Hold on

I am going home soon. This thought passes through my mind in moments of nostalgia, when I think of how my perspective has changed in the past two years and the freedom that this time has afforded me to discover crucial elements of living. It also comes in moments of panic, when I picture the faces of friends I have made, the seemingly chaotic but beautiful puzzle of culture and customs that I will leave unfinished, and all that's left to be done in my remaining three months, and in moments of exasperation, when reading Indonesian news about politicians backing anti-gay demonstrations or sitting at an english camp being reminded that the foreigner's role is sometimes that of a zoo animal. 

Sometimes I say to myself, I will be leaving this complex country soon; leaving it's entitled men who have such a long ways to go in terms of how they treat other human beings - namely women (see: mandatory virginity tests for female police officers, child marriages, female genital mutilation), it's it's curious dual acceptance and rejection of western culture and going back. Back to a place where people don't shout "foreigner" at me every day. Back to a place where I won't always be out of step.

I sometimes stop and think to myself what a rare experience living here still feels like. Getting lost in Jakarta on a hot bright day, trying to find my way to the laptop service center, walking alongside all the working people, the buskers, the street hawkers, asking and recieving 7 million conflicting directions (but always recieving help when asking for it). Rambutan sellers spray their crimson hairy fruit with plastic water bottles poked full of holes in the cap. People peer out of a literal hole in the wall where they eat their meatball soup. Sundanese culture is not very present in the capital city. Many people have moved here from smaller towns and villages to work, making it more versatile than desa life.

The thing I want in my last three months is to hold on to this experience while I still have it. When I start thinking of Indonesia as the "bad boyfriend" Elizabeth Pisani calls it, I remember all the things that keep me coming back for more:

Namely, my zaney, awesome students (posing for letters to our penpals in Durango, Colorado):

Bad-ass people I've met along the way (a tour guide from Kalimantan who is also an activist and very eloquent about Indonesian issues): 

Small victories in bureaucracy: 

(The proposal for a youth empowerment camp set to take place this April 8-10. Myself and three other volunteers have been working very hard to send 16 students from each of our schools to a fun and educational weekend with workshops on topics like health education (particulalry puberty coming of age stuff that they definitely don't hear much about elsewhere), environmental leadership, animal rights, a career panel, applying for scholarships...etc. Getting this proposal signed, stamped and approved by my school and the local Ministry of Relgious Affairs, which oversees Islamic education, was literally a full-time job from January until the end of February. Having finally turned it in to the office who will write us a recommendation letter that makes our camp legal, I can now say "eat my dust, bureaucracy.") 

And my second family: 

So, as it is with the relationship that you know must end soon, my resolve is to hold on while it is still in my grasp: be with the family when I can, immerse myself in projects this last semester, travel a bit at the end and eat as many kilos of mangosteen as I can before I leave.