On the morning of January 1st, I found myself at the airport in Phuket, Thailand at six in the morning. I was tired from the previous night’s New Year celebrations, and fed up with the many other tourists visiting Thailand for the holidays. While waiting in long lines to get through airport security, I reminded myself to stay away from the southern Thai islands during future holidays. Though pristine, iconic, and certainly unforgettable, I can visit the beautiful water and landforms again at any other time throughout the year. I spent the first half of my trip in Malaysia. In retrospect, I could have spent the entire length of my trip in the country. A former British colony, there are diasporas of various ethnic groups living in the country, which account for an eclectic assortment of cuisines (Indian, Chinese, Lebanese, etc.) and cultures. Furthermore, the Malaysian language is incredibly similar to Bahasa Indonesia, which made traveling around the country relatively easy. A former Peace Corps country, Malaysia ‘graduated’ from the program in 1983, and has not looked back since. I was in Thailand for the second half of my trip. Farther from Indonesia, the country’s language and culture was much different from Indonesia. I was not able to negotiate with merchants, cab drivers, or food vendors when offered a price, because I did not speak the language; nor was I strongly aware of the country’s customs. While I felt capable of blending in to Malaysia society, I was very conscientious of the typical ‘tourist’ aura that followed me around Thailand. I was at the mercy of taxi and rickshaw drivers every time I needed a ride, and I did not like that one bit. That frustration lingered during my last minutes in Thailand, as I slowly made my way to the appropriate gate at the airport in Phuket. I celebrated the completion of my first semester as a Peace Corps Volunteer Secondary Education Teacher with style: I indulged in an array of cuisines that were readily available, lived out of a school backpack for the entirety of the trip, slept overnight on boats during snorkeling adventures, and saw art, temples, and beaches. The trip was also a great way to spend the holidays, but I was ready to settle back into a routine. My mind, heart and, stomach were filled with knowledge, memories, and food, respectively. But similar to eating a Thanksgiving feast and quickly retiring to bed for a long nap, my mind, heart, and stomach all knew that it was time for the vacation to end and for me to return home—to Indonesia. I took a quick flight from Phuket, back to Kuala Lumpur. I had a five-hour layover before continuing on to Surabaya. I arrived at my gate with hours to spare, and spent the majority of my time observing the people around me. Their body language, clothing, mannerisms, and language were all too familiar. They were all Indonesians, and they were heading home to Indonesia, just like me! The inference that my airport neighbors were Indonesian was confirmed when every single one of them rushed to the flight attendant at the ticket counter after hearing the boarding announcement. Instead of forming a line, the Indonesians pushed into a discombobulated mass, which sluggishly shrank as people trickled past the flight attendant and into the jet way. I was fortunate to witness a very ‘Indonesian’ situation—something I had grown to miss during my trip—before I even landed in Indonesia. I made my way to my assigned seat, sat down, and patiently waited for takeoff. The flight attendants presented the airline’s safety procedures in Bahasa Indonesia, and I breathed a sigh of relief to hear a language with which I was familiar. I was going to a land where I did not have to worry anymore about getting ripped off by the local rickshaw drivers! We landed in Surabaya after a short two-hour flight. The sudden thump of the wheels hitting the tarmac reminded me of landing in Indonesia for my first time almost ten months previous. This time, however, there was not a throng of Volunteers whom enthusiastically applauded upon arrival. This time I entered the country with a very different mindset: I knew the language, had already completed a semester of teaching, and had developed relations with numerous families and friends within the country. It amazes me how much can change in such a short period of time. The plane pulled into the jet way, and the Indonesians all entered the aisle simultaneously, exiting the aircraft in a dysfunctional manner that I could not have imagined prior to joining Peace Corps (I wonder if the passengers’ exit on my original flight to Surabaya was similar, but I was too naïve to take notice). I followed everyone off the plane, through immigration, and past customs. I stepped outside into the humidity—finally, I was back where I needed to be. The ensuing hour played out very differently than my first hour in Indonesia ten months ago. I perused for cellular data plans on my Indonesian phone, purchased a data package, and called a cab to pick me up. Within thirty minutes, I was in a car on my way to the hostel. I spoke with the driver the entire way, thinking to myself how much I had learned over the course of my first ten months in country. The bus ride back to my village the following day was as entertaining as every other bus I take from the city back to rural Java. The six-hour trip reintroduced all of the quirks of living in Indonesia that I had forgotten about during my vacation (the stares, pointing, strange questions), but this time I found those things to be oddly comforting. Have I grown so accustomed to living among Indonesians that I find it reassuring to constantly be singled out for being different from everyone else? I am sure that those peculiarities will quickly become tiresome once again, so I will enjoy not being bothered by them in the meantime. It was great coming home to my host family. I missed Pak Djito and Bu Hertati very much, and they appeared happy to see me home safe and sound. “You’re even skinnier than before!” exclaimed Ibu immediately as I walked into the house. She pushed me into the kitchen to eat. I did not mind her insistence, even the least bit. I missed her cooking as much as I missed my host parents! I biked to school the day before classes were scheduled to begin. I wanted to meet with teachers to prepare lessons for the new semester. I waved to the neighbors, and passed kids playing in the street—just like my daily commutes throughout my first semester of school. This time, however, the commute to school certainly felt different compared to my commute on the first day of last semester. I wasn’t nervous, fearful, or feeling regret. I wasn’t asking myself, “What the heck am I doing?” This time, I biked towards school with a sense of familiarity: confidence, excitement, and an important awareness of what to expect. I biked along the last brick-laid path before turning into the school courtyard. I knew what bricks along my path were loose, and thus would spray dirty rainwater up at my legs if my bike rolled over them. I smiled to myself as I maneuvered around them. Those bricks got me several times over the course of the first semester, but not this year! I arrived at school determined to apply the familiarity shown during my short bike commute to this second semester of school. Similar to knowing which bricks to avoid along the path to school, I know from experience the best ways to go about implementing change in the classroom, with my counterparts, and my Indonesian community. Here’s to a New Year, a second semester, and 2018—a full year of working as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Indonesia. Shouts-Outs:
HSO to the Wisconsin Badgers for winning the Orange Bowl, and finishing the season with a 13-1 record. HMFSO to my sister for moving back to Wisconsin. ESO goes to her for landing a job at Lambeau Field. You are the ultimate Wisconsinite! SO to my friend for doing so well on the GMAT, paving the way to submit applications, and ultimately, getting that MBA. SO to my friend for helping out with that huge acquisition. You’re contributing to the stock market’s explosiveness! SOs go to my friends who finished their first semesters of graduate school, and now are in their first weeks of second semester. SO to my Aunt for the new job promotion! Let me know if you want some podcast recommendations for the commute! HMFSO to my fellow ID11s for making it to this point of our service. January 12th marked ten months since we arrived in country! SO to my dad and Denise for sending my host family Christmas presents!
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