my teacher asked if i liked eating cuddle fish. i said no, they are my favorite animal. she said, favorite for eating? i said nonono favorite for favoriting. and she thought that was funny. and asked why. so i said marine biology. i’ve alwasy wanted to do it but it’s not very practical. she said here, work as a teacher, and work on a boat doing research about cephalopods. here, after i’m fluet, i would be an excellent lab student. don’t tempt me old woman. that is all i have ever wanted. hanging out with all those succered nuggets
- Guru: Why are you upset
- Me: beacuse all the men yell at me out of their cars and I think it's rude.
- Guru: They just think you are sexy with your white skin and your short pants
- Me: I don't care if they think it's sexy. I'm walking to class not selling my body.
- Guru: It is rude. Why don't you write about that for homework?
We're Both Just Stating the Obvious
- Little Boy: Bule!
- Me: oh! anak kecil yang indonesia
- Little Boy: I know!
- Me: Then why are we talking?
- Little Boy: ahahahahahahahahaha
Now, I’m going to point a finger or two, with full knowledge that I used to be, and probably still am, one of these people. People who are so in love with the idea of maps, or the world, or what have you that they get it tattooed on their bodies.
so i scratched my face a little in my last class. my kids were horrified, but they are kids, so i let them out liek 2 minuets early, and we were done with eveythign anyway. i go downstairs and grab a paper towel for my bleeding chin, and Sydney sees me and freeks out. Like excuse me, there is no need to be so upset. He goes “Rach” (did i say you could call me nicknames?) “are you okay?!” and i’m like “yeah, yeah, fine I just got punched in the face” because honestly no one shoudl look at you holding a paper towel to your chin and think you got punched in the face… so he flips shit and Sam flips shit and i’m like “guys. i just have a little scratch.”
good lord, please don’t ever watch me fall off a motor bike and get road rash. you will both die of a kyniption
Today I went with Mat and Alex to Surabaya for the Festival Rujak. We met up with Laily, and then were treated like royalty for the entirety of the festival. The festival was tables and tables of people making rujak to see who could make the best fare. We got pulled in for pictures with almost every group we came across. There was a group dressed up as dogs, a cross-dressing group, a group with crazy hair, and they all wanted to take pictures and shake our hands. We were let into the area where locals were not allowed because we are bules, and got to eat some of the mayor’s rujack. Rujak is peanuts and chilies ground up together to make a sauce. Then, they put in some tempe, some pineapple, some cucumber, and some cow nose. The cow nose is boiled to the consistence of chewy jello, and it’s not my favorite thing.
We then went up on stage to say some slogan really fast in Bahasa Indonesia, and after making a fool of ourselves Mat, Alex, Laily and I won free t-shirts. They are bright green, really soft, and mine actually fits! We dipped out after that, having enough of the people touching us bit. We walked into a Buddhist temple and got a tour though all the giant candles and incense. It was interesting and the building was very red and hot. We then went to the mall in an attempt to watch “The Great Gatsby” but it is not out here yet. So Laily and I looked at shoes, I bought a jump rope and looked at snorkels, ate some expensive coffee drink, and then helped Alex buy a guitar. In the same store, while he was doing that, I looked at little kids’ books in Bahasa Indonesia thinking I could get one to help me study. They were kind of expensive, and I needed to save money for the taxi ride home. In the bathroom, while washing up for prayer, I noticed my eyes have gigantic bags underneath them. I look like I’ve been punched. Mat says it’s the air here… the pollution makes you look 800 years older than you are. It is reversible; you just have to go to Bali, or somewhere else with salt water and cleaner air. I then went with Laily to the mushola on the top floor of the mall. It was nice and breezy while I waited for Laily to pray, and I got a good tall view of the city, which always makes me happy. It was a very fun day, and I think it is what was needed especially because the power went out about 11am this morning, so there was no internet and no showers for anyone.
I was really hungry last evening after teaching 3 classes. It was strange, because I was stuffed off peanuts only 2 hours before I got off work, but alas, the body is needy and that is annoying in and of itself. There is no pizza here, or any I would eat, and the amount of junk food that is available is close to zero. So, though I refuse McDonald’s while I’m in the States, I had some last night for dinner.
Before I went to dinner I went to get some sandwich fixin’s. I went to 3 different grocery stores to accomplish this feat. Living with other white folks they tend to know where things for making deli sandwiches are, but sometimes you have to take an hour taxi ride into Surabaya to get the things you need. I had to stop in at hero to get cheese and deli meat however. I found some gouda (not the best, but better than laughing cow spreadables), turkey and corned beef, and some tomatoes. Together these things cost me twice as much as the taxi ride to the city did to find the baguette bread. But let me tell you, it was worth it. I made a big samich for breakfast, and it was the closest thing to heaven I’ve had since I’ve arrived, especially because I drizzled peppered olive oil on there too, and melted the cheese onto the meat onto the bread in the toaster oven.
Now, I remember McD’s always disappearing really fast back when I used to eat it, but I also remember it being bigger. Here, the chicken sandwich is like 3oz of chicken, and when you bite into it it actually looks like chicken. It’s got the muscle lines, and it’s a little bit brown; looking nothing like the white mush they deep-fry in the States and call it chicken. Also, the give you a small drink and small fries with your meal, I’m pretty sure in the US it’s a Large of both, yes? But eating took forever. I remember fast food being consumable quickly as well. Apparently here that is impossible. It took me a whole chapter in my book to finish eating. I felt like the fries continued on forever, and the chicken sandwich even longer. I should not have eaten so late, though, I was up forever with my roommates, and then longer after that skyping with people who were supposed to be writing their senior papers.
Mat and I were sitting out back talking the way Americans do: aggressively, and about things that will never really happen in real life. Dylan had left us and in an absence of UK persona we got a bit carried away with inappropriate jokes and beer. After a while Alex, and his Kiwi self, came out to join us and Alex and Mat got into it. Jesus. I’m surprised punches were not thrown. The short of it is Alex said some demeaning things about Americans to get a point across to his class (“close-minded” was the vocab word), and whereas I did not take it offensively I think Mat did. He said he didn’t, and was just warning Alex to not say such political things while teaching because it could get him in trouble. What’s weird is even though insults were thrown neither of them got up and stormed off. If it were me in the argument I would have taken myself away from the situation. Perhaps because I don’t like confrontation (okay, that’s a lie, I cause confrontational things just so I’m not bored), or perhaps I have learned that I can say some mean things I really don’t want to hurt people’s feelings if I think they are genuenly a good person (that Alex is) but they are just kinda dumb sometimes. It turned into me and Mat telling Alex to get out of his head and grow up. His excuse (always, children have their excuses, don’t they?) was that he was 22 and was still learning how to grow up. I said, “Child, I am 22. Your age doesn’t mean anything. Open your eyes sometimes and see what is going on,” which was as nice as I could be after 4 beers and a witnessing the conversation I just had.
Then Dylan came back to us, and all the guys started smoking, which confused me… because both the Brit and the Kiwi were all like “we don’t smoke lalalalalalalala.” Now, Alex is off to the store to buy cigarettes and alcohol so he can write (which was half of the argument last night because he is a writer who is not writing [problem number one, don’t you think?]). And this whole past twenty-ish hours has been really strange. And being with Mat helps the homesickness in general, as in I don’t miss Chicago land as much as I thought, but the personal homesickness, for specific people has gotten really bad. But I’m sure it’s worse for the Brit and the Kiwi, as they don’t have people to play off of, and they have been here longer than me, giving them more time to develop some homesickness, and they don’t even speak Bahasa so I can only guess how hard a time they are having right now.
Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water.
And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes
you cannot even breathe deeply, and
the night sky is no home, and
you have cried yourself to sleep enough times
that you are down to your last two percent, but
nothing is infinite,
not even loss.
You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day
you are going to find yourself again.
I told you guys I was getting a bat when I moved to Indonesia. I was not lying. Today the cutest bat came and hung out with us about midnight. He (she) was eating an unripe papaya, and he just hung out there licking the juice out of that green little sphere like it was the nectar of the gods. Mat opened a beer, and the little guy covered his ears with the tips of his wings and I about melted from the cuteness! He looked at me with his blind little eyes, his ears all a’flickering cus he could hear me looking at him. I really want to talk to him every night, and tell him how cute he is. I’m supprised Dylan didn’t call me a girl considering the amount of times I told the bat (Glydas) that he was cute. Mat is convienced it’s his dead mother come back to keep an eye on him, all the way in Indonesia, so we’ve called him Glydas. He flew away after about an hour, so then we sat up for another hour talking about office drama, planning inside jokes, and enjoying the fact that we both have a little bit of black in our souls.