One of the joys I get from traveling is people-watching. I feel one of my natural roles - as an aspiring writer, as a person interested in human nature, as a quiet person by nature - is as an observer. In Indonesia especially, this is a very difficult role to maintain without coming across as anti-social. Every day at the entrance to my neighborhood, Pasir Jengkol, I am flocked by a crowd of children. They actually come in waves: the first regiment is positioned a few houses into my neighborhood, the second are usually rollerblading further down the road. When I am off to school they allow me passage with only a "Miss, masuk nanti ya?" but on the return trip there are babies to see and games of hide and seek to play and very chill cats are put onto my lap as insurance that I won't make a quick get-away. As nice as it is to chill out with some cats and enthusiastic kids at the end of the day, I'm not up for this routine every day. The other day when I was returning home from tajimalela practice, the traffic was so bad I gave up crossing the street and decided to take the long way home (which isn't really that long - I jog this loop some mornings in under half an hour). This is the scenic route to be sure. Passing the rice fields at sunset is a sight to behold, and on this particular day I also passed a funeral service in progress in this beautiful graveyard perched awkwardly on the side of a hill.
When I reached my street I was hailed by the lady I buy pulsa from. I don't stop often enough to just socialize with her so when she asked me to come meet her family from out of town I gladly went inside the gates to meet them. Of course, the first thing her family wanted was pictures with me and without asking, I was dragged in front of the camera. I realize this is a relatively small trial in the grand scheme of things and it is just part of the process of meeting people. I try to keep this in perspective but some days I can't accept this fact and politely rebel against this custom by offering my hand and introducing myself first and trying to steer the conversation in other directions. However, the bule picture is a mandatory social interaction and refusal is met with bewilderment and, well, it just doesn't get you anywhere. On this particular day, I was not prepared to take no for an answer and so I did the only other thing I could do - I left. They laughed and didn't seem offended so my quick exit didn't appear to have tread on any toes (or made a statement) but at least I felt as though I had set a boundary and retained a modicum of my sanity.
The inclination to observe when entering a new land is partially spiritual for me - it's how I deal with the feeling of displacement that eventually and inevitably settles in. I am one of those people who has to think before doing or speaking. Like a camera I need time to process the picture. It is therefore very unnerving to be given the spotlight place in front of the lens, rather than behind it. Don't you have to go outside of yourself and be more when you're the unexpected element in the picture? Yes. When you're the foreigner I believe you have a duty (and it's also for your own safety and integration) to be open and gregarious and willing to be the one to start conversations. If you hide really well or find yourself in more chill company you can settle into your natural place but that is a rare indulgence and must be seen as such.
I am still a romantic about travelling. My six-month stint in New Zealand first gave me this bug and now more than ever I fantasize about living in new cultures and seeing new places. I thought this was beside the point and a little complain-y when I first wrote it but now I'll go ahead and post it as a prelude to the events I witnessed on Aidiladha.
In one of my nights of insomnia last week I scribbled down the following and I feel it reflects my feelings on this matter more accurately than my prose can.
I look up and see hair blow in my eyes from the fan
forget the universe - the world is large enough for many lifetimes
after this - what next?
Cities, mountains, rivers and hopefully many more communities - near and far,
very far from what I know and could imagine.
In the sun everything is clear, blue and happens with little acknowledgement.
At night I look up at the mosquito net and see visions
Tinny music plays in the backdrop of silence.
Backdrop, background, soundtrack?
Flowers of some strange kind bloom in the shadows
The earth smells like over-ripe fruit of a memory
in the shadow of this green mountainside I am imagining so clearly.
Rest now to travel later
I tell myself,
but the quiet stretches out endlessly at night.
These are silly thoughts in the dappled shade of tomorrow
which hangs with the promise of heavy rain.
When I reached my street I was hailed by the lady I buy pulsa from. I don't stop often enough to just socialize with her so when she asked me to come meet her family from out of town I gladly went inside the gates to meet them. Of course, the first thing her family wanted was pictures with me and without asking, I was dragged in front of the camera. I realize this is a relatively small trial in the grand scheme of things and it is just part of the process of meeting people. I try to keep this in perspective but some days I can't accept this fact and politely rebel against this custom by offering my hand and introducing myself first and trying to steer the conversation in other directions. However, the bule picture is a mandatory social interaction and refusal is met with bewilderment and, well, it just doesn't get you anywhere. On this particular day, I was not prepared to take no for an answer and so I did the only other thing I could do - I left. They laughed and didn't seem offended so my quick exit didn't appear to have tread on any toes (or made a statement) but at least I felt as though I had set a boundary and retained a modicum of my sanity.
The inclination to observe when entering a new land is partially spiritual for me - it's how I deal with the feeling of displacement that eventually and inevitably settles in. I am one of those people who has to think before doing or speaking. Like a camera I need time to process the picture. It is therefore very unnerving to be given the spotlight place in front of the lens, rather than behind it. Don't you have to go outside of yourself and be more when you're the unexpected element in the picture? Yes. When you're the foreigner I believe you have a duty (and it's also for your own safety and integration) to be open and gregarious and willing to be the one to start conversations. If you hide really well or find yourself in more chill company you can settle into your natural place but that is a rare indulgence and must be seen as such.
I am still a romantic about travelling. My six-month stint in New Zealand first gave me this bug and now more than ever I fantasize about living in new cultures and seeing new places. I thought this was beside the point and a little complain-y when I first wrote it but now I'll go ahead and post it as a prelude to the events I witnessed on Aidiladha.
In one of my nights of insomnia last week I scribbled down the following and I feel it reflects my feelings on this matter more accurately than my prose can.
I look up and see hair blow in my eyes from the fan
forget the universe - the world is large enough for many lifetimes
after this - what next?
Cities, mountains, rivers and hopefully many more communities - near and far,
very far from what I know and could imagine.
In the sun everything is clear, blue and happens with little acknowledgement.
At night I look up at the mosquito net and see visions
Tinny music plays in the backdrop of silence.
Backdrop, background, soundtrack?
Flowers of some strange kind bloom in the shadows
The earth smells like over-ripe fruit of a memory
in the shadow of this green mountainside I am imagining so clearly.
Rest now to travel later
I tell myself,
but the quiet stretches out endlessly at night.
These are silly thoughts in the dappled shade of tomorrow
which hangs with the promise of heavy rain.
<3
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