Nuts, Sweets, Festivities: What Dreams are Made Of

We went grocery shopping last night, and our supermarket just stocked some nuts. You know the sorts: hazelnuts, walnuts, peanuts, almonds, etc. What really stoked me was that they also have the nuts in the shells. The nuts in the shells. For the first time in my life I saw what an almond looked like in its shell, and the little round hazelnuts that I so often see depicted in the sachet of my instant coffee in Indonesia, and of course the roundish wrinkled walnuts. I remember looking at them, touching them, and felt like on the verge of crying.

But that was not all. In anticipation for the holiday season, the supermarket's bakery section was chock filled with various goods: pumpkin pies, cherry pies, apple pies, the thin versions, the one piled high with whipped creams, any kind of pies that you can imagine; stacks and stacks of cookies with colorful icing on it; slices of cheese cakes and full carrot cakes and other type of cakes; decorated butter cream cakes with frankestein face and some cute fluffy monsters, all in different colors and styles; packs and packs of cupcakes with delicious icing on top, chocolate white green yellow and all sort of colors; and candies, endless rows of candies. Last night was probably THE best night of my life here in US.

My first banana split

To an [adult] American, I probably looked foolish. Holidays come and go here, and probably only children shared my excitement about the holiday season and the treats to come. I grew with it. From my forever sunny country I grew (and learned my English) with tales of Christmas, of tables laden with delicious meals and pies and small cakes and puddings, of winter stories where everyone huddled for warmth, of the nutcrackers and Christmas candies and how children and squirrel eat their nuts from the shell. All the stories and European folklore I grew up with told about the rich savory meals and the delicious sweets, their adventures were awesome and their stories were powerful, but the depiction of the meals was what seemed so real and so relatable to me. I would probably feels the same when I see a real castle and/or a real royal horse and/or a real princess/prince in the old days costume complete with air of grace and royalty, but for now it was the food, the glorious food.

The real treat is, of course, not the food itself. The real treat is realizing that the thing you can only see as fiction is indeed verily real. I had a candy cane before in Indonesia, as well as Christmas tree and even a full set of Santa's cabin in the "snow" with "snow" falling on it. I remember being so happy and ecstatic, yet it didn't feel right. There was something amiss there. The snow, the candy, the little deer ornaments on the Christmas tree, these were all fascinating, but they don't belong there. They don't belong in the tropical paradise, they belong to four seasons countries. And I thought I would live all my life without tasting what fresh blueberries taste like (they're delicious!) and what a joy freshly baked banana bread would be (my husband made the best ever!). But they're real. Everything that I have read, all the things that filled my childhood with wonder and amazement, all the emotion stirred in the stories and how I imagined them to be, they are real. Just as the cold weather told in Fall and winter stories, they are too, frighteningly real.  

My husband once asked me, what impresses me the most about US. I said it was the tap water, that we can actually drink right from the tap. Last night he jokingly said he couldn't fathom that after all the things he showed to impress me in US, I was instead ecstatic about tap water and nuts. I felt kind of bad, but to me that is what dreams are made of. People so often took for granted things in their daily life, things that they are so accustomed to. But to others, to people who do not lived the way they do or even think the way they do, those things might be an exciting experience to itself. I remember my husband smile as he waited patiently for me to checked the cookies and cakes display in the supermarket's bakery, and how he offered me to buy a bag of mixed nuts and the nutcracker. I declined though, thinking the nutcracker is a monstrous hammer-like thing the size of a nutcracker soldier doll; how surprised I was when he showed me the nutcracker was only the size of letter L keys, and I laughed and laughed like crazy there. I am glad he had the patience and open-mind to be joyful and excited with my new "discoveries", instead of being angry and confuse and say "It's just some walnuts, get over it!".

Every night it grew colder here, and the mornings seemed to come really late. I snuggled happily in my bed with my husband next to me, and the thought of having his homemade warm hot pancakes with syrup for breakfast makes me all happy and joyful. This is just like the story book. This is what dreams are made of.    

I Miss My Safe Land

I felt the cold metal pressing me from every direction
Round cylinders with quick death, ready to sprung
I found myself cowering in fear
And trembling with rage, pure hot rage

Where does my freedom go?
My sense of safety, my freedom to live
Death was a friend, an end that can't be missed
Yet here, it was casually dispensed

I felt the poison drowning me in my blood
And the smoke fill up my lungs
I found myself struggling to fight the drug effect
And have control, full control of myself

Where does my consciousness go?
My awareness and sharp reflexes, the soberness needed to live
Death was inevitable for those who lost control of themselves
Yet here, they happily go blind

I felt the demands crushing my existence
Trivial complaints and careless thoughts, ignorance all round
I found myself wanted to yell and shake them off
And made them see how big the world really is

Where does my patience go?
My respect for other human, the sense of kinship and good for mankind
Death would come, thus we need to make life counts
Yet here, everyone is alone even in numbers

I miss my safe land without guns
I miss my safe land without drugs
I miss my safe land without ignorance
I miss my safe land where I belong

Survivors, not Losers: The Art of Understanding Poverty

Vegetable garden

In Indonesia we have a reality TV show called "Jika Aku Menjadi" or translated to "If I were a....". The show would have a young pretty city girl who would be thrown to live a life for a few days with a presumably poor man/woman with arduous job. The cameras will shoot the girls cracking rocks or collecting cajuput bark or selling home-made cheap snacks and all the hardship their host endure daily, including the almost-non-existent-and-usually-inedible food. At some point during the girls would always cried and said things of how pitiful their hosts' life is and they are very sorry for them and they wish them all happiness and an easier life in the future. And they would leave some money or gift afterwards at the end of the show. The funny thing is, as these city girls woe for their host's life their hosts usually will consoled them instead and looked just perfectly fine with their life. Don't you think it is fucked up? Don't you think it is so amazingly weird?

The truth of the matter is not everyone is unhappy with their life, no matter how hard it is. I wouldn't doubt the hosts' life were hard, but they probably didn't even feel that hard until some A-holes come around and say: 'Oh what a pitiful life you have you poor old old crone!'. Imagine taking buses all of your life, and you feel grateful that you earn enough to take the bus to work instead of walking all the way to it; then a person came to you and say: "You take the bus?! Oh honey the bus takes hour to get from your place to here and so unreliable and dangerous, you should use a car instead!" Imagine how you feel the next morning as you walk to bus stop: bitter resentment because you don't have a car and have to get up and go at 7 am for a 9 am shift when you can easily go at 8.30 instead with a car, and every time the bus stops to take passengers you mouthing silently "C'mon muthafucka I'm gonna be fucking late!", and when you come home at night you got all jumpy and see every other passengers as potential robber/rapist/criminal. To think that the other day you were so happy to be able to take buses, that you don't have to walk everywhere, that you have the driver's protection if necessary instead of going solo and so open at the road at night. To think that the other day you were content. Yes, compassion kills. 

Do you know what poverty is? It is more than just a skeleton-like child dying from hunger, it is more than just inability to eat decent food and get clean water, it is more than just statistic of living with $1 or less per day. Poverty is when you have 2 instant noodles worth 10 cent each for your family of 4 and called it a treat, and later all died because for some reason the noodles were contaminated. Poverty is when a 70 year old man died from shock when knowing his government assistance money of $30 was already claimed by someone, he was going to use the money to commemorate his decease wife's. Poverty is when a college student seriously think to be a prostitute just to be able to pay her tuition fee, as her education was the only chance she has for a better life. Poverty is when going to school is a luxury, and graduating from it was a miracle. Poverty is looking at your children and knowing for sure they would end up just like you, no education or other means of salvation to cut your children off of your horrible circle of life. Poverty is knowing no future lies ahead of you, no dreams to dream, no sweet hope to hold on to. That's what poverty is. 

What $1 lunch in Denpasar, Bali look like: 

Rice, veggies, a slice of meat, fried eggplant, and nut crackers

Yes, this is a luxury to some in Bali and many in Indonesia

Cut the crap, the tears, the 'politically-correct' language. Stop telling the poor that they are poor and you are sorry for them. Instead, think of them highly and appreciate their struggle. Don't weep and moan about their lack of food and decent life, stop looking at them that way. Stop looking at them with your sorry look just because you think they are deprived of the nice comfortable things you have. They are survivors, and the fact that they could keep on living without all the things you have should be a harsh reminder how strong they really are. Think of them as MacGyvers of the world, who manage to stay alive and do cool things just with a screwdriver and some other inconspicuous items. Think of them as the Mission Impossible teams of the world, who manage to do impossible things despite the odds (in which case, surviving in such harsh and difficult environment). Give them the standing ovation that these people deserves for simply surviving, instead of a pitiful glare that robbed them of their self esteem. Don't say (or think): "Dude, you are poor. Let me help you because I got more." Instead say (or think): "Dude, you are awesome. Here's something that hopefully can help you a bit."

This is not to say their pain is unreal, or their life is not hard. The pain is real, the despair is overwhelming, and life indeed is very very hard for them. But you know what's more painful? To know that there are people in developed countries who not only squandered and neglected the perks and luxuries they have, but also complains about them. As Suzanne Collins wrote in Catching Fire:

          "All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents can't give. More food. Now that we're rich, she'll send some home with them. But often in the old days, there was nothing to give and the child was past saving, anyway. And here in the Capitol they're vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. It's what everyone does at a party. Expected. Part of fun."

This is how I feel when hearing people complains what lousy education system they have. This is how I feel when hearing people complains how imperfect their healthcare system is. This is how I feel when hearing people complains of food prices when sporting high end cars and phones. This is how I feel when hearing people complains of how bad their life is, with all their social security system and all the rules and regulations to keep everyone's life a happy and dandy one. 

You could say: "This is MY life, and I'll do whatever I want with it!" Sure, do whatever you want. Just don't squandered it. Make it worth it, make it a significant one. Imagine what you would do if you are stripped bare from all the perks and luxuries you have now: internet, health access, education, food, clean water, accessibility, everything. Do whatever you want, but please, don't take all those things for granted. I can't think of any proof that this would directly help eliminate the poverty around the world. But I believe that compassion, empathy, and understanding would eventually put human in a better position, and this can be achieved by simply grateful to what you have and utilizing it to the max. We in the third world countries, we in the under-developed countries, we in the poverty-stricken countries may not be able to tap the resources you have, so do it for us. Please. Read what we can't read, know things what we will never have access to know, live your life the way we would with hope and dreams. And one day, we will share those knowledge with you. One day.

The Not-so-easy English Language

The young man stand erect with confidence and grace. He gave a perfect handshake to his interviewer, not too tight, not too loose, and in just the right amount of time. His interviewer secretly upped his point several mark for his stature and handshake alone. How he hated those people who look slack or too stiff; or those with clammy handshake or worse, the ones that shook his hand like there's no tomorrow. But this one, this young applicant looked like the perfect fit for the job. He gestured the young man to sit and ask, "So tell me about yourself. Why do you apply for this job?". To the interviewer dismay the young man replied in thickly accented broken English, and between his stream of words the interviewer gripped his table tightly and ask in his mind: "Why God, why???"

I can't remember when I started to learn English. I just did. I remember watching the TV shows, both for adults and children. I love Sesame Street, I Dream of Jeannie, Remington Steele, Knight Rider, Brady Bunch, Quantum Leap, all kinds of movies. I also watch music video and hearing songs from the radio, I would listen to them repeatedly and carefully wrote down the lyrics as best as I could. Mind you, it sometimes comes as a jumble, but then I would find the correct lyric in the music magazines and I will go: "Oh so that's what it says!". English books were hard to come by, but it got way easier when I was in my Senior High School. I would borrow English books from my friends and just read it on and on and on. Ah... The good old days.

At Brady Bunch's house

They taught us English at school in Indonesia, so in total we have almost 12 years of English education. Some children would also attend additional English courses to enhance their English. These English lessons helped me to understand the basic English grammar, but to be honest it did not help much in real life. I also taught English for some time, and in lessons (both me as a student and me as a teacher) it is easy to differentiate which tense to be used and the [grammatically] correct way to say it. There are formulas that you can memorize (i.e present tense = He/She/It + Is + Verb -ing), and it worked perfectly in exercises where you can decipher easily which is which and what verb to be use in each sentence. Try doing that in real life (plus repeatedly looking at your tenses formula list) and see how far your English conversation can go. As for reading and writing, it is a whole misery in itself. When I was 12 years old I remember reading mussel just like I read muscle. 10 years later my friend who spends time in USA told me it was read as myu-sel. 20 years later my husband who is an American told me it was read as mas-sel. Ugh. Not to mention the eternal questions such as: where is the L in talk? Why comfortable read as comfterble? Why drink-drank-drunk but cut-cut-cut?

As the video below illustrate, English is indeed a difficult language to master. Thus in my mind anyone whose native tongue is not English but learn to master English as second language deserves respect. They are just like the Engineer who also has a degree in Biology, or the IT major who also has a degree in Law. Sadly, sometimes this achievement go unnoticed. A fellow teacher once said to me she was embarrassed to speak to the foreigners because their English is better than hers. Well yes, I replied, but only because they have learned the language since the day they were born. I always stressed to my students that there is nothing shameful if you made mistake when speaking in English, and pointed out that if a foreigner tries to speak Bahasa Indonesia we would probably think he/she would sound silly as well. It is important to encourage them because the fact of the matter is, as with any other language English can only be mastered by practice. Lots and lots of practice. And even then, things such as accent can not be fully eliminated. 

In USA, where immigrant issue is a big deal, it is only normal to see people got so hung up with less-than-stellar English speaker or with the heavily accented one.  In terms of jobs, it is understandable if companies prefer employees that can speak English fluently, just as they prefer the ones with excellent computer and/or communication skill. This is indeed an English speaking country, so whoever wish to work here has to have a sufficient English skills. Vice versa, if you are a US citizen who happen to work in Indonesia you would also need to learn Bahasa Indonesia in order to survive there and to effectively do your work. As the saying goes, when in Rome do what Roman do. Yet sometimes English fluency can be a source of discrimination, where the more fluent English speaker considered more valuable and respected. When I worked in Bali I noticed that my foreign clients treated me with more respect and I receive far less complain than my other co-worker because my English was better than hers. In perspective, this has more to do with the frustration that one might experience from failed communication (i.e. one or both party can't figure head or tail what the other was saying), and it can happen also with fellow English speakers (imagine an Englishman with Cockney accent trying to speak with an American with Cajun English). Yet sometimes, there will be people who say indignantly, "Why, he/she can't even speak English!" and think lowly of the poor English speaker as if his/her inability to communicate in English is a sign of his/her being less civilized than the native English speaker.

In correlation to the world in general, English is a unifying language. You could go far in this world if you can master it, but it is in no mean superior than other language. To people from countries that use English as their main language, this concept is difficult to understand. It is easier for us in Indonesia who happens to use Bahasa Indonesia as our unifying language. There are hundreds of languages in Indonesia, and probably thousands of dialect; by using Bahasa Indonesia as our main language we are able to reach out and unite the citizens. The local languages and dialects are free to be used any time, but for official matters and education the Bahasa Indonesia is used to ensure everyone understands. This is what English is to the world: a true convenience if you can master it, but you can still live your life without it. The next time you met someone who evidently use English as second language give him/her a respect instead of a glare because learning a new language is not easy. You can hate him/her still if you want, especially if you think he/she is being ignorant. I hate people who speaks Bahasa Indonesia ignorantly too. Nevertheless, if you see his/her effort to master it, give it a thumbs up just like you would to people who tried to master a new skill. And when you went to non-English speaking country, be grateful when you met someone who can speak it albeit imperfectly instead of trashing around in social media how you couldn't find anyone who can communicate in English in that remote country. Or better yet, get a dictionary and speak their lingo ;)

Caption: This is true we shouldn't have to be bylingwill 

to work and live hear if they move hear they need to speek English.

-Possible translation: This is true we shouldn't have to be bilingual 

to work and live here if they move here they need to speak English.-

I love English a lot. I guess that is why I can easily get it by myself. Despite it being super hard and super confusing, English is a beautiful language with so many words you can choose from to express yourself. It is very versatile and it has no hierarchy, which means you can speak it as it is to whomever. You can change the intonation if you like and how you speak it to better fit the condition you are in, but the nature of the words itself remains unchanged. In various languages in Indonesia (and I guess in the majority of Asia countries) there are words or phrases that can only be use with your superior, or to put it bluntly: a hierarchy in language. By writing in English instead of Bahasa Indonesia I am free from that hierarchy and the limitation of how I can express myself. This is a luxury that many native English speakers do not realize. Every time I saw a poorly written Facebook status such as the above or I can't help asking: Why??? You got your chance to learn it properly since day one!! Like this woman said: I won the lottery — the linguistic lottery, that is. If you also born and raised in a country that use English as your first language, then you are better equipped than most people in the world. Let's use it properly, shall we?