Hi again! I know it’s been a while. I have wanted to write, but life has been getting in the way. In addition to starting my third semester teaching English here in Indonesia, I have also been working on some projects and activities outside of the classroom, such as setting up an English corner in my school’s library (we had to wait until after a government visit in August to move our donated books and teaching materials to our designated space in the library). I have also been researching a camp called IGLOW and IBRO (Indonesian Girls Leading Our World and Indonesian Boys Respecting Others), which myself and three neighboring volunteers will do next semester, meeting three times a week for both the students English Club and the teachers English Club and starting a monthly culture club at a local university, where my neighboring volunteers and I hope to recruit some students to be camp counselors at our camp. My friend Zoe, master strategist that she is, arranged for us to meet with the professors at this university. In addition to these activities, I have been pondering my next step after the Peace Corps and –oh yeah! I also picked up a boyfriend sometime in the last few months, which is a major time-suck. But I’ll get to that later.
In addition to the whirlwind that is completing projects begun in the last semester and ensuring that those projects last beyond your last semester working on them, the last eight-month stretch of Peace Corps is a time where I find myself thinking about what impact Peace Corps has made on me and my goals for the future. Where do I see myself going after this? Of course, throughout my year and a half here, I have frequently glimpsed brief pictures of what life as a teacher or living abroad would be like. Honestly, I’m not sure where I want to be next and what I want to be doing; however, in thinking about the end (of Peace Corps :), I’ve come full-circle back to some of my initial thoughts before joining.
What I wanted from the Peace Corps was to try a lot of new things in order to find out what I'm good at and enjoy doing. I’m 25 years old, have a bachelor’s degree in English, a love for living in/visiting new cultures and a big love for writing. At the outset, two years seemed like a good chunk of time for me to make some progress with finding my Great Purpose in Life, and the circumstances in particular of working with the Peace Corps appealed to me as being conducive to this philosophy of trying a lot of things all at once. Plus, we have a lot of autonomy with this job and I have always thought that I work best in situations where I am allowed to shape the task to suit my creative urges.
This job has demanded more from me in terms of flexibility, creativity and open-mindedness than any I’ve had before. I have serious respect for all of the teachers I interact with at my school and the other teaching assistants (aka my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers) who all seem like basic better people when I hear about what projects they're doing or cool methods they're using or thousands of selfie photo shoots they're smiling through. I know first-hand how much effort goes into “being on 24/7”, which is what any high profile employee or really anybody living abroad should see as part of their job description. Our role as cultural ambassador follows us everywhere we go in and out of the country we're working in and will continue for the rest of our days.
This is not only a job that I'm using as a booster on my resume, however, but an experience. After 18 months of living in a tropical, Islamic-dominant/mostly-Sundanese culture in the rural outskirts of an industrial city in West Java, I finally feel like I’ve gotten my sea legs on the ever-moving grounds of cultural perception and am able to have a sense of control over some aspects of my experience here.
The problem when living here – as with any foreign place - is that just when you think you’ve understood something about Indonesian Islam, the Indonesian education system, how to sit, how to eat, how to greet people or what not to say – nope! You realize from one off-hand comment that you’re still the blundering fool in court.
In the beginning, I filled one role: the weird American. The longer I’ve been here, the more roles I’ve adopted. I am now also called a teacher (ibu guru), a citizen of Karawang, a person of Indonesia (which pretty much makes my whole week when people call me that, even if I know it’s just them being inclusive and nice), Umi’s (my host mother) daughter, Syifa’s (my host sister) sister, my counterpart's "boo" as she affectionately refers to me (a play on "ibu", which is often shortened to "bu") and even a world guest, as my host mom has called me before.
I think a high point in every volunteer’s service is the day when that pants-less three-year-old on the corner who always yells bule at you (meaning foreigner or, more specifically, white person) calls you “Miss” or even calls you by your own name. It magically washes away months of frustration in a single moment and your face breaks into the biggest smile. Acceptance – even through a small thing like a name – leads to confidence in one’s ability to adapt, to integrate, to communicate and, ultimately, to explore new facets of the culture.
One thing that really speeds up cultural integration is language ability. My sister (the one I'm related to by blood in America) once imparted the following words of wisdom to me: if you want to learn a new language date a native speaker of that language. Incidentally, I have received this same advice – unsolicited – since day one in Indonesia from my meddling neighbors and teachers. Not so much in the context of improving my language ability, but more so because every young unmarried person is subject to being asked, “Hey, where’s your boyfriend/girlfriend at?” See the Mad TV link for reference.
No unmarried person, girl or boy, is exempt from this daily inquisition. What everyone failed to specify when they were encouraging me to find an Indonesian mate was that it shouldn’t be one of the good Muslim boys that they knew. To be clear, inter-religious relationships are OK with many people here. It’s not really fine from a legal standpoint if you’re going to marry according to Islamic law, but otherwise, many Indonesians are open-minded enough to say no problem if you’re just dating. Several non-Muslim volunteers have dated Muslims here and one I’ve heard of has even married an Indonesian Muslim woman (although I believe he had to convert or have it on paper somewhere that he had converted beforehand). This arrangement is just not fine with anyone in my immediate community.
Liking someone with whom you don’t share the same native language, culture, religion (or, in my case, a lack thereof), national history, holidays, food preferences or even height can be challenging enough even when you have the support of your friends and family. When you don’t have that, it becomes near impossible and, some might say, stupid.
The landscape of dating in Indonesia is fraught with landmines, even without a cross-cultural aspect thrown in. My own students get very giggly on the subject of dating and say, "No miss, we don't date while we're in high school." Generally, dating is not accepted at my school but if some high school romance does blossom, woe is the couple who must endure all the cuweeeeeeeeeee's that inevitably arise whenever they are in close proximity.
Although legally, girls can marry as young as 16 and boys as young as 19, I have observed that the Muslim girls in my area are expected to marry no later than 25 - or usually right out of high school - and boys by 30, give or take a few years. If they pass either age limit, they are put under a lot of pressure to marry the first person their parents bring to them. My poor not yet-26 year old host sister has faced an extraordinary amount of pressure from her parents to marry before her birthday in October. It begins to sound like the plot of any Jane Austen novel when she tells me about the blind dates her parents arrange on her behalf to try and set her up with one of their well-mannered acquaintances' sons. In the past few months alone she has gone from the opinion that she won't marry until she’s well settled into the career of her dreams to talking incessantly about the *two* boys she likes. One is younger than her and the other is her age. The younger one is less responsible (a playboy, by the sounds of it. Yes, bad on me for playing into these games of stereotyping) and therefore she hasn’t ever introduced him to her parents. The one her age, a doctor who wants to marry closer to 30, has been invited to the house multiple times. An interesting twist in this tale is that the doctor seems to have changed his tune recently and she's reported him saying that he might move for a career advancement opportunity. This would be an interesting form of compromise for my sister if it came to pass that her parents allowed her to wait because the man she chose is not yet ready for marriage either. I admire her strength of will, now more than ever, for she is very adamant that she will, at least, chose who she will marry (and has probably gamed the system if she's picked a respectable guy who wants to wait).
This is what I have gathered from my religiously-conservative circle of family and friends. I teach at an Islamic high school run by the Ministry of Religious Affairs. My host dad works under this same department. My host mother works as a family/marriage counselor and frequently gives lectures on the Quran. She is highly respected in a surprisingly wide circle as an exemplary Muslim.
This is why the experience of having an Indonesian Muslim boyfriend in this strictly date-to-marry culture has been a very difficult and humbling one.
I had the summer, with many free hours, to fall into a blissfully ignorant happiness with a Bandung local (a city about 2 hours from mine). He lived with my host family from February until June in order to search for a job in Karawang and get practical experience through an internship in a mechanics shop. However, once mutual feelings developed in June, these plans had to be diverted as my host family knew of our feelings (pretty hard to hide anything from those in your own house) and didn’t think it appropriate for us to date.
I have admired my host mom, Umi, mostly from a distance during the entire time I've been living here. My host dad is around so little (he works in Bandung) that it has been difficult to develop a meaningful relationship with him. Umi too, is a very busy woman. I would see her come home, still full of energy after six hours at the office, eat a simple lunch of rice and seafood, and then go straight back out to run the next-door elementary school or back into town to lecture from the Quran. By 6 o'clock (I sometimes didn't see her eat dinner) a gaggle of around 15 neighborhood kids between the ages of 6-12 would come in for evening Quran studies. Umi presided over this study group until she basically dropped off to sleep right on the floor. The children would file out sometime between 8 and 9 and that is when our house winds down for the day.
Umi and Abi have really taken the Islamic tenant of charity into their hearts and it shows in every aspect of their lives. When I first arrived in their house, they had adopted four children in addition to their three biological children who were already older and living out of the house. They pay all the expenses for the adopted children because those families can’t afford to (one of the four adopted children has since moved back to her home town and now has a fiancé). They live simply but above the average in my neighborhood and donate their time and money to many causes whenever they can.
I sometimes forget to recognize the wonderful opportunity I have living with these truly good people. I do not say that they are truly good just because of their devoutness but because they exemplify all the best traits of human beings. For many months I mainly thought of how the evening Quran study group affected my schedule - listening to 20 kids shouting (kids will be kids) verses at the top of the lungs for three hours at the end of the day was not something I looked forward to and did my best to try to block out. But at this point I respect my host mom all the more for it.
I have had several host family experiences since I was 18, although none as long as my current one. While WWOOFing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) isn’t exactly a host family situation because you’re trading your labor and/or skills for room and board, I’m counting my best WWOOF experiences in New Zealand as host families.
There is a difference between being a guest and living with a host family. As a guest you are usually only expected to honor your hosts and be somewhat sociable. But if you stay long enough to build a relationship with your hosts and enter their routine, then you are no longer a guest. You are family.
Guest culture is very important in Javanese culture. My counterpart and host sister have told me that it is also extremely important in Islamic culture. My counterpart told me of an expression used frequently here, “tamuku adalah raja”, which means “your guest is your king”. One time when my sister and I had walked about a mile from the bus stop to our house because it was dark and the public transportation was no longer running, she got very upset when no one answered the door for us, even though she heard Umi’s Quran study group laughing and playing inside. I told her I usually just go around to the unlocked door in the back but she insisted we should stay until someone opened the door. When one of the kids finally came to unlock the door she spent a full 20 minutes yelling them into stony silence about the importance of always opening up your home to guests. Even though it was technically her family's home, they were present in the house at the time when someone needed to come in.
I am no longer a guest, in the same way that I am no longer just the American living down the street. I greet guests when they come to the house – sometimes alone if my host family is out. But as proud as I am to call these particular people my Indonesian family, I still feel like it’s my right to set certain boundaries that a real daughter would not be able to.
Ever since I got into a relationship with a local that my host family knew, there has been a layer of tension in my relationship with them (I swear they have the most amazing sixth sense when it comes to guessing who I’ve been texting or hanging out with – either that, or I’m a lot more transparent than I thought). In the beginning, I wanted to be as honest with them as possible while still sparing them the details we both know they don’t want to hear. They would see pictures of me and him and ask, “did you see him while you were in Bandung last weekend?” and I would say yes, keeping it neutral. But ultimately, my relationship with my host parents grew tense and they became very anxious every time I went out of the city, even for Peace Corps appointments or events with other friends.
In the end, my host mother gave me a simple answer: you must respect other cultures. My teacher friends from school gave me a more detailed answer: in the matter of loving and making a future with someone from another religion (not that that’s where I’m heading with this, just in the big picture scheme of things), it is the afterlife they are concerned with. Bu Euis and Bu Dila, my main boos, told me that they must follow strict rules if they are to go to heaven and be joined by all their loved ones there. That is why neither of them want their children to date outside of their religion.
In the end, no matter how at home I feel here, I am still a guest in another culture. It feels wonderful to be so accepted by someone here. It feels good to have the openness with my Indonesian partner to describe to someone how incredible (and sometimes inexplicable) I find this place. While I am fortunate to have open communication with many people here – my host sister (the one who’s in danger of an arranged marriage), my counterpart, several other teachers at my school, some people from my host sister’s office, even an AFS student from Panama who recently arrived here – I feel a whole different level of freedom to discuss things with my partner. I’m very enamored. It's a new experience for me. But I am still at odds with my two identities as guest and family.
There are many screens between foreigners and locals. These screens are often misconceptions or prejudices based solely on that first three second impression you get of someone. Gender, race and social status all play their part, the same as they do anywhere. In the same way that I instinctively build up a stone wall between myself and most men I pass on the street whom I don't know (I tell myself these are learned behaviors and, after the umpteenth experience of physical and verbal harassment, they are that at the very least) some experiences with locals are dominated by assumptions of wealth and immorality.
These brief encounters are not usually the experiences I dwell on, but they are influenced by all the meaningful relationships I have in my life. The less you feel like a guest, the less you will act like one. The more you take responsibility for your experience, the more permanence you will feel in this new place and the more permanent the impact of this experience will be.
*Bu Dila, the biology teacher at my school who I am close with, is unconventional in her own way. She is the only divorced teacher at my school and has dated other men in the 10 years since her divorce (which is not legal in any way, they just live separately now). She made a deal with her daughter, who picked up a Christian boyfriend in her university in Jakarta, that she would break up with the man she was dating, whom the daughter did not approve of because he was already married, if her daughter would break up with the Christian boyfriend, who she definitely did not approve of. Last I heard, my teacher friend had rid herself of the married man she was seeing but the daughter was “still figuring out” how to break up with her boyfriend.
In addition to the whirlwind that is completing projects begun in the last semester and ensuring that those projects last beyond your last semester working on them, the last eight-month stretch of Peace Corps is a time where I find myself thinking about what impact Peace Corps has made on me and my goals for the future. Where do I see myself going after this? Of course, throughout my year and a half here, I have frequently glimpsed brief pictures of what life as a teacher or living abroad would be like. Honestly, I’m not sure where I want to be next and what I want to be doing; however, in thinking about the end (of Peace Corps :), I’ve come full-circle back to some of my initial thoughts before joining.
What I wanted from the Peace Corps was to try a lot of new things in order to find out what I'm good at and enjoy doing. I’m 25 years old, have a bachelor’s degree in English, a love for living in/visiting new cultures and a big love for writing. At the outset, two years seemed like a good chunk of time for me to make some progress with finding my Great Purpose in Life, and the circumstances in particular of working with the Peace Corps appealed to me as being conducive to this philosophy of trying a lot of things all at once. Plus, we have a lot of autonomy with this job and I have always thought that I work best in situations where I am allowed to shape the task to suit my creative urges.
This job has demanded more from me in terms of flexibility, creativity and open-mindedness than any I’ve had before. I have serious respect for all of the teachers I interact with at my school and the other teaching assistants (aka my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers) who all seem like basic better people when I hear about what projects they're doing or cool methods they're using or thousands of selfie photo shoots they're smiling through. I know first-hand how much effort goes into “being on 24/7”, which is what any high profile employee or really anybody living abroad should see as part of their job description. Our role as cultural ambassador follows us everywhere we go in and out of the country we're working in and will continue for the rest of our days.
This is not only a job that I'm using as a booster on my resume, however, but an experience. After 18 months of living in a tropical, Islamic-dominant/mostly-Sundanese culture in the rural outskirts of an industrial city in West Java, I finally feel like I’ve gotten my sea legs on the ever-moving grounds of cultural perception and am able to have a sense of control over some aspects of my experience here.
The problem when living here – as with any foreign place - is that just when you think you’ve understood something about Indonesian Islam, the Indonesian education system, how to sit, how to eat, how to greet people or what not to say – nope! You realize from one off-hand comment that you’re still the blundering fool in court.
In the beginning, I filled one role: the weird American. The longer I’ve been here, the more roles I’ve adopted. I am now also called a teacher (ibu guru), a citizen of Karawang, a person of Indonesia (which pretty much makes my whole week when people call me that, even if I know it’s just them being inclusive and nice), Umi’s (my host mother) daughter, Syifa’s (my host sister) sister, my counterpart's "boo" as she affectionately refers to me (a play on "ibu", which is often shortened to "bu") and even a world guest, as my host mom has called me before.
I think a high point in every volunteer’s service is the day when that pants-less three-year-old on the corner who always yells bule at you (meaning foreigner or, more specifically, white person) calls you “Miss” or even calls you by your own name. It magically washes away months of frustration in a single moment and your face breaks into the biggest smile. Acceptance – even through a small thing like a name – leads to confidence in one’s ability to adapt, to integrate, to communicate and, ultimately, to explore new facets of the culture.
One thing that really speeds up cultural integration is language ability. My sister (the one I'm related to by blood in America) once imparted the following words of wisdom to me: if you want to learn a new language date a native speaker of that language. Incidentally, I have received this same advice – unsolicited – since day one in Indonesia from my meddling neighbors and teachers. Not so much in the context of improving my language ability, but more so because every young unmarried person is subject to being asked, “Hey, where’s your boyfriend/girlfriend at?” See the Mad TV link for reference.
 |
| If you haven't already watched this skit from Mad TV, called "Can I Have Your Number", then you can do so here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTFZyl7hfBw. |
Liking someone with whom you don’t share the same native language, culture, religion (or, in my case, a lack thereof), national history, holidays, food preferences or even height can be challenging enough even when you have the support of your friends and family. When you don’t have that, it becomes near impossible and, some might say, stupid.
The landscape of dating in Indonesia is fraught with landmines, even without a cross-cultural aspect thrown in. My own students get very giggly on the subject of dating and say, "No miss, we don't date while we're in high school." Generally, dating is not accepted at my school but if some high school romance does blossom, woe is the couple who must endure all the cuweeeeeeeeeee's that inevitably arise whenever they are in close proximity.
 |
| An encouraging picture in the Student Leadership Organization room (called OSIS here) at my school. To the left of the picture on top, the red sideways word reads "To be delayed." YAY! The caption in the above picture reads: "The ideal marriage age for women is above 20 years and for men above 25 years" but then they add "You choose your ideal age to marry" and below, it roughly translates to "delay early marriage, reach for your dreams first." The second picture on the bottom goes into more biological, psychological and social reasons why you shouldn't marry too young. This makes me happy to see because of the high rate of teen pregnancies, which often disproportionately affect the girls' futures and not their partners'. |
And, of course, everyone I know here dates in a courtship-like fashion, with the end goal of marrying. A friend whose wedding I attended recently confided in me that she had *gasp* kissed her then boyfriend not once, not twice, but five times before their wedding, in secret when their parents weren’t around. She said if her parents found out they would kill her (not literally of course). Even for foreigners staying in the larger, more progressive cities, you will still come across many gender-segregated hostels where only married couples may share a room and you would be strongly advised against any sort of public display of affection above and beyond holding hands (in many areas, even that would be ill-advised).
Although legally, girls can marry as young as 16 and boys as young as 19, I have observed that the Muslim girls in my area are expected to marry no later than 25 - or usually right out of high school - and boys by 30, give or take a few years. If they pass either age limit, they are put under a lot of pressure to marry the first person their parents bring to them. My poor not yet-26 year old host sister has faced an extraordinary amount of pressure from her parents to marry before her birthday in October. It begins to sound like the plot of any Jane Austen novel when she tells me about the blind dates her parents arrange on her behalf to try and set her up with one of their well-mannered acquaintances' sons. In the past few months alone she has gone from the opinion that she won't marry until she’s well settled into the career of her dreams to talking incessantly about the *two* boys she likes. One is younger than her and the other is her age. The younger one is less responsible (a playboy, by the sounds of it. Yes, bad on me for playing into these games of stereotyping) and therefore she hasn’t ever introduced him to her parents. The one her age, a doctor who wants to marry closer to 30, has been invited to the house multiple times. An interesting twist in this tale is that the doctor seems to have changed his tune recently and she's reported him saying that he might move for a career advancement opportunity. This would be an interesting form of compromise for my sister if it came to pass that her parents allowed her to wait because the man she chose is not yet ready for marriage either. I admire her strength of will, now more than ever, for she is very adamant that she will, at least, chose who she will marry (and has probably gamed the system if she's picked a respectable guy who wants to wait).
This is what I have gathered from my religiously-conservative circle of family and friends. I teach at an Islamic high school run by the Ministry of Religious Affairs. My host dad works under this same department. My host mother works as a family/marriage counselor and frequently gives lectures on the Quran. She is highly respected in a surprisingly wide circle as an exemplary Muslim.
This is why the experience of having an Indonesian Muslim boyfriend in this strictly date-to-marry culture has been a very difficult and humbling one.
I had the summer, with many free hours, to fall into a blissfully ignorant happiness with a Bandung local (a city about 2 hours from mine). He lived with my host family from February until June in order to search for a job in Karawang and get practical experience through an internship in a mechanics shop. However, once mutual feelings developed in June, these plans had to be diverted as my host family knew of our feelings (pretty hard to hide anything from those in your own house) and didn’t think it appropriate for us to date.
I have admired my host mom, Umi, mostly from a distance during the entire time I've been living here. My host dad is around so little (he works in Bandung) that it has been difficult to develop a meaningful relationship with him. Umi too, is a very busy woman. I would see her come home, still full of energy after six hours at the office, eat a simple lunch of rice and seafood, and then go straight back out to run the next-door elementary school or back into town to lecture from the Quran. By 6 o'clock (I sometimes didn't see her eat dinner) a gaggle of around 15 neighborhood kids between the ages of 6-12 would come in for evening Quran studies. Umi presided over this study group until she basically dropped off to sleep right on the floor. The children would file out sometime between 8 and 9 and that is when our house winds down for the day.
Umi and Abi have really taken the Islamic tenant of charity into their hearts and it shows in every aspect of their lives. When I first arrived in their house, they had adopted four children in addition to their three biological children who were already older and living out of the house. They pay all the expenses for the adopted children because those families can’t afford to (one of the four adopted children has since moved back to her home town and now has a fiancé). They live simply but above the average in my neighborhood and donate their time and money to many causes whenever they can.
I sometimes forget to recognize the wonderful opportunity I have living with these truly good people. I do not say that they are truly good just because of their devoutness but because they exemplify all the best traits of human beings. For many months I mainly thought of how the evening Quran study group affected my schedule - listening to 20 kids shouting (kids will be kids) verses at the top of the lungs for three hours at the end of the day was not something I looked forward to and did my best to try to block out. But at this point I respect my host mom all the more for it.
I have had several host family experiences since I was 18, although none as long as my current one. While WWOOFing (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) isn’t exactly a host family situation because you’re trading your labor and/or skills for room and board, I’m counting my best WWOOF experiences in New Zealand as host families.
There is a difference between being a guest and living with a host family. As a guest you are usually only expected to honor your hosts and be somewhat sociable. But if you stay long enough to build a relationship with your hosts and enter their routine, then you are no longer a guest. You are family.
Guest culture is very important in Javanese culture. My counterpart and host sister have told me that it is also extremely important in Islamic culture. My counterpart told me of an expression used frequently here, “tamuku adalah raja”, which means “your guest is your king”. One time when my sister and I had walked about a mile from the bus stop to our house because it was dark and the public transportation was no longer running, she got very upset when no one answered the door for us, even though she heard Umi’s Quran study group laughing and playing inside. I told her I usually just go around to the unlocked door in the back but she insisted we should stay until someone opened the door. When one of the kids finally came to unlock the door she spent a full 20 minutes yelling them into stony silence about the importance of always opening up your home to guests. Even though it was technically her family's home, they were present in the house at the time when someone needed to come in.
I am no longer a guest, in the same way that I am no longer just the American living down the street. I greet guests when they come to the house – sometimes alone if my host family is out. But as proud as I am to call these particular people my Indonesian family, I still feel like it’s my right to set certain boundaries that a real daughter would not be able to.
Ever since I got into a relationship with a local that my host family knew, there has been a layer of tension in my relationship with them (I swear they have the most amazing sixth sense when it comes to guessing who I’ve been texting or hanging out with – either that, or I’m a lot more transparent than I thought). In the beginning, I wanted to be as honest with them as possible while still sparing them the details we both know they don’t want to hear. They would see pictures of me and him and ask, “did you see him while you were in Bandung last weekend?” and I would say yes, keeping it neutral. But ultimately, my relationship with my host parents grew tense and they became very anxious every time I went out of the city, even for Peace Corps appointments or events with other friends.
In the end, my host mother gave me a simple answer: you must respect other cultures. My teacher friends from school gave me a more detailed answer: in the matter of loving and making a future with someone from another religion (not that that’s where I’m heading with this, just in the big picture scheme of things), it is the afterlife they are concerned with. Bu Euis and Bu Dila, my main boos, told me that they must follow strict rules if they are to go to heaven and be joined by all their loved ones there. That is why neither of them want their children to date outside of their religion.
In the end, no matter how at home I feel here, I am still a guest in another culture. It feels wonderful to be so accepted by someone here. It feels good to have the openness with my Indonesian partner to describe to someone how incredible (and sometimes inexplicable) I find this place. While I am fortunate to have open communication with many people here – my host sister (the one who’s in danger of an arranged marriage), my counterpart, several other teachers at my school, some people from my host sister’s office, even an AFS student from Panama who recently arrived here – I feel a whole different level of freedom to discuss things with my partner. I’m very enamored. It's a new experience for me. But I am still at odds with my two identities as guest and family.
There are many screens between foreigners and locals. These screens are often misconceptions or prejudices based solely on that first three second impression you get of someone. Gender, race and social status all play their part, the same as they do anywhere. In the same way that I instinctively build up a stone wall between myself and most men I pass on the street whom I don't know (I tell myself these are learned behaviors and, after the umpteenth experience of physical and verbal harassment, they are that at the very least) some experiences with locals are dominated by assumptions of wealth and immorality.
These brief encounters are not usually the experiences I dwell on, but they are influenced by all the meaningful relationships I have in my life. The less you feel like a guest, the less you will act like one. The more you take responsibility for your experience, the more permanence you will feel in this new place and the more permanent the impact of this experience will be.
*Bu Dila, the biology teacher at my school who I am close with, is unconventional in her own way. She is the only divorced teacher at my school and has dated other men in the 10 years since her divorce (which is not legal in any way, they just live separately now). She made a deal with her daughter, who picked up a Christian boyfriend in her university in Jakarta, that she would break up with the man she was dating, whom the daughter did not approve of because he was already married, if her daughter would break up with the Christian boyfriend, who she definitely did not approve of. Last I heard, my teacher friend had rid herself of the married man she was seeing but the daughter was “still figuring out” how to break up with her boyfriend.
