The journey to Jakarta began in "subuh sekali:" the wee hours of morning, in the dark, before the first call to prayer.
I taxied to the train station where Ethan was waiting for me at a Western-style coffee house with a cappuccino in hand. For a moment, the setting seemed so familiar to me, meeting a fellow grad student at the local coffee shop to exchange ideas and feel all intellectual and stuff. Then, as a crowd of Indonesian men descended upon us to help carry our luggage to make a quick buck, (or a thousand rupiah, as the case may be) reality set in. Ethan and I pushed our way through the crowds, purchased our tickets and settled in for the ride.
It was nice to have a companion, especially one who had never been to West Java before. He gleefully pointed out all the international products that I could buy in Bandung, as opposed to the central Javanese town that he was living in, like Time Magazine! And on the train ride, where I would have slept through the glorious views, he helped me re-appreciate the lush green mountainous landscape that has helped make the area a tourist destination for city-slicker Jakarta types--after the sun came out, that is. After we got into the city, through his eyes, I realized that Jakarta is much prettier and greener than I ever gave it credit for being.
The doctors at the clinic took about a gallon of blood out of my body, ordered us Big Mac's (thereby solidifying to me that I was no longer in America) and promptly told me that I didn't have AIDS, leukemia, or even hepatitis. I certainly didn't have an allergic reaction to my medication. One of the doctors thought I might have mono. Wouldn't that have been great? I went from being diagnosed with all sorts of exciting tropical diseases only to find out that the whole time I just had mono. Thank goodness that test came back negative!
Then they called in the head doctor. He was from France and he really wanted to talk about an ethnomusicologist he knew living in Makassar. Doctors love talking about ethnomusicology; it makes them feel like they're developing a good doctor-patient relationship.
After the chit-chat ended, he got to the diagnosis part. (Note to reader: Try to imagine this next part with a cute French accent.) "You have an inflammation somewhere in your body, a rash, a cold; you're feeling nauseous...you are clearly ill. If you stay in Indonesia, it could take months to figure out what is wrong with you. I suggest you fly directly to Singapore where they can diagnose you much, much quicker. Singapore is not so far. It is like flying from Marseille to Paris."
So that was it. They drained me of most of my blood, gave me a Big Mac, and then told me that Indonesia couldn't help me. And that is why the US Embassy declares Jakarta a "Hardship Zone" as far as health-care is concerned, and the rest of Indonesia as an "Extreme Hardship Zone."
The rest of my time in Jakarta was spent: 1) convincing Fulbright and the US State Department to splurge on a plane ticket and some real doctors, 2) almost getting kicked out of the US Embassy cuz those people are just plain mean, and or course, 3) EATING! My personal goal was to gain ten pounds in four days. I'm pretty sure I accomplished it. I think I out-ate Ethan every day, with such delectable activities as single-handedly devouring a whole grouper, ordering bowls of Indian curry, and eating sushi roll after sushi roll. Mmmm, yummy... And not once did we order Indonesian food! Yay!
Friday, March 30, 2007
The Case of the Missing Cow
It was a dark rainy night.
Amidst claps of thunder, Ibu Laksmi, the kids, and I piled out of the car and ran into the house, giggling over the amount of ice cream we planned to consume that night. But our laughter quickly turned into hushed whispers as we found Pak Muharam in serious conversation with two Sundanese men we had never seen before. Their faces were rough, dark, and wrinkled, as if hardened by a life spent working outdoors under the hot Indonesian sun. There was something about their expressions and the way they sat uneasily in their chairs that instantly sobered us.
Ibu Laksmi tarried to greet them as the kids and I hid in the kitchen unpacking the grocery bags in silence. She joined us minutes later and I could only hold back a moment before asking, "What's going on? Who are those men?" She held my gaze and replied in a low voice:
"Mereka jaga sapi kita. Sapi kita hilang." They take care of our cow. Our cow is lost."
With the four of us sitting symmetrically around the kitchen table, the seconds that followed must have resembled an amateur artist's character piece on the range of human expression.
Bila, the elder child, immediately went into a state of panicked shock, asking her mother a flurry of worried questions. "What happened? How will I afford to go to school next year?" Ibu Laksmi's normally smiling face remained grave, the bearer of bad news. Fauzan, the younger child, blissfully chose to ignore the bovine catastrophe and focused on more imminent disasters at hand, ones that still had the potential to be averted by immediate action. "Ibu, when can we eat the ice cream? It's melting!" And I looked on in complete bewilderment, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that this twenty-first century family, who owned several entrepreneurial businesses and lived in a thriving metropolis, owned a cow, and that cow was now missing. Why? How come I'd never heard of this before?
As the facts emerged, it turns out that the family had invested money in buying a calf for $400, which, when it grew up, would be worth twice what they had put into it. This return would be used to pay for Bila's graduation from elementary school and her entry fee into middle school. Bila was now ready to graduate and the cow had grown up. However, it was nowhere to be found.
Now, I don't know about you, but at the time, this seemed utterly preposterous to me. Actually, it still seem utterly preposterous. How could a fully-grown cow just disappear? Did it run away or was it stolen? And anyway, what kind of respectable city person saves their money in a cow?! Well, besides maybe a plastic one with a slot in the top for dropping coins. Besides, cows get sick and die, and you have to feed them and clean up after them. It just didn't seem like the safest or most reasonable kind of investment. But hey, I'm an American and I study music. What do I know?
So that's the story. If anyone finds a cow wandering through the streets of Indonesia, send a line my way. I know a little girl who really wants to go to school next year.
Oh, and by the way, the ice cream was delicious.
Amidst claps of thunder, Ibu Laksmi, the kids, and I piled out of the car and ran into the house, giggling over the amount of ice cream we planned to consume that night. But our laughter quickly turned into hushed whispers as we found Pak Muharam in serious conversation with two Sundanese men we had never seen before. Their faces were rough, dark, and wrinkled, as if hardened by a life spent working outdoors under the hot Indonesian sun. There was something about their expressions and the way they sat uneasily in their chairs that instantly sobered us.
Ibu Laksmi tarried to greet them as the kids and I hid in the kitchen unpacking the grocery bags in silence. She joined us minutes later and I could only hold back a moment before asking, "What's going on? Who are those men?" She held my gaze and replied in a low voice:
"Mereka jaga sapi kita. Sapi kita hilang." They take care of our cow. Our cow is lost."
With the four of us sitting symmetrically around the kitchen table, the seconds that followed must have resembled an amateur artist's character piece on the range of human expression.
Bila, the elder child, immediately went into a state of panicked shock, asking her mother a flurry of worried questions. "What happened? How will I afford to go to school next year?" Ibu Laksmi's normally smiling face remained grave, the bearer of bad news. Fauzan, the younger child, blissfully chose to ignore the bovine catastrophe and focused on more imminent disasters at hand, ones that still had the potential to be averted by immediate action. "Ibu, when can we eat the ice cream? It's melting!" And I looked on in complete bewilderment, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that this twenty-first century family, who owned several entrepreneurial businesses and lived in a thriving metropolis, owned a cow, and that cow was now missing. Why? How come I'd never heard of this before?
As the facts emerged, it turns out that the family had invested money in buying a calf for $400, which, when it grew up, would be worth twice what they had put into it. This return would be used to pay for Bila's graduation from elementary school and her entry fee into middle school. Bila was now ready to graduate and the cow had grown up. However, it was nowhere to be found.
Now, I don't know about you, but at the time, this seemed utterly preposterous to me. Actually, it still seem utterly preposterous. How could a fully-grown cow just disappear? Did it run away or was it stolen? And anyway, what kind of respectable city person saves their money in a cow?! Well, besides maybe a plastic one with a slot in the top for dropping coins. Besides, cows get sick and die, and you have to feed them and clean up after them. It just didn't seem like the safest or most reasonable kind of investment. But hey, I'm an American and I study music. What do I know?
So that's the story. If anyone finds a cow wandering through the streets of Indonesia, send a line my way. I know a little girl who really wants to go to school next year.
Oh, and by the way, the ice cream was delicious.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Bananas
Ok, Ok, so I got sick, whoopdy-do! Sorry for harassing you with all these tales of bodily ailments! I mean, I write these things to entertain, but really, all I’m doing is whining about being sick in Indonesia for two months.
I did eat a banana today, which was interesting. Well, no, the act of masticating wasn’t interesting, but the banana did have an interesting name. They have like a zillion different types of bananas here, and it always amazes me that people can instantly tell them apart. This one was called “Pisang Raja Cerai.” The king of divorce banana. Now how do you even earn a name like that? Especially when you’re a fruit?!
I did eat a banana today, which was interesting. Well, no, the act of masticating wasn’t interesting, but the banana did have an interesting name. They have like a zillion different types of bananas here, and it always amazes me that people can instantly tell them apart. This one was called “Pisang Raja Cerai.” The king of divorce banana. Now how do you even earn a name like that? Especially when you’re a fruit?!
My First Ever Trip to the Hospital: Part 2
What’s that thing that they stick in your hand to control your fever and give you shots of medication called? I’ve never gotten one in the U.S., so I don’t know the name in English. Dude, that thing HURTS!!! And then if you accidentally rip it out, it’s a real bloody mess, and it hurts all over again. So, I don’t recommend doing that…ever.
When I got to the hospital, I gratefully sank onto the emergency stretcher, which I sincerely never suspected would be that hard. Even in the height of my fever, I could tell that it could have been a lot more comfortable. I was immediately surrounded by doctors. I guess I came in a bit of a star. You see, accompanying me was Pak Muharam’s brother-in-law. As previously stated, he is a doctor, also married to a doctor, and are well known in the community of Bandung doctors. (Yes, I used the word doctor three times in that sentence.) To put it in clearer terms, when I showed up, I didn’t have to sign anything, I didn’t have to put down any money or show them a credit card. They never asked me for my insurance card the entire time I was there, and they even released me with my entire $700.00 bill outstanding, without even getting the desired letter of promisary money from the U.S. embassy.
The doctors looked at my tongue, looked at the bumps all over my body, and immediately announced that I had the measles. I was like, “Dudes, that’s impossible. I’ve been vaccinated since I was a kid.” And then, they were like, “Dude, nothing is impossible. This is Indonesia.” So, at the point, I just started laughing. I mean, typhoid fever, hepatitis A, gastric ulcers, and now the measles, all in the span of two months? I really got the full experience this time around coming here. At this point, the doctors must have thought I was crazy so they told me to go to sleep and left me. I was wheeled up to a private VIP room with air conditioning and a television, and I lay in bed, unable to get up for the next three days. This meant that nurses helped me bathe myself, lifting the water to my mouth cuz I couldn’t drink it alone, etc, etc. Normally I’m a pretty independent person, not to mention shy at strange people taking off my clothes. That’s actually probably a pretty normal feeling though, right? Let me tell you that I did not mind in the least bit; I was just thankful to be lying there.
After I got some of my strength back, I started paying attention to what the doctors were saying and asking questions. This is where the confusion started. Apparently, the Dokter Kulit said that I had an allergic reaction to one of my antibiotics, sulfa. The Dokter Penyakit Dalam, whose name was Eddy, said that I had a virus, either Measles or Rubella. Dr. Eddy also said that he had never diagnosed me with typhoid fever OR Hepatitis, and why in the world was I telling people that I had? After I showed him the laboratory results that he himself had given me and signed over a month ago, he changed his tune and suddenly remembered. He told me to go to the Chapel and pray. I thought that was nice advice, especially considering that I wasn’t able to get out of bed.
Now I’ve been home for two days. I think it will take a while to heal. I’m still not up for walking around without supervision. The rash hasn’t totally faded. It’s mostly on my stomach, arms, and legs now. I don’t think it will affect my dating career though, after a young man followed me home yesterday trying to get my phone number. Boys! Ethan is coming to Bandung on the night train, and we are going to go to a clinic in Jakarta tomorrow morning to see if I can get a real diagnosis.
When I got to the hospital, I gratefully sank onto the emergency stretcher, which I sincerely never suspected would be that hard. Even in the height of my fever, I could tell that it could have been a lot more comfortable. I was immediately surrounded by doctors. I guess I came in a bit of a star. You see, accompanying me was Pak Muharam’s brother-in-law. As previously stated, he is a doctor, also married to a doctor, and are well known in the community of Bandung doctors. (Yes, I used the word doctor three times in that sentence.) To put it in clearer terms, when I showed up, I didn’t have to sign anything, I didn’t have to put down any money or show them a credit card. They never asked me for my insurance card the entire time I was there, and they even released me with my entire $700.00 bill outstanding, without even getting the desired letter of promisary money from the U.S. embassy.
The doctors looked at my tongue, looked at the bumps all over my body, and immediately announced that I had the measles. I was like, “Dudes, that’s impossible. I’ve been vaccinated since I was a kid.” And then, they were like, “Dude, nothing is impossible. This is Indonesia.” So, at the point, I just started laughing. I mean, typhoid fever, hepatitis A, gastric ulcers, and now the measles, all in the span of two months? I really got the full experience this time around coming here. At this point, the doctors must have thought I was crazy so they told me to go to sleep and left me. I was wheeled up to a private VIP room with air conditioning and a television, and I lay in bed, unable to get up for the next three days. This meant that nurses helped me bathe myself, lifting the water to my mouth cuz I couldn’t drink it alone, etc, etc. Normally I’m a pretty independent person, not to mention shy at strange people taking off my clothes. That’s actually probably a pretty normal feeling though, right? Let me tell you that I did not mind in the least bit; I was just thankful to be lying there.
After I got some of my strength back, I started paying attention to what the doctors were saying and asking questions. This is where the confusion started. Apparently, the Dokter Kulit said that I had an allergic reaction to one of my antibiotics, sulfa. The Dokter Penyakit Dalam, whose name was Eddy, said that I had a virus, either Measles or Rubella. Dr. Eddy also said that he had never diagnosed me with typhoid fever OR Hepatitis, and why in the world was I telling people that I had? After I showed him the laboratory results that he himself had given me and signed over a month ago, he changed his tune and suddenly remembered. He told me to go to the Chapel and pray. I thought that was nice advice, especially considering that I wasn’t able to get out of bed.
Now I’ve been home for two days. I think it will take a while to heal. I’m still not up for walking around without supervision. The rash hasn’t totally faded. It’s mostly on my stomach, arms, and legs now. I don’t think it will affect my dating career though, after a young man followed me home yesterday trying to get my phone number. Boys! Ethan is coming to Bandung on the night train, and we are going to go to a clinic in Jakarta tomorrow morning to see if I can get a real diagnosis.
My First Ever Trip to the Hospital: Part 1
I wanted to name this entry, “Five days in a Hospital, hooked up to stuff with all kinds of tests, and I still don’t have a diagnosis…what’s up with that?” But that seemed a tad long.
One of my friends got into a rather serious motorcycle accident. So serious that she had to cancel her trip abroad. I was feeling on the mend, only six more days of antibiotics! so I decided to go visit her. She wasn’t really conscious so I didn’t stay long, just enough to talk to her relatives and find out the extent of her condition. The next day, I woke up with the measles.
At least I think it was the measles. Or more accurately, I think it was Rubella, the German Measles. I mean, what happened is that I had a cough that day, then I spent all night in a fever, and when I woke up there were all these little red bumps on my face. I was like “Man, God, why are you sending me a rain of pimples? What did I do to deserve that?” But Ibu Laksmi insisted I go straight to a lab to get my blood tested for one of the various mosquito diseases people seem to get here. It came back negative. I spent the rest of the day in bed, waiting for the fever to go away. Sometime after lunch, I decided to change my clothes in the hopes that I would feel better. I looked in the mirror, and was instantly horrified. My face was absolutely covered in red bumps. It was ghastly. I lifted my shirt, exposing my belly…and immediately dropped the cloth again…more bumps! After a frantic examination, I discovered there wasn’t an inch of my body, (oh, well, except for my feet,) that wasn’t infected.
Ibu Laksmi came home from work when I whimpered to her that there was something wrong. Much to my surprise, she assured me that I was fine and this was absolutely normal. All the red bumps were just a special Indonesian sign that my fever was going away and I would feel better soon. As soon as she left again, I took matters into my own hands. Somehow, her explanation had not eased my panic. Via text message, Ethan from Solo told me that I should find myself a good doctor in Jakarta and get the heck out of Bandung before I caught any other weird diseases.
Jakarta was a good idea, but not practical. I could barely stand, let alone get on a train by myself. As soon as I got the ok from Nelly, the Fulbright coordinator in Jakarta, I checked into the local hospital. Now, this particular hospital was run by seventh-day-Adventists, and that is a whole story in itself. Do you know that they keep the Sabbath? This prevents anyone from checking out on a Saturday. Sucks to be you if you want to go home on that day. They also keep kosher foods, and all the old Jewish laws. Now, I do realize that Jesus did say in one of the good gospels that he wasn’t coming to destroy the law, but to uphold it, but he also said way more frequently, and so did Paul repeatedly in his letters, that its not the signs of the faith that are important, but the faith itself. And it’s directly stated that as such, there is no need for fasting, circumcision, avoidance of certain foods, etc. So, if a learned Christian that has studied in some kind of accredited Seminary feels so inclined, feel free to comment on this, and clarify to all us non-learned peoples. Otherwise I’m tempted to believe that those good Gentiles are misguided into upholding the law for the sake of show, and setting themselves apart from the greater community of Christian believers. I also apologize in advance if this is coming across as very cynical, but in my defense, they never did give me a diagnosis. On the other hand, I did very much enjoy the pastor coming to pray with me every day, and all the musicians who came to sing me hymns while I was confined to my bed. I also got to read the Bible a lot. And the pastor told me not to convert to Islam, so there you have it.
One of my friends got into a rather serious motorcycle accident. So serious that she had to cancel her trip abroad. I was feeling on the mend, only six more days of antibiotics! so I decided to go visit her. She wasn’t really conscious so I didn’t stay long, just enough to talk to her relatives and find out the extent of her condition. The next day, I woke up with the measles.
At least I think it was the measles. Or more accurately, I think it was Rubella, the German Measles. I mean, what happened is that I had a cough that day, then I spent all night in a fever, and when I woke up there were all these little red bumps on my face. I was like “Man, God, why are you sending me a rain of pimples? What did I do to deserve that?” But Ibu Laksmi insisted I go straight to a lab to get my blood tested for one of the various mosquito diseases people seem to get here. It came back negative. I spent the rest of the day in bed, waiting for the fever to go away. Sometime after lunch, I decided to change my clothes in the hopes that I would feel better. I looked in the mirror, and was instantly horrified. My face was absolutely covered in red bumps. It was ghastly. I lifted my shirt, exposing my belly…and immediately dropped the cloth again…more bumps! After a frantic examination, I discovered there wasn’t an inch of my body, (oh, well, except for my feet,) that wasn’t infected.
Ibu Laksmi came home from work when I whimpered to her that there was something wrong. Much to my surprise, she assured me that I was fine and this was absolutely normal. All the red bumps were just a special Indonesian sign that my fever was going away and I would feel better soon. As soon as she left again, I took matters into my own hands. Somehow, her explanation had not eased my panic. Via text message, Ethan from Solo told me that I should find myself a good doctor in Jakarta and get the heck out of Bandung before I caught any other weird diseases.
Jakarta was a good idea, but not practical. I could barely stand, let alone get on a train by myself. As soon as I got the ok from Nelly, the Fulbright coordinator in Jakarta, I checked into the local hospital. Now, this particular hospital was run by seventh-day-Adventists, and that is a whole story in itself. Do you know that they keep the Sabbath? This prevents anyone from checking out on a Saturday. Sucks to be you if you want to go home on that day. They also keep kosher foods, and all the old Jewish laws. Now, I do realize that Jesus did say in one of the good gospels that he wasn’t coming to destroy the law, but to uphold it, but he also said way more frequently, and so did Paul repeatedly in his letters, that its not the signs of the faith that are important, but the faith itself. And it’s directly stated that as such, there is no need for fasting, circumcision, avoidance of certain foods, etc. So, if a learned Christian that has studied in some kind of accredited Seminary feels so inclined, feel free to comment on this, and clarify to all us non-learned peoples. Otherwise I’m tempted to believe that those good Gentiles are misguided into upholding the law for the sake of show, and setting themselves apart from the greater community of Christian believers. I also apologize in advance if this is coming across as very cynical, but in my defense, they never did give me a diagnosis. On the other hand, I did very much enjoy the pastor coming to pray with me every day, and all the musicians who came to sing me hymns while I was confined to my bed. I also got to read the Bible a lot. And the pastor told me not to convert to Islam, so there you have it.
Rethinking Life
Synopsis of blog below: I thought I was healed. Read former entries for details. Then I started stressing out about bills and where I was going to get funding for next year. This has resulted in a complete overhaul of my lifestyle.
It all started again when I went to a music rehearsal with some fantastic tembang singers (an awesome genre of music, coming soon to a city near you!) who are embarking on a tour through North American. Now, the rehearsal was scheduled to start at four, but typically, nothing actually got started until after 9pm. Indonesia sometimes outdoes itself… I chatted the time away, and scheduled appointments with all the people that I had wanted to visit in the last month, but had been ill. The rehearsal was ok, and I got to practice singing a lot myself. By the time I got home, it was midnight.
Armed with my new phone card, I called my mom. Then I called my advisor in Pittsburgh. Could he write me a letter of recommendation for a grant, due March 1, 2007? He agreed, and seemed consolatory about my stories of diseases. I called every credit card company to which I owed money. This made me unhappy. I went to bed tossing and turning, wondering how I was going to get everything done and pay all my bills. I contemplated getting a job. When I woke up, I couldn’t speak. I had somehow gotten a cold, “masuk angin” as they call it hear. I cancelled my plans for the day, and Ibu Laksmi insisted I go to the doctor. I agreed, but in my heart, I was sure that it was just a minor cold, and that it would be better if I just slept the day away.
Doctors, being the loveable people that they are, always say what you least want to hear. The cold had weakened my immune system, and now I was both hepatitis and typhoid positive again. They were also worried that I’d been taken off the antibiotics too quickly and now I might have an infection, I think in my gall bladder. They ask me if I wanted to stay at their home as their personal patient—for a minimum of two more weeks! (They’re a married couple, both doctors, and related to Pak Muharam). I said thank you very much, but if all I have to do is lie and bed, self-medicate myself three times a day, and stare at the wall again for two weeks, I’d rather do it at home in my own bed.
Now, the first thing that went through my head was…but I have a deadline at the end of this week! I need to work on my proposal! I’ve already lost so much time being sick. But it quickly became clear that bedrest did not entail going to an internet café, so I was left feeling guilty that I had just promised my advisor one thing and now couldn’t follow up on it. Nor could I even let him know until my condition improved slightly.
Life returned to being very boring. My diet was once more restricted to chicken soup-flavored mushy rice. I postponed all my appointments again. After a week, I went back to the doctor for a check-up. We talked for several hours about what the effects of each problem I had, and the dos and don’ts associated with my condition. The one that hit home the most was the gastric ulcers. Apparently, that little ball of stress that I always carry around with me and store as a knot in my stomach, is not just a reminder that I have a lot of things to do. It’s really untreated chronic ulcers. Now that I’m aware of what they feel like, I think I’ve had them for over a year. Up until this point, I’ll feel that tightness and think, what is that about? What should I be doing that I’m not? And then I get totally stressed out about that, but the real problem is that my stomach is hungry, or that my diet was wrong, and my gastric juices start flowing and creating sores on my stomach. So, this has led me to rethink my lifestyle.
1) First of all, I am addicted to Pepsi. Hmmm…Let’s put that aside for the moment, because I’m not sure I’m willing to give that up.
2) Second of all, there is nothing in life that cannot be changed. Sometimes life has plans for us that are different than what we have arranged, so always expect things to take a different route than what we imagine. Five years ago, I hadn’t even imagined myself in graduate school, let alone in Indonesia! Heck, I didn’t even know where Indonesia was!
3) Replaces feelings of stress with calm. A stressed person means a sick body. A healthy body follows a healthy mind. It’s all very scientific.
4) Strive for perfection, but if you don’t achieve it, and you won’t, relax. There is always tomorrow for improvements.
5) Don’t try to cram all your research and learning into a short time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
6) It’s good to think of how other people feel, but don’t be empathetic to excess. For example, if you have an appointment with someone, but you’re sick, they’ll understand if you have to cancel. There’s a difference between disappointing someone deeply and causing them a minor inconvenience in their plans.
7) Health first! Work only comes second to being able to carry out your job effectively, with a healthy body.
8) Eat regularly, don’t skip meals, and snack in between if you’re hungry.
I also lost a lot of weight. I’m only 84 pounds now. That’s back to high school days! So, put that weight back on! I’m striving for 92.
It all started again when I went to a music rehearsal with some fantastic tembang singers (an awesome genre of music, coming soon to a city near you!) who are embarking on a tour through North American. Now, the rehearsal was scheduled to start at four, but typically, nothing actually got started until after 9pm. Indonesia sometimes outdoes itself… I chatted the time away, and scheduled appointments with all the people that I had wanted to visit in the last month, but had been ill. The rehearsal was ok, and I got to practice singing a lot myself. By the time I got home, it was midnight.
Armed with my new phone card, I called my mom. Then I called my advisor in Pittsburgh. Could he write me a letter of recommendation for a grant, due March 1, 2007? He agreed, and seemed consolatory about my stories of diseases. I called every credit card company to which I owed money. This made me unhappy. I went to bed tossing and turning, wondering how I was going to get everything done and pay all my bills. I contemplated getting a job. When I woke up, I couldn’t speak. I had somehow gotten a cold, “masuk angin” as they call it hear. I cancelled my plans for the day, and Ibu Laksmi insisted I go to the doctor. I agreed, but in my heart, I was sure that it was just a minor cold, and that it would be better if I just slept the day away.
Doctors, being the loveable people that they are, always say what you least want to hear. The cold had weakened my immune system, and now I was both hepatitis and typhoid positive again. They were also worried that I’d been taken off the antibiotics too quickly and now I might have an infection, I think in my gall bladder. They ask me if I wanted to stay at their home as their personal patient—for a minimum of two more weeks! (They’re a married couple, both doctors, and related to Pak Muharam). I said thank you very much, but if all I have to do is lie and bed, self-medicate myself three times a day, and stare at the wall again for two weeks, I’d rather do it at home in my own bed.
Now, the first thing that went through my head was…but I have a deadline at the end of this week! I need to work on my proposal! I’ve already lost so much time being sick. But it quickly became clear that bedrest did not entail going to an internet café, so I was left feeling guilty that I had just promised my advisor one thing and now couldn’t follow up on it. Nor could I even let him know until my condition improved slightly.
Life returned to being very boring. My diet was once more restricted to chicken soup-flavored mushy rice. I postponed all my appointments again. After a week, I went back to the doctor for a check-up. We talked for several hours about what the effects of each problem I had, and the dos and don’ts associated with my condition. The one that hit home the most was the gastric ulcers. Apparently, that little ball of stress that I always carry around with me and store as a knot in my stomach, is not just a reminder that I have a lot of things to do. It’s really untreated chronic ulcers. Now that I’m aware of what they feel like, I think I’ve had them for over a year. Up until this point, I’ll feel that tightness and think, what is that about? What should I be doing that I’m not? And then I get totally stressed out about that, but the real problem is that my stomach is hungry, or that my diet was wrong, and my gastric juices start flowing and creating sores on my stomach. So, this has led me to rethink my lifestyle.
1) First of all, I am addicted to Pepsi. Hmmm…Let’s put that aside for the moment, because I’m not sure I’m willing to give that up.
2) Second of all, there is nothing in life that cannot be changed. Sometimes life has plans for us that are different than what we have arranged, so always expect things to take a different route than what we imagine. Five years ago, I hadn’t even imagined myself in graduate school, let alone in Indonesia! Heck, I didn’t even know where Indonesia was!
3) Replaces feelings of stress with calm. A stressed person means a sick body. A healthy body follows a healthy mind. It’s all very scientific.
4) Strive for perfection, but if you don’t achieve it, and you won’t, relax. There is always tomorrow for improvements.
5) Don’t try to cram all your research and learning into a short time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
6) It’s good to think of how other people feel, but don’t be empathetic to excess. For example, if you have an appointment with someone, but you’re sick, they’ll understand if you have to cancel. There’s a difference between disappointing someone deeply and causing them a minor inconvenience in their plans.
7) Health first! Work only comes second to being able to carry out your job effectively, with a healthy body.
8) Eat regularly, don’t skip meals, and snack in between if you’re hungry.
I also lost a lot of weight. I’m only 84 pounds now. That’s back to high school days! So, put that weight back on! I’m striving for 92.
My love is Like a Red, Red, Rose….
It always starts with the guys that are keen on helping you with your research. I met him at a nasyid event, and he’d been eager to take me to Islamic universities around Bandung. His “I have a little girl crush on you” text messages had begun simply, straightforwardly, and very cliché. “Kenapa saya ingat kamu terus?” How come I can’t stop thinking of you? One of my friends told me that I should answer in the form of a joke. Something to the effect of, “Did you borrow one of my things, and that’s why you keep thinking of me?” I decided that the safer thing to do would be just to ignore the text message.
Three weeks passed. After my typhoid fever had reached stage four, (the first time), the fellow visited me at my house with one of his friends. He wanted me to speak Spanish for a segment of a video he was making for an event that celebrated speaking your mother tongue. He already had another American to help him out, so he didn’t need to me to speak English. And he remembered me telling him that the left half of my body was Puerto Rican, descended from my lovely Camuy-born mother. Unfortunately, I seemed to have missed out on learning Spanish from her. I assured him that I really couldn’t speak Spanish, so he settled for me saying “Me llamo Dorcinda. Wilijeng melimping Hari Bahasa Ibu 2007!” A little Spanish, and a little Sundanese! We could both be happy.
That night, I received another text message. “Cinda, tadi kamu tampil cantik sekalih! Aku jadi suka…” Cinda, earlier, you appeared very beautiful. I like…”
So, he hadn’t given up quite yet. I waited until the morning to text him back, deciding to try the “laughing it off” technique.
“O tentu, memang cantik. Semua orang mengatakan begitu! ” Well sure, of course I’m beautiful; everyone tells me so!
He didn’t respond. I thought I’d conquered, by my pompous, full-of-myself attitude. The day passed uneventfully. My new drum arrived, and I had a lesson with my friend and teacher, Cecep. He’s only two years older than me, and we have a lot in common; especially in that we forget things all the time, and we have a tendency to be running behind schedule. We’re both Virgos; his birthday is two days before mine, September 9. His wife’s hair is died bright red, which surprised me some reason, as both Cecep and his wife speak flawless Sundanese. I guess I imagined she would be very traditional.
During the lesson I got another text message from my admirer, but as it was very poetic, and I decided to leave translating it for later. I didn’t remember it again until later that evening when I was eating dinner with the Muharam-Laksmi family.
Dunia mempesona
semakin senja, semakin manja…
Adakah di sana cinta untukku,
wahai bidadariku?
The interesting world, as the afternoon grows late, become more spoiled. Alas, is there a possibility of love for me in your heart?
After confirming that I understood the meaning, all three of us (Pak Muharam, Ibu Laksmi and I) pondered over the correct response. It had to be poetry, and it had to be clear. I had already tried the methods of ignoring and joking my way through it. Now I would have to be delightfully indirect at being direct!
Pagi terlihat cerah,
tetapi hatiku tidak secerah pagi ini.
Ternyata ada yang hilang,
Cintaku tertinggal jauh di sana.
The morning seems bright, but my heart is not as bright as this morning. Something is lost. My love is left behind, far away.
Not great poetry, but then again, verse was never my strong suit. I was more concerned with the content than lyrical language. I hoped he would choose to take my meaning as a boyfriend in America, although I am actually rather single at the moment. Meanwhile, I would choose to interpret it as my love for my family. Such is the beauty of poetry! Before half an hour had passed, a new poem awaited me—his response:
Harum Bunga yang mekar di taman itu,
Aromanya telah merasuki jiwaku…
Alangkah beruntungnya dia
Dan aku hanya pemuja cinta…
The flower that blossoms in the garden, its aroma possesses my spirit.
How lucky is he, and I only, a worshiper of love.
I smiled. He’d gotten the message, as indirectly as it had been given.
Later that evening, he apologized, once more via text message for speaking so honestly, if it disturbed me. I told him not to worry about it—that I enjoyed his poetry. Although I didn’t let him know, in fact, I was more flattered by the attention than disturbed, although quite truthfully unwilling to let the situation get out of hand. This was in fact, the first time that someone attempted to woo me with poetry. He responded with another round of flowery poetry, more difficult for me to understand.
Cinda, Kubisikan namamu dengan kalbu penuh rindu, ketika senyummu makin bersinar dalam kbut n gerimis. Tapi suaraku tigal gema memantul didinging sepi!
Cinda, I whisper your name in my heart, full of longing. When your smile shines again, it is within mist and showers. And my voice is but an echo, resounding back to me from the silent walls.
I had to look a few of the words up in the dictionary, but once I understood his meaning, I had to smile. We had now entered into the realm of friendly ridiculousness. The situation was under control. I settled down on the couch to watch my favorite Indonesian telenovela with Ibu Laksmi and her terror of a child, and smiled. We would be friends.
Three weeks passed. After my typhoid fever had reached stage four, (the first time), the fellow visited me at my house with one of his friends. He wanted me to speak Spanish for a segment of a video he was making for an event that celebrated speaking your mother tongue. He already had another American to help him out, so he didn’t need to me to speak English. And he remembered me telling him that the left half of my body was Puerto Rican, descended from my lovely Camuy-born mother. Unfortunately, I seemed to have missed out on learning Spanish from her. I assured him that I really couldn’t speak Spanish, so he settled for me saying “Me llamo Dorcinda. Wilijeng melimping Hari Bahasa Ibu 2007!” A little Spanish, and a little Sundanese! We could both be happy.
That night, I received another text message. “Cinda, tadi kamu tampil cantik sekalih! Aku jadi suka…” Cinda, earlier, you appeared very beautiful. I like…”
So, he hadn’t given up quite yet. I waited until the morning to text him back, deciding to try the “laughing it off” technique.
“O tentu, memang cantik. Semua orang mengatakan begitu! ” Well sure, of course I’m beautiful; everyone tells me so!
He didn’t respond. I thought I’d conquered, by my pompous, full-of-myself attitude. The day passed uneventfully. My new drum arrived, and I had a lesson with my friend and teacher, Cecep. He’s only two years older than me, and we have a lot in common; especially in that we forget things all the time, and we have a tendency to be running behind schedule. We’re both Virgos; his birthday is two days before mine, September 9. His wife’s hair is died bright red, which surprised me some reason, as both Cecep and his wife speak flawless Sundanese. I guess I imagined she would be very traditional.
During the lesson I got another text message from my admirer, but as it was very poetic, and I decided to leave translating it for later. I didn’t remember it again until later that evening when I was eating dinner with the Muharam-Laksmi family.
Dunia mempesona
semakin senja, semakin manja…
Adakah di sana cinta untukku,
wahai bidadariku?
The interesting world, as the afternoon grows late, become more spoiled. Alas, is there a possibility of love for me in your heart?
After confirming that I understood the meaning, all three of us (Pak Muharam, Ibu Laksmi and I) pondered over the correct response. It had to be poetry, and it had to be clear. I had already tried the methods of ignoring and joking my way through it. Now I would have to be delightfully indirect at being direct!
Pagi terlihat cerah,
tetapi hatiku tidak secerah pagi ini.
Ternyata ada yang hilang,
Cintaku tertinggal jauh di sana.
The morning seems bright, but my heart is not as bright as this morning. Something is lost. My love is left behind, far away.
Not great poetry, but then again, verse was never my strong suit. I was more concerned with the content than lyrical language. I hoped he would choose to take my meaning as a boyfriend in America, although I am actually rather single at the moment. Meanwhile, I would choose to interpret it as my love for my family. Such is the beauty of poetry! Before half an hour had passed, a new poem awaited me—his response:
Harum Bunga yang mekar di taman itu,
Aromanya telah merasuki jiwaku…
Alangkah beruntungnya dia
Dan aku hanya pemuja cinta…
The flower that blossoms in the garden, its aroma possesses my spirit.
How lucky is he, and I only, a worshiper of love.
I smiled. He’d gotten the message, as indirectly as it had been given.
Later that evening, he apologized, once more via text message for speaking so honestly, if it disturbed me. I told him not to worry about it—that I enjoyed his poetry. Although I didn’t let him know, in fact, I was more flattered by the attention than disturbed, although quite truthfully unwilling to let the situation get out of hand. This was in fact, the first time that someone attempted to woo me with poetry. He responded with another round of flowery poetry, more difficult for me to understand.
Cinda, Kubisikan namamu dengan kalbu penuh rindu, ketika senyummu makin bersinar dalam kbut n gerimis. Tapi suaraku tigal gema memantul didinging sepi!
Cinda, I whisper your name in my heart, full of longing. When your smile shines again, it is within mist and showers. And my voice is but an echo, resounding back to me from the silent walls.
I had to look a few of the words up in the dictionary, but once I understood his meaning, I had to smile. We had now entered into the realm of friendly ridiculousness. The situation was under control. I settled down on the couch to watch my favorite Indonesian telenovela with Ibu Laksmi and her terror of a child, and smiled. We would be friends.
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