Home (a little late..)

I wrote this a long time ago but just decided that I wanted to post it. I know no one’s still keeping up with this, but I wanted to do that final entry I mentioned before because this blog feels unfinished. I miss blogging! I’m considering just writing on this about random things from time to time…

Well, here I am. Home and cold. It feels a little like a dream. I don’t know if “it” is Bali or Nashville, but something in there is making me feel detached.

I think the horrors of LAX—the sterile, closed in, coldness, not only of the buildings but of some of the people as well, made me a little more eager to arrive at home. But on my first day here, as on my first day in Bali, I felt only capable of observing, unable to be an active participant in the things going on around. Big spaces, fast paces, passed through the cold of the car window, and though I recognized it all, I felt like I was living in my own little world.

I noticed immediately the swiftness of things. My mom walked towards our lunch table with such determination, the act of sitting down becoming but another goal in a list of things to do. When my dad had to go to work and my mom and brother wanted to go workout on my first morning, I was overcome with the strangeness of the notion that others might actually leave me alone to go do something simply for themselves. “Wait! You can’t just leave me here!” I complained. Where are the people who just want to sit around me, to watch our day together unfold? This busyness of self-focus especially shouldn’t be starting so early in the morning, when I’ve only half-finished my cup of coffee. This semester, individual plans came to seem secondary, unnecessary; it was the needs of the community around which the days fell.

I’ve been so cold, too. So. miserably. cold. I thought I’d missed my favorite restaurant’s fresh turkey sandwiches, but I just can’t enjoy them because of the temperature. The only foods that seem appropriate are soup and oatmeal. Fruit? Far too cold for that sort of freshness. The grocery store? Not only sterile and over-sized, but SO, so cold. My stomach has hurt a little more than I though it would too. Sometimes I think I would enjoy my food more if I could just sit down on the floor and eat it with my hands.

The soundscape seems always one of two things here: crowded with echoes of machines and chatter, or eerily quiet and numb. The cold air is creating cold noise, I think. Inside is cluttered but vacuous; outside is uninviting, dead. I miss when the outdoors were livable—not only livable, in fact, but the very thing that perpetuated life. Ibu disappearing momentarily to the garden to grab a big leaf out of which to cut and fold banten, Rama climbing up the tree in the yard for flowers, yellow and white. One’s surroundings were continually hand-picked and altered for craft and ritual. Here life seems contained in unnecessary spaces, spaces whose oversized walls make too definite a distinction between inside and out. And all these walls seem to hold in all these voices, too—voices going on and on about things that might be better left to the will of the wind.

Wow, I think that’s sounded a little depressing so far. I guess I should say, too, that nothing really seems that weird. I wasn’t gone for that long. I’ve accepted with reluctance what I questioned while away: life here is like riding a bike. Our ways aren’t forgettable; to make them changeable, even, requires great will. What can shift subconsciously, however, is whether or not life at home is a bike one wants to be on. You’re gonna have to sit on it no matter what though, so you might as well start pedaling; otherwise, you’ll fall over in the path.

The pedaling comes just as naturally as before, save this mental block that meets some of it with a creeping sense of dread. There are times when I pedal well, though, quickly falling into sync. Then all that’s happened seems distant and forgettable, a feeling I don’t like to acknowledge and don’t yet know how to resolve.

One thing I can’t get enough of since getting home is cooking. Maybe it’s that notion that time is simply going towards crafting things (delicious things!) out of what’s around. Some of the logistics of it seem unnecessary though—the number of utensils we have, all the possible shortcuts! My mom suggested putting my Balinese coffee into a French press. Really mom?! I’m trying to make this like my Ibu makes it, and I can’t imagine she would ever consider needing something like that..

Another stark contrast between here and Bali, more apparent since my return, is the island’s incredible cohesion. Behind beliefs, tradition, and laws, the Balinese people are so tightly bound. Whereas things here often serve to differentiate one person from another, things there only blend those people together. Union, always, over individuality. I encountered very few, if any, Balinese who seemed to be weighed down by their own self-concern. It was that life in terms of doing for others, a life so different from what I feel myself surrounded by now. Ritually speaking, sacrifices are continually made for both gods and ancestors, but the idea manifests in daily actions not related to ritual as well. It’s not “What can I do to make myself happy?” but “What will enable the happiness of my family? my banjar? my town?”

In terms of the how and why of tradition, there’s little questioning. I never thought it possible to feel such an integral part of the community in a place where the ideas that define that community are ideas so different from my own. But the Balinese’s pride in their practices makes them so eagerly open to share with anyone who shows curiosity. And what they practice isn’t secretive, or excluding; ritual simply extends to outsiders as a humble acknowledgement that there are other forces, define them as you will, of which we should remain aware.

What fills that hole here? This is something that’s presented a little hurdle in my return. Like many things American, the search for spirituality seems to be a more individual matter. The reminder that there are things unfolding for which we can’t offer full explanation is not inherent in most of our day-to-day. It’s a frame our mindset, for better or for worse, tends not to emphasize. The Balinese, however, remain aware of the fact that unknowing is only human, and that we might live more contently if we acknowledge and fill the void that causes, day after day after day. This makes a comforting point of welcome for outsiders, who may arrive with hesitation. The tie that binds beyond the could-be barrier of pervasive ritual is emphasized through catering more generally to those “need for something more” thoughts that aren’t necessarily religiously or culturally bound.

It’s hard to transition from a semester where most every interaction, every hour, urges fascination, to a home that looks and operates just the same as before. I feel like I’ve gone from growth to stagnancy, though I know it doesn’t have to be like that. I only need to figure out how to go about continuing things...what to do with myself now…

I would like to keep feeling fascinated. That’s my favorite feeling, I think: the ability to sit and ponder, wonder at, all the goings-on around.

Again and again, though, I’m reminded of an inevitable truth: I’m just an individual surrounded by individuals, and we’re all programmed with our own priorities. It would be possible for me to pass an entire day amidst people who don’t know, and maybe don’t even care, where I’ve been. So if I want this experience to stick with me in the long run, I’m going to have to move past simple talk of my time there and start actively manifesting any effects it has had. I want to be more aware of learning about others too…because who knows when I’ll encounter someone who’s dealing with the same frustrations, a similarly telling but past experience, as the one I feel I’ve had?

March 8^th already? Fascination has come in little spurts, but I’m still looking for some way to keep it sustained.

Preparing for "Re-entry"

Well after a month of ISP, the longest paper I’ve ever written, our program’s concluding events concluded, and a long-neglected blog, I think it’s time for one last update before I head back to Amerika.  Tomorrow.

December 15^th.  Advent calendars have been counting, Christmas music playing, for more than two weeks already, and though this is probably my favorite time of year at home, I have yet to really feel ready to leave.  It’s seems so final, so abrupt.  We’re all beginning to realize the fact that we have to shift back to what we came from a quick but experience-filled 3 and a half months ago.  And given the fact that it somehow seems difficult at this point for me to remember exactly what living in Amerika is like, my mind can’t quite wrap itself around how what I feel Bali has taught me is going to fare in the transition back. 

So what has it taught me?  That’s a loaded question.  But I figure if I can attempt to put some of it into words, maybe it will stick with me a little better.

During our group’s final outing, a trip to Candi Dasa last weekend, 7 of us had a last hurrah dinner at this bizarre and misplaced modern hotel we found amidst the traditional homestays and restaurants.  I guess it was good preparation, a little sampling of cultural confusion.  We sat in pod-shaped seats of metallic red and had gazpacho appetizers and rice in cone formations served to us by a waiter sporting a single black glove, while just beyond the open walls local families bathed in an algae-laden public pond.   I think it was an experience only appropriate just before “re-entry”, as our program is calling it.  What was more memorable than the restaurant though was the self-conducted “circle time” we had afterwards.  Beachside, passing around a power stone, we engaged in the cheesiness (but sincerity) of telling each other something we feel like we’ve learned.  Beyond personal lessons, there seem to be certain overarching lessons that come just with immersion in the Balinese atmosphere.

There’s the focus on today—the gratitude that simply awaking to find friends, family, food, and opportunity begs.  Through setting aside time each morning and night to acknowledge what one has with an offering, through passing many an hour carefully folding banten for one’s own or a community member’s ceremony, there’s hardly a moment when this feeling of gratitude isn’t being perpetuated.   Pleasure is woven into simplicity.  Just being among friends and family allows for day after day of contentment.  And the steady flow provides little need or want to focus on anything other than the day that’s presently unfolding.

Even in a study of grief this was the lesson. Talk of sadness entailed talk of how the feeling is overcome, which made for a study of happiness too.  I found that the Balinese frame their goals in terms of what they can do for others, personal achievements taking a backseat to this need to carry out sacrifice.  By not always working towards something, the present assumes a greater focus.  And by not working for one’s own good but for that of others, contentment becomes not personal but communal.

One of my Ibu friends used the phrase “making happiness”.  “Were you sad when grandmother died?” I asked. “Only a little.  We tried our best to make happiness beforehand,” she responded.  And that’s what the Balinese seem to be doing, day after day after day.   

Even the language here begs this relaxed positivity.  Three of the most common things to hear are “sudah” (already), “belum” (not yet), and “tidak apa apa” (literally, it’s nothing).  Life is framed in terms of what’s already been and what’s still to come, making the notion that things will unfold at the right place and time implicit.   Tidak apa apa!  Don’t worry about it! Things go and go, day after day, just the way they should.  And if something hasn’t been done yet, there’s always tomorrow—a day that comes with the comforting assurance of progressing with simplicity and thanks. 

I’ve also learned the largeness of things:  people’s feelings, motives, wants.  With a mind that tends to zero in on detail, I had to breathe in a little for this one; I think I felt myself take a big step back. 

There’s so little need for analyzing ins and outs, details of minute words and actions, especially if those words and actions are one’s own.  Each moment of each person unfolds for the same overarching reason.  And that’s so that it may be offered as an opportunity—a step or a direct passageway towards this “making” of individual and/or communal happiness.   Traditions, religions, and labels may separate us, but the focus inherent? It’s the same.  We’re just a whole lot of people, just trying to be happy in a whole lot of world.

I don’t think the idea is that difficult to realize, but I think its implications are difficult to actively apply.   Whereas I wanted first to uncover the differences that perplexed me about grief in the Balinese mindset, I instead uncovered differences that somehow made sense.  It was the bounds of the mindset I approached them with that created the perplexity.  But in unbinding, merely loosening them, the dividing details spurred by uniting motives began to assume an understandable shape. 

This realizing has come not only from the Balinese—my keluarga, teachers, and neighbors, but also from the people in my group—people who I’ve gotten to know in a way that maybe only our current circumstances could allow.  I’ve never been more aware of my friends’ bowel movements.  Heck, I guess I’ve never been more aware of my own bowel movements..

And maybe that’s a detail in and of itself that I won’t miss, but there’s this closeness, this seeing each other in our states most messy and most solid (baha) that this constant and detailed interaction entails.  The bonds we formed as we transitioned together were only strengthened given that that transition placed us amidst a society whose main joys come from one action: visiting with others.  We sat and we visited.  We traveled and we visited.  We learned and we visited.  We kind of only stopped visiting when we had to (try) to go poop.  So how are we supposed to leave the people we’ve passed such a span of days just enjoying the regularity of chatting with?  Tomorrow’s not really expected to be that different from today here.  But the tomorrow we’ve arrived at now? It’s literally a world away. 

 

When I was getting all sentimental last night, about to sit down to write this, I reached to lift up my backpack only to find the side COVERED in an ant army hauling a dead baby lizard out of the side pocket.  That was a quick and effective reminder of the things I’m not so sad to leave..

So I’m off tomorrow.  I think I could fill pages and pages with more but there’s not time now.  I’ve got tonight and tomorrow morning to visit with Bali, 4 painfully long plane flights, and then Wednesday I’ll be home.  I’ll have already had one Wednesday though!  I think?

Thank you to everyone who has read this!! Sorry it was neglected.  Maybe I’ll write more once I’m over the jetlag. 

I CAN’T WAIT to see the Christmas season in full swing.  That’s one thing Bali is seriously lacking..

:)

ISP Time/ Back to the Village!

So I spent Monday through Saturday of last week back in the village. I love everything about being there so much . Sorry I've been neglecting the blog. Too much to do, too much to say...I don't even know where to begin, but I'll try to give you all a brief update of what's been going on.

For my ISP, I'm trying to talk to people about how they deal with sadness-- the way people are expected to cope with, and in a way "forget" death, the way people are taught to keep their feelings locked up inside rather than being urged to "get them out" like we're so often told to, and really anything else people are willing to share. I've had a few opportunities for conversations about this just fall into my lap, as if things are unfolding just the way they are supposed to, and the feeling of that coupled with how incredibly relaxing it was just to be in the village made this past week a wonderful one.

I stayed at the home of Bu Yunita, who lives with her husband, his parents, and their 5-yr-old daughter and is expecting a second daughter in January. It was nice because, as pregnant as she is, she was lounging around the compound quite a bit instead of off at work in the city or the rice fields like most of the village women. Even she, however, was busied with the tasks of offering making, cooking, cleaning, and caretaking that take up so much of the Balinese women's time. By the end she was telling two of my friends who came to the village later in the week and I that maybe we could name her next baby. I don't think that's a responsibility we deserve, but that's just a little example of how friendly and open, how quickly attached to us, these people (the women especially) in the village become. Becca and my ISPs are both kind of trying to get at the people's feelings--whether or not they really are happy behind these ever-smiling faces they put on, so our questioning this week led to a few sad stories too.

Becca's Ibu, for instance, is now living as a single mom because her Javanese husband left her two years ago. Divorce is pretty uncommon and quite a hassle here, so the burden of having the whole village community know that your husband left you is a tough one to carry. Usually something is thought to be "wrong" with you if you are that age (she's 29) and without a husband, but, lucky for Ibu, she has found a married man in a nearby village that she is having a little romance with. The story got a little complicated-- i.e. the man's wife knows about their little affair but doesn't mind because she doesn't like her husband anymore anyway? I'm not quite sure; I think some details were lost in translation. Anyway, when I interviewed Ibu she talked to me about how she always tried just to make herself smile so other people won't think that she's sad. Even friends or villagers who knew at the time didn't talk to her about it, she said, because talking about things is only thought to bring up more sadness, whereas keeping quiet leads to "forgetting", which allows you to just go on being happy.

It's so interesting-- I spent a lot of time hanging out with this group of women in the village across the river too (SO funny), and by interacting with them in their welcoming and friendly (as in some of the friendliest people I've ever met) ways, you would think that they're simply always delighted. When Becca asked them, though, to recount for her a memory of a time when they remember feeling delighted, they responded with, "Oh no, we're never delighted! We're always sad!"

"We don't have money. We're always working so hard," they said. And it's true...their lives seem simply to wind between household duties, wandering out to work in the rice fields, tending to their cows or other animals, and seeing to it that their family is well-fed day after day after day. The breaks in schedule they get come in the form of ceremonies, like the all day cremation I went to in the village on Tuesday, or perhaps heavy rain, which might change what exactly they're working on. But life seems to focus on basic needs rather than things to look forward to or look back upon, and on day-to-day gratitude rather than deep thoughts or awareness of shifting emotions.

One morning, I decided after breakfast that I would walk across the river to visit Bu Astra, one of the women I met at the cremation two days before. I didn't necessarily think she would be a good interviewee, I only knew she had told me to visit and thought we would enjoy each other's company, so I headed out walking alone with my notebook and a box of cookies as a gift. The people here have such funny concepts of what's far away. I don't know how many times the women told me that my legs must be so strong, and that I must be so brave, not only to walk that "far" but to do it alone. But what else am I gonna do all by myself in the village but try to walk around? And, the thing is, walking alone is never lonely because little heads are always popping out the compound doors with Ibus saying "mampir! mampir!" (visit! visit!).

Anyway, I arrived at Bu Astra's to find that she wasn't there, but Bu Gde across the street, who had seen me walking by, insisted that I come visit there instead. I tried for a little bit to ask her some of my interview questions, and she quickly and bluntly showed me what little time or need for questioning there must be in some of these people's lives. When she said her father died a few years ago, I asked if she ever thought about him or missed him still. "No, no, of course not! He's already become a god!" she said. "Well what does make you feel sad?" I said. "Well if we don't have money, we're sad. If we have lots of money, we're delighted," she responded. And there it was-- just as simple as that.

It's easy for me to wonder as an outsider whether any of them struggle to believe in reincarnation and the idea of "not really dying but simply changing place", but I started to realize in the village that if my presence is only just now making sweet old grandpa realize that there are farms elsewhere with cows that aren't brown, but black and white!, then why on earth would they have considered that maybe there are people who have different ideas about sadness and death?

That wasn't the case with everyone though. I think Bu Gde decided that she was tired of trying to understand my Indonesian, so she insisted that I needed to get up and follow her down the road to where a man who knows some English and some other villagers were building a house. I ended up being introduced to Pak Nangeh, who actually served in the army in Oklahoma for about 6 months. He then helped me interview some of the other men working, and I thanked him, thinking that would be the end of that, but instead he hopped on his motor bike and told me to get on. Apparently there was a teacher who lived a couple villages away that he thought I should speak with. He seemed really well-intentioned, so I did as he said, and after about 10 minutes on the little winding bumps of village roads, we ended up in front of an old man tending to his cow in front of an isolated compound. It turned out that the teacher (the old man's daughter) wasn't there, so we only chatted with her dad for a minute, and then we were back on the motorbike and before long had stopped at another compound that he insisted we visit.

Well no one was there either, though he said it belonged to his brother, so Pak Nangeh just led us in and the two of us sat down and started talking. Soon he was telling me about how his own wife had passed away of stomach cancer just a few months ago, making him a blessing of an interviewee, especially given his English abilities. That's what it felt like the whole time in the village--with a little effort by my "strong" legs, things just kinda happened the way it seemed they were meant to happen. And Pak Nangeh, unlike Bu Gde and her bluntness, met many of my questions with downcast eyes that seemed to say he was really searching for an answer, somewhere beneath his worn and gentle demeanor and thick, clear glasses. But I don't want to get all into what ALL of the people have been saying on here because I'm going to have to write about it again in my ISP!

When Pak Nangeh and I headed back to the construction site, we ended up being waved down before our destination by Bu Astra's head popping out of her compound yelling, "Soapy! mampir!" Bu Widano was across the street yelling the same thing, so we ended up compromising and ALL the Ibus (well the 4 main funny ones) and I went to Bu Widano's to visit and then moved over to Bu Astra's. I swear these women need to have a "Desperate Housewives: Balinese Farming Village Style" made about them. They are all such characters, with such a raw and rugged little spunk. Bu Indah may have been my favorite because it was like everytime you said something to her she made this expression, complete with wide eyes and a big smile, as if she were just being informed of something so fascinating and new. And she was always nodding and laughing and occasionally making these little squeals of excitement...but even she couldn't answer Becca with a memory of feeling delighted!

AH I just love those women and that village. It's impossible not to feel happy with the over-the-top friendliness of all the people there. Becca and I went for a walk to the ricefield the morning before we were leaving, and we ended up running into Bu Astra's mom, this probably 75-yr-old woman, barefoot and carrying a massive bag of something to feed the cows with on top of her head. She said something to the extent of, "Ah! Soapy! Grandpa is down there (pointing way down the hill beneath the ricefield) and he will find you young coconuts!" So then she insisted we follow her down the hill and over this little stick bridge (which we both had to have hand-holding help across but she got over without thinking twice and with that heavy load on her head), and we met up with grandpa who was more than happy (in fact I don't think "no" would have been an acceptable answer) to take a break out of his work and see to it that we were sent back up the hill with 3 freshly cut from the tree young coconuts. They're so good, too! You can punch a hole in the top and drink the milk out with a straw and then have it hacked open and eat the deliciousness on the inside.

So that was a little bit of my time in the village. The afternoons can get long there, but somehow the time overall seemed to go fast. It's amazing--one morning the grandmother in my compound took me to interview an old woman down the road around 9, and on the way back (after a visit that involved the old woman opening up about how lonely she was and crying :( ), I asked my grandmother what time it was and she simply looked up at the sky and said, "Around 12". She was exactly right too, and I was so surprised that 3 hours had passed.

The day before I left to go there, my homestay family in Bedulu and I had a big, long-awaited outing day (i.e. I paid the $30 it costs to rent a car for one day because they don't have a means of taking the kids anywhere on Sundays, which are supposed to be for "family trips"). We ended up being out and about from 7:30 in the morning to 9:30 at night just taking advantage of the ability to go places. From visiting family to seeing the water temple to "eating out" Balinese family style to swimming in holy springs to getting made up into a Balinese bride (they insisted we end this one and only car day with a trip to my Bapak's sister's "salon"), it was quite an adventure. It was so cute to see everyone enjoying themselves so much. Some of the things I was seeing for the first time were things the kids were seeing for the first time too. And I feel like I could say so much more about everything...but I think I have to stop here for now..

Spending time in the village makes me nervous about coming home because somehow it's even a little culture shock just to come back to Ubud. Oh well...I'm just going to try to deal with transitions as they happen. I think I'll be with my Bedulu homestay fam again for the first half of this week and then some of us may travel around the east for a little bit. Wherever I go, I have to try to keep interviewing people. We have two more weeks of ISP, then a week-long "writing" period, and then everything is wrapping up! So, so fast. I miss things like Thanksgiving if I really think about them, but it's also easy to just keep going along in the never-ending heat and Balinese-ness and not think about fall and turkeys at all. Hmmm. I guess I'll just conclude with a happy almost Thanksgiving, and I'll write again soon!

:)

Chatting With the Fam..

So I'm realizing that with cultural adjustment comes a seeming lack of things to journal about. It's not that we've stopped experiencing so much; it's just that the things that used to seem so noteworthy are commonplace now. Wehn the shift from feeling like a hesitant observer to an everday participant begins, I guess that's bound to happen. I'm having to remind myself more and more to try to soak in everything that's going on around me, before I get home and suddenly realize again everything about Bali that I wouldn't have once called "normal". Because then it will be too late!

I think it's more of the little stuff I'm learning from now. I have a steadily improving ability as far as listening to/participating in conversations goes, so since looking around at the offering-laden sidewalks and north-south, east-west oriented compounds doesn't incite as much curiosity as it used to, I've been trying to take advantage of all the opportunities I have to bercakap-cakap (chat) with my family.

I'm even starting to be able to understand my littlest brother, Errlanga, more and more. He's the biggest goofball of the kids (they always refer to him as "nakal", or naughty), and he loves to try to talk to me in Indonesian. I think he knew before that I would never understand him, but now that my language is getting a little better, he's trying his best to tell me things. Yesterday, I understood two story/joke things he told me! One about a man who went to a restaurant and was accidentally served a stronger man's grilled chicken and had part of his butt bitten off as a result, and one about three Draculas in a blood-collecting competition. The winner was the one who ran into a phone pole, busted his head open, and collected his own blood. As un-funny as they actually were, I enjoyed them just because the meaning eventually got across..

It's amazing what simple things can pass the time with people who are so curious about American culture. Today we spent quite a while comparing rupiahs and dollars. I got out some dimes and quarters and a dolalr bill and tried (unsuccessfullly) to tell them what all the pictures were. Errlanga thought it was so funny that the border around the dollar is as thick as it is--something I've definitely never thought to consider. He's right, though. It kinda looks like a frame that could just be cut off. Maybe that's only cause I'm used to looking at rupiahs now..
It's like getting a new pair of eyes, or maybe just some different color contact lenses, myself--being the vessel through which my family sees things for the first time. I've incited similar reactions of wonder with things like my mechanical pencil, which they thought was so high-tech (although I'm sure there must be mechanical pencils somewhere on this island), and with my Target men's underwear section, white, V-neck t-shirts that my Ibu so intently admires. I feel like I know the simplicity of the things in a new way now-- my pencils etching with a little extra novelty, my t-shirts begging a little more of a luxurious feel. I think maybe this little embellishment-through-sharing technique could be more enlightening if applied to something more significant than a pencil or a t-shirt, but, then again, maybe it's those things I never think about that could use the reevaulating the most.

I also have to say the experience I'm having is definitely family-specific. I've learned that there's a large financial disparity between mine and some of the other students' homestays. I think I hear at least once a day, "tidak punya uang" (we don't have money), and the fact that my Bapak is still (going on 4 years now) jobless is a constant topic of conversation. I wouldn't trade my family for anything because our personalities, somehow, seem to match really well, but the situation does make it harder at times to separate which of their opinions are formed by culture and which are formed by their personal situation.

My Bapak loves to ask these questions that leave me without an answer-- things that are either irrelevant, unexpected, or in need of clarification beyond my Indonesian skills. I tried to explain the concept of babysitting and all he wants to know is, "Where do the kids' parents work?" Well..it just depends. I tried to explain the concept of believing that someone can be born gay and all he wants to know is, "How can the 'homos' go back to being 'normal'?" Well...I don't think that's really an option. I tried to explain eating a sandwich and all he wants to know is, "Do you put the meat in a blender before you put it on the sandwich?" Hmmm no. That would be disgusting. I tried to explain that some students might never live at home again after they go to college, while others might live with thier parents during the summers and/or after they graduate, and all he wants to know is, "Who pays?" Well...that's not really what I was talking about. I tried to explain Halloween and all he wants to know is, "Why trouble when for devil?" First of all, we're missing some key words there. Second of all, the devil isn't actually involved..

It's a constant struggle to find answers satisfying enough for his curiosity. I'm glad he keeps asking though...because it's giving me quite an entertaining insight into some of the disparities between the Balinese and American mindsets. It's also a continual vocab lesson, which I could always use more of.

Another thing I've been reminded of through all of Bapak's questioning is how I hope my homestay family is learning as much from me as I am from them. It's really easy to focus on what I'm getting out out of each day, and each conversation, since I am, after all, the one being "culturally immersed". But, I've realized that where I come from is just as, if not more so, unkown to my family as their ways were to me on the day I moved in. Since then I've been flooded with information about Balinese beliefs in regards to everything from religion to arts to child-rearing from more informants than I could count...but it's my own responsibility to make this a beneficial opportunity for the people that have somehow managed to make me feel welcome-- in this compound where the structures' names and layout are so full of meaning I couldn't have even dreamed them up 6 weeks ago (and I still couldn't really tell you everything..)

I love seeing that my Ibu is picking up little bits of English. Last night she said, out of the blue, "Soapy go to Ubud. Right?" I said, "yay! that's right," choosing not to get into the difference between go and goes, and she got such a satisfied look on her face, congratulating herself with "Ibu pintar (smart)!" We can actually sit and have a conversation now, just the two of us. Sometimes it doesn't go far, but it never lacks a feeling of understanding somewhere beneath the repetitions and squinting our brows and looking up and to the right. We have to leave for our ISPs in less than 2 weeks, and I can already tell it's going to be really sad. In the mean time though, I'm just trying to focus on being right here. I'm also crossing my fingers that the rainy season doesn't actually come..

I keep finding my mind drifting off before sleep to imagine my first day at home, when I wake up and attempt to go eat my breakfast outside only to find that A) there's nowhere to sit and nothing to look at, and B) it's way too cold. C) There's none of this coffee that I think I'm getting addicted to (depsite the fact that I have to pick out the ants). and D) There's no Bapak to say "pagi" and try to confuse me by asking me who I'm eating. I really can think of positives too...those are the thoughts that come first though, so I just try to go to sleep without thinking about it. I guess I don't have to deal with that too, too soon.

When I can do that-- be focused, that is, I sometimes find that there are new things to find fascinating beneath the outer layers of some of those once-unfamiliar-but-now-everyday things. A simple example is mangosteen, this delicious, sweet fruit. It's all over Bali but not, to my knowledge, anywhere in the US. It's round and purple-ish with a cute green stem that looks like a ruffled top hat. The hat pops off and the outer layer cracks open when you squeeze it between your palms. Then you suck the flavor off of the white, crescent-shaped segments tucked inside. The novelty of the taste was experience enough at first, and I've gotten my fair share already...but, Errlanga taught me a whole new secret about mangosteens yesterday. There's a star on the bottom that actually tells how many segments are inside-- a 5-pronged star means 5 segments, a 7-pronged star means 7. Who knew that a fruit's skin could be so telling? Or that there was more to know about a mangosteen than what I'd already discovered about the look and taste?

Saturday was a big day as far as rituals go. It was Kuningan, which marks the end of the 10 days of Galungan, AND the odalan (bday) for Pura Samuan Tiga, the big temple here in Bedulu. I went to the temple with my sister and Ibu (and most of the town) to pray in the afternoon, and then Bapak took us all back later to watch the Topeng dancers perform. I think the temple odalans are like a sacred excuse for the town to hang out at the temple all day. It's as much a social event as it is religious. After giving your offering (some of which are super tall pyramids of fruits and cakes that the women carry on their heads) and being belssed with holy water (meaning you get to walk around the rest of the time with rice on your face), you can just hang out with friends and familly. It was a little socializing opportunity even for some of us...because even though we're only a group of 13, it takes about 20 seconds to look around the rows of kneeling, pakaian-adat clad locals and find what other Americans are there, tagging along with their keluargas.

The act of praying at the festivals doesn't even seem that strange anyomore. Granted, I don't know what I'm supposed to be thinking when I'm carrying out the motions, but we've done it enough times to get the hang of the cleanse your hands over the incese and pray, pray with a red flower between your fingers, then a white flower, then a little blue and a little white, then a final empty-handed prayer succession. The the priest comes with rice and water. Let the water fall on you. Sip from your right palms three times. Splash it over your head. Take some wet rice for your neck, your hair, and your forehead, then wipe the rest of it off. I always feel like I'm walking out of a little hailstorm after that part. It's a good thing pakaian adat can handle getting wet.

We spent Wednesday through Saturday in Denpasar, the capital, and Sanur, a more touristy, beachside town. We had class at Udayana University and got to spend more time with the local students who came to the village with us. Denpasar is probably the most western-like city in Bali-- not in the touristy sense, but in the sense that there are shopping malls and fast food restaurants and adolescents all into their emo-pop fashion trend that do the same things for fun as any college student. It was a weird environment to be in-- too much like home to feel like I was really still in Bali, but too different from home to make me able to enjoy the "home-like" comforts it offered. We had cable tv AND a hot (though not separate from the toilet area) shower. I was beginning to think I'd come to a point where hot showers with water pressure had lost their seeming appeal and necessity, but I was quickly reminded when I got under that showerhead of how clean it's actually possible to feel. I guess I'll just forget again until I get home. We also watched enough MTV to see the same commercials about 15 times over. As enjoyable as it was, I think I decided that if I'm not going to be actively experiencing American pop-culture for one semester, I'd rather be completely cut off than watch it paraded repetitively across a screen in front of me.

I think that's all for now. Our "school" part is wrapping up next week, and then we're off on our own! It should be interesting. Some of us will be in the same place for at least some of the time so it won't be lonely-- just a big change of schedule and focus. I'll elaborate on what I'm trying to do once I figure it out more. I'm at least starting back in the little village, Munduk Pakel.

This week, I'm just concentrating on finishing my batik. Almost done...but I really wish I could just keep going..

:)

Galungan and Going North

We got up at 3:30 this morning to climb a volcano and watch the sunrise from the top.  My brain isn’t functioning, but I have to start writing things down cause my journal has gotten so far behind my life and I’m going to have a really bad headache if I don’t start remembering the past week soon.

Someone thought it would be a good idea for us to take herbal sleeping supplements before trying to sleep, but I think they had the reverse effect on me cause I just laid there in our squeaky cradle of a bed, rolled against Marissa because of the inward slant, atop the nasty exposed mattress that the sheet didn’t fit, thinking for hours.  Maybe I slept one hour…I don’t even know.  We had quite a time trying to get anyone to sleep anyway because the wall was flaking off on my head, Becca had some sort of hysterical laughing attack on the toilet, there was mysterious “blood” on the sheets, this awful Indonesian radio was blaring from another room, and we might as well have been trying to sleep in the middle of a dog pound. 

I was so glad when the hiking guide finally banged on our door to take us up Mt. Batur, but somewhere between 3:30 and 8 the grumpiness and exhaustion started to kick in.  The view was incredible.  We could see the island’s biggest volcano across a glittering lake, and Lombok off in the distance from the top.  And when we got started, there were so many stars in the sky that it looked like a big black tray of sprinkled salt.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many so close together before.  Our guides (they’re mandatory) were obnoxious and trying way too hard to force conversation about girlfriends and relationships at 4 a.m. though, so they put a little damper on the trip.  They also really enjoyed holding your hand and literally leading you up for minutes at a time.  I think if hiking guides are going to be mandatory they should come with an on/off switch.

I had a little nap, but now we’re back in Bedulu, and it’s my little brother’s Balinese birthday (different from the day he was actually born), so we just made fish satay and fresh fish on this make-shift, outdoor grill.  I was hoping I would finally get to see the kitchen, but no such luck.  It was fun to help with though.  Birthdays mean a grilled feast instead of just rice and tempeh or something…and the real treat for the kids is just getting to help cook.  We even had Coke at dinner!  I think that was the sugar substitute for cake. 

I’ve gotten to spend more festivity time with my fam lately, not only because of the bday but because of Galungan.  I finally spent one entire day around the compound, which I realized that with school and stuff, I hadn’t yet done.  I felt more like a real Balinese and a real part of the family than I have yet… feelings that have come in little spurts but haven’t stuck (and probably never will, especially with the language). You can see pictures that my Bapak started taking here:

http://galuhprabaningrum.blogspot.com/

Bahaha.  Oh Bapak.  I think his new blog is his outlet for the journalism he once did but can’t do now due to his lack of computer.  I only wish I could tell you all just what it says..

Anyway, for Galungan, we all got up early and had coffee before changing into our pakaian adat.  My little sister and I matched in our newly made, sheer, purple, flowery kebayas complete with glitter dots.  It’s funny—I would think that shirt is hanusly ugly in America, but our traditional clothing taste must have come with the cultural adaptation.  I’ve been wanting a sheer kebaya because it’s kind of risque and beautiful when you can see the strapless through it.  (The Balinese aren’t as conservative as I thought..)

I spent almost all day in my sarong without getting that uncomfortable!  And I actually ate the same thing for all 3 meals.  It’s supposed to be a big pig slaughtering and feasting day, but luckily (for me) my family doesn’t have enough money for all of that, so we got some special ordered chicken instead.  That didn’t keep me from having to hear the little piggies all over town squealing at about 4 a.m. though!  That’s what time the slaughterers get to work. 

Most of the food has to be given as an offering before you can enjoy it.  It’s kind of like Easter for the kids in a strange way.  We spent a long time praying in the family temple, and I watched Ibu scatter trays of fruits and flowers and little cakes all about.  Then, once mealtime came, she would tell the kids which offerings we could eat, and off they’d run to bring the trays back and quickly scope out which treats they want.  My family actually did most of the rituals the day before Galungan, which I didn’t really understand, but apparently it works out somehow.

The pervasive family traditions here make me want to hold on so tightly to what un-commercialized and home-focused holiday moments we still have.  Like Thanksgiving dinner…I’m upset I’m missing that one this year :(  The fact that it’s really just a span of days for preparing and then one for indulging and being with family makes it such a treat.  Mom, I feel like when I get home, I want us to cook every meal…you think we can do that??

Sometimes it’s the down-time I spend with my siblings that can be the most enlightening.  They’re so easily entertained, and they get along SO well.  It would be interesting to do a study on Balinese child-rearing.  Somehow the kids rarely, rarely seem to need discipline.  I don’t think I’ve seen my siblings fight one time, and day in and day out they’re playing games with each other for hours and hours.  They all love taking naps with Ibu and Bapak on the open pavilion, and Ibu just patiently strokes their hair for as long as they want to sleep.  One thing our teachers told us was that the Balinese don’t tend to comfort children when they get upset.  I haven’t witnessed it with my family here (because they haven’t gotten upset), but there was a time during my stay in the village when the little girl was sobbing and sobbing after hitting her head on the floor, and Ibu just looked at her and tried to stifle laughter while the little girl crawled on her lap in an attempt to cling on.  Ibu was almost void of movement, letting the little girl to look to her for comfort but offering no sign of comfort in return.  Maybe the kids aren’t dramatic because they know it won’t bring attention?  I just don’t know..

 On our excursion this week, we spent a lot of time learning about religion.  We were in the north of Bali, which is the area where the island’s small population of religious minorities is located.  I think Bali is like 95% Hindu, but there are Muslims, Buddhists, Confucians, and even a few Christians as well.  We met with a group of Indonesian students at a University in Singaraja and spent the day visiting different places of worship and talking about faith.

The people here are incredibly open to minority religions, which was a little surprising to me given what an incredibly religious people the Hindus of Bali are.  Their religion, though, seems more like a well-practiced spirituality.  In North Bali, the different beliefs seem never to be a topic of tension—rarely even a topic of discussion, for that matter.  A few complications come into play when marriage between faiths is considered, but I think the only people for whom love can’t always be the determinant are Hindus in the highest caste. The non-Hindus attend the cremation ceremonies for those they are close to, and on Hindu holidays like Galungan, the Hindus stop by both their Hindu and non-Hindu neighbors houses to offer little gifts of coffee and fruit. 

The only concepts you can’t seem to find any sign of here are atheism, agnosticism, or even just a time of indecision.  This is where I wish a language barrier didn’t exist.  It’s so interesting to me—these beliefs play into daily life from the time a child is born, so wouldn’t you think, at some point in the endless span of rituals, the youth might wake up and think, “Wait…is all this stuff I’m spending so much time on really serving a purpose??”  It’s was an interesting conversation given our SIT group compared to the group of Indonesians, because I think over half of us would say that, even if we can identify with a religion, we don’t currently practice anything too specific.  For the Indonesians though, there’s never a question of “hmmm what am I?”

I might spend some time with that during my ISP…trying to get people to tell me what they really feel is being fulfilled by these pervasive religious practices.  Was there ever a time they doubted?  Do the rituals ever seem to lose a sense of purpose?  What’s really going through your mind each morning when you wake up knowing you need to give an offering?  I just need help with language!  And people who want to open up!

Openness as far as actions are considered hasn’t been hard to find at all.  Even in the only Hindu communities, they are always willing to let outsiders observe or participate, and always (at least so far) without any attempts at proselytizing.  If you have questions, they answer gladly, but I don’t think my family has once asked me what I believe.  It’s nice.  It makes their pervasive rituals seem not so much a special, “you must study this to benefit from it” kind of thing, but much more of  “this is what we choose to do to contribute our little share to the contentment of the world”.  It’s like simply opening yourself to it opens it to you…and “it” isn’t necessarily identified as Hindu or non-Hindu.  “It” is just a special way of showing gratitude, and asking for health, security, fulfillment…and they seem to recognize that the need for all of that must exist within every creature (even the plants!) in this world.  

One night in Lovina we spent some time in a Buddhist monastery up on a hilltop.  With the views of the mountains from every side and countless little coves and outdoor inlets within which to pray, I don’t know that one could find a single spot that didn’t feel peaceful. It was like the atmosphere enveloped you.  I was surprised just walking around by how easy it seemed to imagine how one could just retreat there and give everything up.  I know I don’t have the mindset to do that, but I swear the place could have made anyone think for at least a minute that being a monk might be a good idea..   

Ahh what else did we do? I’m having trouble remembering.

Oh! We went out on those little wooden boats that look like water-walking bugs at 5:30 morning to look at dolphins.  It was a weird mix of enjoying ourselves but also feeling guilty and invasive because we (and all the other tourists) were like an army that turned and chased every time a dolphin fin popped up.  We wanted to see them, but we wanted to leave them alone too.  The boat I was in sort of separated from the rest of the pack near the end and we were lucky enough to see a little dolphin jump up and twirl around…twice!  It was like he was just discovering he could do it..and only willing to try because most of the tourists had moved away.

We also visited a little Muslim fishing village on the edge of town.  We danced with all the kids there while the local musicians played some instruments I don’t know the names for.  The kids were so happy! And they got attached to us so quickly.  If only we hadn’t already been exhausted when we got there and dripping in sweat after one song of dancing, I think we all would have been content to hang out with the kids all day. 

What else…we got into a discussion about gays and lesbians in Bali, and we sang more American music with the students, and I’ve got some more funny stories, but I don’t think I can write anything else right now.

It’s gotten really hot here for some reason.  And my hair has adapted this weird straw-y texture.  It’s had some rough times because I stopped trying to use conditioner when I got here, but I don’t know where this new texture is coming from.  I’ve decided that one of the strangest things when I get home will be to step into a shower.  Even places with a showerhead here never, ever separate the area from the rest of the bathroom.  That’s why all the bathrooms feel so damp and sticky and hairy and start to smell bad..

K it’s Monday now and I have to go finish my batik!  We’re going to Denpasar (the capital) for 3 days on Wednesday.  I’ll update again sometime next week! 

 :)