The Preciousness of Life

Today was definitely one of the saddest days I’ve had recently. Last night I got an SMS saying that a student had died. I knew nothing except when and the name. Today, we had class as usual until 11.00 and then everyone from SMP (Junior) piled into students’ cars and took off for the funeral. Being a Muslim, he had to be buried within twenty-four hours so there isn’t much time for anything. It’s quite different from any other funeral, but it doesn’t change the fact that a twelve year-old kid died.

Now, I didn’t know what to except because this is the first time I’ve had a student die and the first funeral of any kind I’d attended in this country. It was hot, crowded and relatively benign in my sense of what a funeral should be like. It all happened very quickly. It took maybe thirty-minutes but definitely not any longer.

It cut like a knife seeing kids upset, crying and not knowing what to say or how to feel. When you’re that young, how can you know? It made me think a lot about how volatile life is and how it can go at any moment. If I dropped dead suddenly, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary and while there would probably be a few people sad for a bit, the world would still turn and life would go on as usual. That can be quite an upsetting feeling at times.

Normally I can shake things like this, but this time it stings. I can’t say I was exceptionally close to him, but close enough. He was funny, chatty and I rather enjoyed him in and outside of class. He was kind, smart and seemed to be well liked by most of the other kids in class. Next semester when he’s not in that class, I know I’ll always remember him and why he isn’t there. That will take a while to go away.

I’ve never lost a close friend and I’ve definitely never lost one while I was still young. I’ve lost some family but even at that, not that many. Experiencing death first hand is something that hasn’t happened that much to me. It’s unpleasant and I can’t imagine it will or can get any easier. If anything, it will get harder as I age. I often joke about my own death, not living long and what not but the reality is that I will die along with everyone else. Whatever happens after that—and I’m afraid it won’t be much—is anyone’s guess.

Anyway, on a lighter note, tomorrow is a holiday for me since I don’t have to—and there is no need for me to—take the TOEFL exam. Sadly, all the teachers that joined the extra English class will be racking their brains for hours tomorrow while I am still in an alcohol-induced dream state. Well, since tomorrow is an unexpected holiday, what better way to celebrate it than to sit out back, jam old heavy metal tunes and get smashed. It’s going to be great!

Now, this has nothing to do with health, right? Or does it? My more or less shitty, quasi-sedentary, chain smoking, heavy drinking, light sleeping lifestyle here is going to get the best of me sooner or later. It hasn’t yet, but I can feel my normally astonishing health slipping away. I’m pale, thin, cough a lot, have headaches nearly every day, cuts and scrapes don’t heal (but that could be due to the nasty water) and sleeping has become impossible at times. My focus just isn’t there, my desire for many things that I used to love is gone, I don’t read that much any more, I don’t think before I act and a lot of other stupid things that are signs I’m losing it. Death? Nah, not yet, but it doesn’t make things any more pleasurable.

So, what do I need to do in order to break the spell? First, I need to get my ass somewhere that I can go outside and walk, breathe and not suffocate, fear getting hit by something bigger and moving faster than me and just get away from it all when I’ve got free time. Here, it’s hard for me to just find somewhere quiet enough to sit down, read a book and not get disturbed. You can forget anything better than that because it doesn’t exist. My gym, while good enough, is riddled with stragglers who want to do nothing but smoke, tell me where I can buy hookers and ask me about the differences between Indonesian pussy and pussy from other countries.

You think I’m joking, but I’m not. This is a normal occurrence I’m afraid. Consequentially, I can describe quite well sexual anatomy in Indonesian and I also know the best whorehouses in town—love it! Now, for a devoutly religious populace where sex, showing skin and displaying public affection are taboo, it’s amazing how many people—only men though—ask things like: “How are Indonesian girls?” “How’s the pussy?”; “Is your hobby fucking?”; “Do you like fucking Indonesian girls?” and on and on. Yes, it can be invasive, but I know there’s no intention beyond curiosity and I find it highly amusing. I go right along with it, have a cigarette and just laugh.

It’s very interesting the impression most Indonesians have of Westerners and foreigners in general. While it is true that I do enjoy a deviant, hedonistic lifestyle, it doesn’t make me—and I’m not—a bad person. I find that the majority of people I meet already have this impression and while some find it interesting and intriguing, some use it as a reason to criticize, blame and judge which is beyond ridiculous. Sure, I curse like crazy, I drink, I smoke, I sometimes don’t have any social tack, I spit, yawn with my mouth open, fart, piss outside and so many other things that can be seen as rude but I’m not a bad person. I’m just a fucking dude and if people don’t like that, they can fuck right off. Full stop.

It doesn’t mean that everyone from my country is like me. We’re all different I say. Hell, what is an American anyway? What does an American look like? It’s such a big country with amazing diversity that it’s impossible to say. However, it’s damn easy to tell if someone is Indonesian. It’s a homogenous society as far as appearance goes. Most people are short, thin, have flat noses, black hair and black eyes. There isn’t much more diversity than that. When you get down to language and culture there are massive differences, but most Indonesians don’t look beyond outward appearance thus making it quite easy to get labelled. It’s a terrible place for that. Much worse than the US I think even if it’s not meant as being racist—and for the record, I don’t think it is.

Strange Obsession

Another interesting incident happened today regarding Indonesians and their fascinating way of communicating. A few weeks ago, I took off to Lampung, a city south of here, for a long weekend with my girlfriend. We took the train and it was an overall enjoyable experience all things considered. Now, every so often I would take a break from sitting and go between the cars to pee, just move around and have a smoke. As expected, I met a few characters during my breaks. One fellow apparently took quite a liking to me and we had a rather engaging chat.

Now, he was much older than me so he is automatically granted a high level of respect. We went through the normal line of questioning that permeates each and every first time (and sometimes not even that) conversation. Afterwards, he asked me for my phone number. Now, he wasn’t hitting on me or anything of the sort; it’s just the done thing here. Now, I quickly thought about telling him I didn’t have one or giving him the wrong number. I know, it’s bad to lie, but I didn’t have any desire to communicate with this man again.

Now, had I said I didn’t have a phone, it would have led to a long, protracted line of questioning that would have led to me lying more and I just didn’t feel up to the task. Had I given him the wrong number, he would have rung me or sent a sms that very moment and I would’ve been shamed and branded a liar. I didn’t want either so I just bit the bullet and gave him my damn number. He called it and that was that. I didn’t save it or his name and I thought that was the end of it.

Well, earlier this morning while I was at work, I started getting calls from a number I didn’t recognize. The first ones were while I was still teaching, but it continued when I came back to the office. I have this rule of generally not answering when this happens, so I just don’t. I assume they’ll either stop calling or send a sms which will identify whether or not I should reply, call them back or answer the next time they call. Well, that did happen and here’s what went down:

“Mr. Brori, apa kabar ini, kawan yang waktu ngobrol di KA., Limex waktu ke lampung, nanti aku telpon.”

After this was sent, not ten seconds later, he called me again. Predictably, I didn’t answer and that was the last time he tried ringing or messaging me. I promptly blocked the number in the hope that he doesn’t have five phones and a different sim card for each one. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he did, but that’s just par for the course.

It’s not that I don’t remember the guy, but what else would I have to say? I even forget where he lives, but it’s not in Palembang. Maybe it’s some sort of novelty thing he can brag about: “Hey, I met this foreign guy on the train. We smoked together, chatted a bit and I got his phone number…yeah!” If you think that’s out of the question, you’d be wrong.

No matter the reasoning, it really underscores the fascinating phone number and mobile phone obsession in this country. I would never dream of asking for someone’s number unless I had a reason and actually planned on using it for something productive. This isn’t productive; it’s just wasting time. There’s no point in it and there’s definitely no reason to call me again and again when it should be clear that I’m either busy, it’s not me or I just don’t want to answer. You’d think someone could figure that out, but it just doesn’t happen. Yes, it’s baffling.

Anyway, enough of the phone talk. I guess I could give a little update on life as of late. First off, it’s been absolutely scorching hot the past week. There has been little to no rain and while that means you don’t have to worry about getting stuck in a downpour or a flood, it also means infernal heat. The air temperature has been around 33-35, but the ground temperature has been more like 40 and higher during the day when you factor in the humidity and the lack of wind, trees, green space and the ugly concrete jungle that is an Indonesian city. It makes things miserable sometimes that’s for sure.

There isn’t much more teaching—two weeks only—this semester and I’m quite happy about that. My June holiday will be here soon and I’m ecstatic! I’m going to be leaving here for three weeks and that alone makes me smile. I don’t really care about the destination just as long as it’s not here. After we come back for a little over a month, we get two more weeks for the big Muslim holiday (Idul Fitri or Lebaran) and I’ll be on my way to Thailand unless a better offer comes along. Actually, I may hit Singapore and Malaysia as well, but the bulk of the time will be spent in Thailand. Once again, as long as it isn’t here, I’ll be happy.

I’ve got it counted up and implanted in my brain: only about eight more weeks of actually teaching until my contract is up. There is a lot of idle time and time spent doing other things in between but the principal point is that when I think “only eight weeks” I lose my feeling of dread and hopelessness and perk up a bit. If that gets me through then that’s good enough for me.

I remember back in December and the first of January when I thought that May would never come, much less October, but it’s slowly approaching. I’ve been obsessed lately with thoughts of “what if” and while I know I can’t change anything and I know this wasn’t necessarily a bad decision, I still can’t help but wonder, well, “what if”. Maybe life and work would have sucked terribly in Kyrgyzstan, but I’ll most likely never know now. I do hope to visit one day, but that will most likely be all. I think I can live with that.

I suppose that’s about all there is to say about life as of late. I got to spend the day and night alone last night for the first time in a while and immersed myself in the new Devin Townsend Project album ‘Deconstruction’ and I can happily say it’s a fucking masterpiece. I haven’t managed to acquire ‘Ghost’ yet, but the reviews I’ve read thus far give it high praise as well. It’s safe to say that Devin Townsend is a musical genius and aside from only a few of his projects, I worship the bulk of his musical work.

That said, I’m going to check my e-mail, read the news again and try to knock off some more of my latest book before heading home for the day. So, until next time, enjoy yourselves.

Tick Tock

I’m going on a bender for a while. Yep, I said it. I’m absolutely, positively fed the fuck up with nearly everything around me. Everything I do, say, think, feel and write is just wrong—fucking wrong. Therefore, I’m going to withdraw and just enjoy my serenity alone for a bit. I need it, I want it and I crave it. I want to hole up somewhere alone for a while with nothing but a book, a little food, a lot of booze and just forget about everything.

I don’t know why I think and feel this way. Sometimes I wonder what it is that’s getting me down. Is it work? Is it people? Is it this place? Is it life in general? I haven’t got any answers and I don’t want any answers. I merely want it to go away. I want my happiness and peacefulness back. I want this anger and resentment to leave immediately, but I don’t know what to do to cure it because I don’t know what’s causing it.

I often wonder if I’d be better off now had I gone with my original plan not to return to Indonesia and gone to Kyrgyzstan instead. Maybe I’d be happier and better off, but then again, maybe not. All I know is that now, the only thing I can think about is getting out of this city. I hesitate to say the country, but I don’t hesitate to say this city. It’s slowly killing me in more than one way. How and why someone would voluntarily choose to live here is beyond my comprehension. Maybe if you’ve never known and experienced anything different I can understand it, but for me, I cannot and I never will.

I yearn to fulfil my original dreams again whereas before, I was coasting. I was looking at life from a different perspective, but thankfully my old views have returned and are forcing me to evaluate my life again and, in turn, that is pushing me towards making some radical changes. I want something much better and much more fulfilling than this and I know now that I’ll never find it here. I’ll definitely never find it in Palembang and probably not in Indonesia either. I’ve accepted that fact and I’ve resigned myself to that reality.

It’s time to make a move whether others like it or not. I’ve got to live for myself and make decisions that are best for me. I can’t allow myself to get mired in a situation here where I’m unable or unwilling to leave. I’ve got to look at life through my eyes and with realistic expectations. When I do that, I see so many other chances and opportunities that are too good to pass up. I just need a bit of time and reflection for it all to become clearer. That time is starting now. Wish me luck.