, will always go up and over and around the corner out of their way to help me.

i have learned that a smile, even when youre really pissed off or tired or cold, can go a long way. talk about universal language =D the best thing about the indonesian smile is its genuine nature. you can tell that when they smile back, they really mean it. its the best.

smiling is great, even by myself.

the other day i was taking a shower at four in the afternoon when the power went out. this meant the water also stopped dripping (to say 'stopped flowing' would be a horrible misrepresentation of how fast the water comes out of the nozzle). i was all soaped up in my cockroach infested bathroom with nowhere to go. now i could have gotten really upset, but i decided to start laughing, just as my fellow indonesians have taught me to do, and the situation rectified itself in ten minutes or so.

i would really like to be fluent in indonesian. now. it is a slow and arduous process. i am learning but there are just so many words, haha!

today was my first day of actually teaching on my own in the classroom! i will write about the students and afterschool life next time.

til then, be proud of whatever color you are..purple, blue, brown, yellow, orange, red, black, or green. and yes. even white.