sketch book indonesia

The competition got a little out of control at this point.

I suppose this is how one stands the afternoon heat sans air conditioning. These kids clearly have never heard of a tapeworm. 

Indonesia is, if nothing, a land of contrast and contradiction: it's there on a public minibus decked out with flashing lights and blasting house mashups that conjure images of Bollywood on an acid trip, filled with veiled women going to market in the early morning; it's there when a rice farmer tilling the fields he has inherited from his father's fathers taps a quick status update into his Blackberry during an afternoon respite; the contrast is brutal in the capital, where malls dripping with Gucci and Chanel back onto slums dripping poverty and human waste.

Here, some of my students get bored waiting their turn to perform at a traditional arts competition. It's not lost on me that these girls are in fact wearing contrasting outfits. The point here, however, is that these ladies cruised Twitter and Facebook on their phones for the better part of the day, pausing only to take the stage and dance with far more grace than I'll ever see them commit to their English exercises. 

This is a cute abbreviation for cium pipi kanan, cium pipi kiri, or kiss on the right cheek, kiss on the left cheek. That's how we greet our best girlfriends out here in Indonesia, and also how most of the male teachers at my school request I greet them. Keep trying, boys.  

And so begins my quest to look through my pictures from the last odd year in search of something that might be of interest. 

After a brief hiatus, which I attribute to a combination of laziness and the unfortunate collapse of my wireless tower, here I am. Normally, this blog does not concern itself with pictures of me: there are much more interesting sights to see in this world. But for one time and one time only, here I am: behold the jacket with its removable shoulder pads that conveniently velcro in and out; behold the trousers that hit me high above the belly button with a surprisingly comfortable elastic waistband. Orders placed before December 10th will ship in time for the holidays.

A note: the name written above my head, Maesarah, is my given Indonesian name. It's also my radio broadcasting personality. 

Last Sunday, over plates heaping with turkey and gravy, stuffing and, because it's August, Dungeness crab cakes, my family asked ourselves: why haven't we always celebrated Thanksgiving twice a year? Why have we been deterred by the impossibility of finding cranberries—fresh or frozen—during the summer months? I will be noshing on fried rice in Indonesia again in November, so we got innovative this year and created a turkey dinner befitting a Seattle summer afternoon. Because while it has now become clear that one Thanksgiving is not enough, zero is certainly unacceptable.

You may not know that Justin Bieber is wildly popular in Indonesia; watch this video for a taste of how fabulously the Bieber fever has manifested in the archipelago. Considering that this song found its way into the soundtrack of my life at least once daily during my first ten months in Indonesia, it's fitting that a few of my students presented this masterpiece to me as a parting gift in May.

And this is exactly why I am going back in two weeks.

This is the sort of incrongruous elegance that sparked my love affair with the aesthetics of Indonesia.

Perhaps I should start with a disclaimer: don’t be fooled by the artistic genius apparent in the painting above; this is not a self-portrait. One of my classes commissioned a particularly talented aspiring artist (to be more specific, a photography loving student named Harry) to produce this masterpiece in my image. I will covet this parting gift by shoving it in a dank storage locker in Singapore while I travel the archipelago (in search of dragons in Flores and improved Indonesian skills in Yogyakarta) before flying home to the Best Coast.

For much of the last nine months, the expiry date on my visa seemed an indiscernible point on the horizon of my consciousness but, like all journeys, this one is coming to a close. Instead of trying to wax poetic whilst spilling tears onto the dusty keys of my MacBook, I’ll let my memory live eternal through the words of my students.

“I very like english class with ms. Sarah because very violent.”

“My suggestion for ms. Sarah I want ms. Sarah will always teaching in SMAN 1 Sumbawa Besar. because I very like with ms. Sarah. Ms. Sarah is teacher that very funny. I LOVE YOU Ms. Sarah. My Teacher. Ms. Sarah very beautiful!”

“English class is my favorite class. I always waiting for Ms. Sarah class. When Ms. Sarah come and teach me about English, that was the time that I like English very much and trying to be a good student in English class. She make the class fun but never forget still learning.”

“I never dislike about class with ms. Sarah because to me you are perfect teacher.”

“Ms. Sarah, every moment with you is the sweetest One.”

"In my opinion, she must make her hair to be longer and be more crazy again but don't be as crazy as Mr. Ben. Hahahaha."

“I dislike because miss sarah not reply my love. Reply my love. mmmuuuuaaaccchh!!!”

I’m not sure if that last bit is a kiss or a projectile vomit. Either way, I am super excited to come spend another nine months with these fantastic kids. In the meantime, you can find me curled up with an IPA and an expensive Cuban sandwich in Ballard, USA.

In Indonesian, one verb functions to mean both "to sunbathe" and "to dry something out in the sun." The cultural absence of sunbathing as recreation is apparent in this limitation of expression; to sunbathe, to most Indonesians, is about as appealing as baking in the afternoon heat like these fish spread out to dry.