One year ago today, I woke up in Indonesia. I was a Peace Corps trainee, and had no idea what was ahead of me.
Although this picture is a fair representation of my life these days…
All awkward, all the time.
…I could never fit everything I have experienced in this past year into one blog post (or an encyclopedia). I do, however, want to share five things I’ve learned.
1. To take the plunge.
Mandi bucket, ready to splash.
Every night when I take my cold bucket bath, I am reminded to get over myself and dive in. I’ve tried giving myself pep-talks, waiting for a hotter part of the day, waiting for a cooler part of the day, staring at the water, pretending I’m at a thermal spa, etc. But every single time I dump that first bucket of cold water over my body, it’s a shock to my system. And by splash four or five – every single time – the water doesn’t seem so shocking anymore. In fact, it’s quite refreshing.
I could spend my life waiting around for the right moment or ideal conditions, but the first thing Indonesia taught me – the very first day I conquered the bucket bath – is that life is 90% mind over matter. Just grab the bucket and start splashing.
2. I won’t die from eating unrefrigerated chicken.
I ate these chicken skewers for dinner a few days ago. They had been sitting out for at least 3 hours.
When most Indonesians cook, they leave their food sitting out. For hours. Shortly after my first bout of food borne illness (which was not associated with unrefrigerated chicken in any way), my ibu (host mom) brought me a hunking piece of chicken that had been hanging out on the counter since morning. Peace Corps advises volunteers to reheat their food, and that probably would have been the wiser thing to do, but in my weakened state I thought, “What doesn’t kill you…”
And you know what? I didn’t die! All those years I had been taught to fear room-temperature poultry, and here Indonesians are munching away on unrefrigerated chicken every day without a single stomach cramp. (*disclaimer: Indonesians cook their chicken until it is VERY well done. If you like cooking your chicken until it is just done and still nice and juicy, I DO NOT recommend leaving it out to grow salmonella and goodness knows what other bacteria.)
The point is, there are so many things I assumed were the way they were simply because they had to be. Turns out, there are many ways to live your life, and eating unrefrigerated chicken for dinner is one of them.
3. Buses don’t need schedules.
Freedom!
When I used to live in Berlin I loved the clock that counted down the minutes and seconds until the next subway rolled into the station. It was so precise and so predictable.
In Indonesia, the only thing precise and predictable is that nothing is precise and predictable. Schedules for buses? Ha! If you want to take the bus, just go stand by the road until one comes speeding along.
Unbound by schedules, you can come and go as you please. Unless it’s after 4pm and all the bus drivers have gone home.
But this is an expression of freedom! If the driver wants to stop for a coffee, then he’s gonna stop for a coffee! Cars blocking the way? He’ll just drive against oncoming traffic for a bit. You might even get to enjoy a scenic detour while the bus driver picks up something from a relative’s house. It’s all about relaxing and enjoying the break-neck ride through the rice paddies.
4. If I can’t handle the heat, I should try it again.
Feel the burn.
After a year of eating ridiculously spicy food, I can say that either I finally have acquired a taste for it, or I’ve irreparably damaged all the taste buds in my mouth, possibly both. It was a tough journey full of tears, pain, and hiccups, but pass me some of that hot-chili sauce because I like my rice ON FIRE.
Ok, in all honesty, I may not be up to the Indonesian standards of a spicy food fanatic, but I have come to appreciate and even love the fresh, hot flavor and variety of Indonesia’s beloved sambal. If that’s not integration, I don’t know what is.
5. To have an open door, but close it when I need to.
People in my village leave their doors open when they are home. It is a sign that you can stop by andchat. A closed door, however, is usually a signal that no one is home, or that whoever is doesn’t want to be disturbed.
The picture above is of two of my students and their younger friend. They kept asking if they could come to my house one Sunday, and I told them that they were always welcome. But in my heart I didn’t feel like they were welcome. I had set aside that day for me, and they were intruding.
I made sure the front door was open that afternoon, they came, we sat awkwardly for about ten minutes, and then I broke out the UNO cards. We had a blast. We played game after game, laughing and chatting together. When they left, I knew that my day hadn’t been diminished by them, but blessed.
Over and over again, I have reluctantly agree to one thing or another only to leave thinking, “That was the best thing I did all week!”
I get so much more joy from being open to others than from shutting them out. But I also know that if you leave a door open all the time, a house gets pretty drafty.
As much as I have learned to be more open to new experiences, opportunities, and people, I have also learned to cherish quiet afternoons spent drinking tea and doing laundry.
Indonesia, Peace Corps, and life are all about balance. They are about plunging in, eating room-temperature chicken, hopping on speeding buses, burning your mouth on chili peppers, and leaving a door open for whoever wants to stop by and say, “hi.”
Worth a Journey 