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.