It was a REALLY steep drive way. I was ALWAYS breathless by the time I reached the top, much to the amusement of--well, everyone.
The angkot all lined up at Pasar Bawah. Just like the feeling I used to get when I might be picked to perform (and then mess up) in PE in elementary school, I used to repeat the number of my angkot over and over so I would get on the right one.Although I lost weight quickly once I moved to Bukittinggi, I used to feel so BIG and fat and American in the angkot. Drivers fully expect to fit 15-18 passengers on a regular trip (and will wait until that many passengers embark before departing), but at least once, there were 21 of us, including the driver. I used to feel so guilty for taking more room than everyone else-- but physics is physics and my mass couldn't be condensed.
Did I mention that all the males smoked, everywhere? Even the male teachers, at school during the school day. In the moment, I used to abhor the practice, and it used to disturb my breathing. Now when I get a whiff of clove cigarettes, I pause and inhale.
Did I mention that all the males smoked, everywhere? Even the male teachers, at school during the school day. In the moment, I used to abhor the practice, and it used to disturb my breathing. Now when I get a whiff of clove cigarettes, I pause and inhale.And now a dreaded daily experience is a cultural quirk I fondly remember participating in.
How about the rain? During the wet season you could count on an afternoon shower without fail, and it was such a restriction because while it was raining, you needed to be indoors-- but if I were out and about, there was no indoors to be had (I was mostly at the market and that is an open air market). So I would try to schedule my activities in pre-rain and post-rain segments (not easy to do when you live 30 minutes by public transport from the city). For laundry purposes, it was necessary to pull the clothes in off the line before the rain started, otherwise they would not dry that day, and I never left my clothes out overnight (who knew what could happen to them? If they disappeared, it's not as if I could replace them-- they don't sell my size off the rack in the land of 5' Asians). So I'd gather the damp clothes and desperately haptrap places for them to hang indoors-- usually dripping water all over the tile floor.
The view from my front door.
How about the rain? During the wet season you could count on an afternoon shower without fail, and it was such a restriction because while it was raining, you needed to be indoors-- but if I were out and about, there was no indoors to be had (I was mostly at the market and that is an open air market). So I would try to schedule my activities in pre-rain and post-rain segments (not easy to do when you live 30 minutes by public transport from the city). For laundry purposes, it was necessary to pull the clothes in off the line before the rain started, otherwise they would not dry that day, and I never left my clothes out overnight (who knew what could happen to them? If they disappeared, it's not as if I could replace them-- they don't sell my size off the rack in the land of 5' Asians). So I'd gather the damp clothes and desperately haptrap places for them to hang indoors-- usually dripping water all over the tile floor.
The view from my front door.Conversely, I now think of those rains as imposed periods of quiet time, to sit and rest and not be bombarded with looks or expectations in a foreign place. I remember so many afternoon rains spent staring out the door, noticing the sun shining despite the downpour and thinking how persistent was the day in the face of potential darkness. Or, staring out the door and watching the day submit to gathering clouds, turning gray and quiet and still. And submitting, myself, to a peaceful nap on the covers of my humble bed, not worried at all about the open door. If only there was room for quiet time now.
And my house! And all it's quirks. While I did feel comfortable in my house, and I made it mine, I spent so much time there in isolation that there were probably equal parts comfort and resentment. The garish brightly colored walls. The crazy bugs that found their way in despite closed windows and doors. The enormous spiders that would greet me in the sink when I woke up in the morning (those things were hairy). The squatty potty! The tile floor! The unreliable electricity!
Welcome to my home.
And my shower! And my toilet! (P.S. Just in case you're judging my cleanliness, I bought some crazy Indonesian acidic tile cleanser and scrubbed the heck outta the mandi-- but the grout never came clean.) The 'shower' is on the left. Sorry; my bucket's not pictured.
And this is my modest kitchen (which took me nine months to gather together). That is the sink where I washed dishes, brushed my teeth, washed my face and boiled water for my morning bath. On the right is my two-burner propane stove. My only mirror, my pantry and my pots and pans. See that plaid sock thing on the left? I sewed that by hand to store plastic bags (Indonesians love them some plastic bags).
And this is what I accomplished in that modest kitchen. Fake table, fake Mexican food. Tortillas from scratch. Salsa from scratch. Fake cheese (oh, keju.) And chicken tacos-- a chicken that died for my meal. I know; I made myself watch.
And my house! And all it's quirks. While I did feel comfortable in my house, and I made it mine, I spent so much time there in isolation that there were probably equal parts comfort and resentment. The garish brightly colored walls. The crazy bugs that found their way in despite closed windows and doors. The enormous spiders that would greet me in the sink when I woke up in the morning (those things were hairy). The squatty potty! The tile floor! The unreliable electricity!
Welcome to my home.
And my shower! And my toilet! (P.S. Just in case you're judging my cleanliness, I bought some crazy Indonesian acidic tile cleanser and scrubbed the heck outta the mandi-- but the grout never came clean.) The 'shower' is on the left. Sorry; my bucket's not pictured.
And this is my modest kitchen (which took me nine months to gather together). That is the sink where I washed dishes, brushed my teeth, washed my face and boiled water for my morning bath. On the right is my two-burner propane stove. My only mirror, my pantry and my pots and pans. See that plaid sock thing on the left? I sewed that by hand to store plastic bags (Indonesians love them some plastic bags).
And this is what I accomplished in that modest kitchen. Fake table, fake Mexican food. Tortillas from scratch. Salsa from scratch. Fake cheese (oh, keju.) And chicken tacos-- a chicken that died for my meal. I know; I made myself watch.Can you hear me? Don't I sound proud and nostalgic? I remember these once hardships with a mixture of fondness and pride. Look what I accomplished! Look what I endured! I made it through; I'm better for it. Forget that-- I just miss it. Forget that I didn't love it all the time while I was there, I certainly love the memories. I'd like to make some new ones. I dream that if I went back, the world wouldn't be so restricted. And I think that is possible because I, in fact, did survive the first time.
But where is all this nostalgia coming from? Notice how I didn't really say anything about anybody (not just because I was mostly alone)? I didn't mention anything about relationships (and I still maintain some). I have recently discovered this and it leads me to believe that I am not nostalgic for a place and a people; I am nostalgic for a time in my life. This is all about me, remember (because I'm mostly selfish. Or at least I've become that way). I am yearning for a simpler time, where there were fewer obligations and responsibilities, a time that was less complex for me, and a time when I was more in tune with God. I am yearning for the time that I grew into big shoes and became Amelia. I am yearning for a time when life, while simpler, also felt more difficult on a daily basis. In Indonesia, I lived each day by God. I survived because that was God's plan. Every day was only conquered because God was by my side and I recognized this early on, because there was so much I was not in control of and so much I didn't understand. When things worked out, it was not because I worked them out. It was because God did. It was impossible to forget God's hand was in everything, impossible not to feel God's presence, not to hear God's call. Hard decisions became no-brainers. Life wasn't the Amelia show, it was Amelia bowing to the direction of a director with a grander vision for the way the movie would end.
Life isn't like that here. I work, I earn money, I pay the bills, I eat. I do those things. I am responsible. I get the credit. I am in control. I make decisions about where I should go and I work out the details now. When things run smoothly, it is according to my plan, because I am detail-oriented and did not forget anything. I survive because I do not take risks, I have learned so much it is easy to forget I don't know it all. I forget about God, because I no longer live each day by God. I make all the decisions, but somehow they've been piling up lately and despite my self reliance I have been unable to see myself in a bigger picture. You know why? Because I've been playing at God's job, but I'm total shit at it because I'm not God. I can't see the bigger picture. I still need God. I became a details master and thought that just because I could master the act that I could produce the whole show.
And this shift from lovingly receiving God's prompting to pushing God out of the picture has me very dissatisfied. I don't like this Amelia I've become in DC, in adulthood. Sure, I like that I am capable. I like that I can manage more. I like that I am even self-reliant, in most things. These new skills in an Indonesia situation would be an entirely new experience. But (while I really really do want to go back to Indonesia), I don't want Indonesia again the way that I want that Amelia back. And I can't repeat Indonesia. It wouldn't be the same. I need a new adventure. But what I don't think I can continue is living here, in this place, surrounded by comfort and forgetting what hardship even feels like (although, to be fair, the things I discussed earlier were not necessarily the difficult parts of my situation in Indonesia, just the parts I remember not liking). I don't know that a daily life with God is possible in a place where it seems like I am in charge. I'm too comfortable, too insulated, and life is too full of luxury. I bow down to the god of consumerism and I buy my way to happiness. I waste. I withhold. I don't care-- I can't seem to stop, anyway.
So where do I go from here? I think this has subconsciously been the sole motivator for my thesis themes: although I've been addressing my ideas in broad terms (these are the things American Christians do that separate them from God), I have been unwittingly talking about myself. I am the consumer who has allowed my want of things to separate me from God. I am separated from God. But there is hope because we are not divorced yet-- I've recognized my fault and desire to correct it (broad speak: American Christians seek to reconcile with God by rejecting consumerism and participating in multiple counter-cultural movements that instead glorify God's commandments to love our neighbors, ourselves and the entirety of Creation). I will do these things. I will wear a mantle of good stewardship; I will reject wastefulness and greed. I will practice moderation. I will love people more than things. I will experience God's Creation instead of destroying it. I will do all the things I've been thinking and reading about, only this time I will do them with a purpose: to mend my selfish ways and remember that God is both in charge and calls me to live with more care. I have to give up being in control by buying things if I want things with me and God to work.
But where is all this nostalgia coming from? Notice how I didn't really say anything about anybody (not just because I was mostly alone)? I didn't mention anything about relationships (and I still maintain some). I have recently discovered this and it leads me to believe that I am not nostalgic for a place and a people; I am nostalgic for a time in my life. This is all about me, remember (because I'm mostly selfish. Or at least I've become that way). I am yearning for a simpler time, where there were fewer obligations and responsibilities, a time that was less complex for me, and a time when I was more in tune with God. I am yearning for the time that I grew into big shoes and became Amelia. I am yearning for a time when life, while simpler, also felt more difficult on a daily basis. In Indonesia, I lived each day by God. I survived because that was God's plan. Every day was only conquered because God was by my side and I recognized this early on, because there was so much I was not in control of and so much I didn't understand. When things worked out, it was not because I worked them out. It was because God did. It was impossible to forget God's hand was in everything, impossible not to feel God's presence, not to hear God's call. Hard decisions became no-brainers. Life wasn't the Amelia show, it was Amelia bowing to the direction of a director with a grander vision for the way the movie would end.
Life isn't like that here. I work, I earn money, I pay the bills, I eat. I do those things. I am responsible. I get the credit. I am in control. I make decisions about where I should go and I work out the details now. When things run smoothly, it is according to my plan, because I am detail-oriented and did not forget anything. I survive because I do not take risks, I have learned so much it is easy to forget I don't know it all. I forget about God, because I no longer live each day by God. I make all the decisions, but somehow they've been piling up lately and despite my self reliance I have been unable to see myself in a bigger picture. You know why? Because I've been playing at God's job, but I'm total shit at it because I'm not God. I can't see the bigger picture. I still need God. I became a details master and thought that just because I could master the act that I could produce the whole show.
And this shift from lovingly receiving God's prompting to pushing God out of the picture has me very dissatisfied. I don't like this Amelia I've become in DC, in adulthood. Sure, I like that I am capable. I like that I can manage more. I like that I am even self-reliant, in most things. These new skills in an Indonesia situation would be an entirely new experience. But (while I really really do want to go back to Indonesia), I don't want Indonesia again the way that I want that Amelia back. And I can't repeat Indonesia. It wouldn't be the same. I need a new adventure. But what I don't think I can continue is living here, in this place, surrounded by comfort and forgetting what hardship even feels like (although, to be fair, the things I discussed earlier were not necessarily the difficult parts of my situation in Indonesia, just the parts I remember not liking). I don't know that a daily life with God is possible in a place where it seems like I am in charge. I'm too comfortable, too insulated, and life is too full of luxury. I bow down to the god of consumerism and I buy my way to happiness. I waste. I withhold. I don't care-- I can't seem to stop, anyway.
So where do I go from here? I think this has subconsciously been the sole motivator for my thesis themes: although I've been addressing my ideas in broad terms (these are the things American Christians do that separate them from God), I have been unwittingly talking about myself. I am the consumer who has allowed my want of things to separate me from God. I am separated from God. But there is hope because we are not divorced yet-- I've recognized my fault and desire to correct it (broad speak: American Christians seek to reconcile with God by rejecting consumerism and participating in multiple counter-cultural movements that instead glorify God's commandments to love our neighbors, ourselves and the entirety of Creation). I will do these things. I will wear a mantle of good stewardship; I will reject wastefulness and greed. I will practice moderation. I will love people more than things. I will experience God's Creation instead of destroying it. I will do all the things I've been thinking and reading about, only this time I will do them with a purpose: to mend my selfish ways and remember that God is both in charge and calls me to live with more care. I have to give up being in control by buying things if I want things with me and God to work.
Like any relationship, it takes effort to be in relationship with God. But the amazing thing is that God made me, so God appreciates all the parts of me already. While I may be yearning for my former self, my merciful God is already looking to mold me into my future self. I don't know how this will be accomplished, but hopefully when this thesis is written and my tie to this place of privilege dissolves, I'll be prepared for the trials of leaner times because of it. And me and God will be co-habitating once again.
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