Confession of a Weekend Stepmom

Of all the many things my mom has been worrying about me, her greatest uneasiness was when I choose to marry my (then) boyfriend. Not only that my husband is divorced (which is considered a bad trait in Indonesia, if he could divorced once he could divorced again), he also a father of two children. With two different mothers. In two different states. "It will be very difficult for you," my mom said one time, trying to made me come to my sense. I was adamant though. To me, his previous failed relationships are proofs on how badly he wanted it to work, how badly he wanted a solid relationship. If anything, his dedication towards his two children showed his real worth, and I liked what I saw. I was all too ready to give him what he wants, to make 'us' work. As for his children, I really wasn't calculating much. They are with their moms, and the only responsibilities I have for them is merely on the weekends, even then I would only be an aide for my husband. It's not  like I was going to be their stepmother or anything.

My mom, bless her soul, was right. It wasn't easy being 'the other woman'. Even though he has been divorced and was not in relationship for some years, the mothers of his children were still prominent in his life mainly because he needs to constantly communicate with them regarding the children. I was fully aware that they have been a part of his life for a longer time that I have been, with their own stories and intimacies and griefs. I accept that, yet at times I still feel sad and jealous that I am not the only one that 'owned' him, that I have to share him with the mothers. Even with his constant reassurance, the ugly me still doesn't want to share. And it cannot be helped. The mothers opinions and requests are considered and even contributes to decision making between me and my husband since they are the one with the children, including decisions about daddy-time and money. Sometimes it gets so intense that I feel as if they are living in the same house as we are; that I am not only marrying my husband and his children, but also his exes at the same time. His rant and sadness when the mothers give him a hard time regarding the children, just as the pictures of him and his e-wife and their child hanging in his family's house, they are a constant reminder that there is a part of his life that is not mine. Which is only natural, I keep telling myself, even twins don't always share the same life. That doesn't stop my heart from aching occasionally, or quenched the fire of jealousy that sometimes rage in me.

You might think that I would treat the children with indifference, and you are quite right. At first, I did treat them with indifference, that is I positioned myself as a spectator and let the daddy did all the work. It was a decision made not because I hate the children, but because I don't know what to do with them. I was so worried that, since I grew up in foreign country and was unfamiliar with US parenting type, I would 'handle' them incorrectly and infuriate the mothers which then can lead to them giving my husband more difficulties to meet the children. I would asked my husband for the littlest detail regarding the youngest child: "Can I give this? Can I do that? What should I do?" to the point that he started to think I was too passive and unable to make my own decision. As for the eldest child, I tried to look as distanced as possible with my husband because I didn't want her to feel I took her daddy away from her. I did not dare to scold or be strict with any of them, when I felt they are over the line I would tell my husband and let him do the disciplining and such. We only have them for weekends anyway, what's the point of trying to 'better' them if it's only going to be unraveled during the next 5 days?

That was what I thought. I couldn't do it though. I come from a big family and I have seen my mum rearing my younger siblings (and then rearing my nephews) since I was twelve years old. If there is anything that I am proudest about my mom, that would be how good we've all become. All of us (my nephews included) are sharp, problem solvers, strong minded, and full of love and kindness; everyday is an adventure for us and we all have a pretty satisfying life. This might just be in the gene, but I suspect it is because we are copying our (grand)mom's own strength and her view of life. She let us be what we want to be, and only interfere when she think it is necessary to, all while letting us know that she is there for us. This is the kind of life that I know and love, and eventually this is the kind of life I encouraged my students to have when I work as an English teacher: "Go out there and enjoy the world, never fear because I am always here for you." It makes a whole lot of difference in their confidence and how they see the world. This belief, and the fact that my husband's children are roughly the same age as my nephews, make it difficult for me to turn blind eye and pretend I don't care. Little by little I began to be more involved in the weekend parenting. 

I shared the joy of new discoveries with the children since I am too a newcomer in this (part of the) world; this include food, museums, trains and buses, and all the weird and wonderful things this world has to offer. I explained them things like why some objects (fan, fire, electricity) can be dangerous, why they have to clean up their toys, why they should be considerate to people's feeling, or why they should try new things; because I want them to understand the whys instead of following the order. I gave them love and affection when they wanted it, always so careful to not trespass their privacy or touch them when they just want to be left alone, but letting them know that I will be there for them when they need me. What began as an effort to help my husband with the children grow into an effort to help the children get the best of their childhood years. I don't even consider myself as a stepmother. Just because I am married to the father doesn't mean I would instantly become the mother. Only the real mother, in my opinion, deserve that badge of honor. The reason why I am here with them is because everyone can and deserves to be happy, and I wanted them to know that and preserve that thought in their mind. It is a cruel world out there, and children's sense of adventure and happiness are the sword and shield that will enable them to slay the dragons of wickedness and the hydra of despairs in order to find their happily ever after. And I wanted them to know that they are precious, that they are worthy; because self confidence without looking down to others is the most important thing a person could have. I wanted them to be someone who love their own life, and be joyous of it. 

Granted, this is not always easy. There are times when I just need to have a time out and let my husband deal with the child(ren). There are times when I get annoyed with their behavior and attitude, which is not only because of different rules and upbringing at their mothers' but also because children can be really annoying at times. There are times when I asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" or "This is not even my children! I don't even share a drop of blood with them!". I never let it out in front of the children though. My mom had taught me that the most selfish thing you could do to children is letting them see your tears and ugly emotion. It makes the children unrest and insecure and helpless. It is not the children's fault that life can be very tiring and very emotional for their parents; especially since it's not even their decision to be here in this world, it is their parents' decisions. As I read this paragraph, I realize I sounded like a really horrible stepmother/dad's wife, and I am half convinced that if the mothers ever read this article they won't allow the children to be with me anymore. But if you are a parent, a biological dad and/or mom, don't you also feel this way sometimes with your children? The tiredness, the need for 'time out', the annoyance, the denial and exasperation ("Why do I even have this kid(s)?!"), aren't those a part of being a parent?

More than a year has passed since I first entered their life, and they have changed mine. Weekends are something that I look forward to, since it means we will have our adventures together. I look forward to hear their happy laughter and to see the awe in their face as we present them with the little wonders of the world. I look forward to hold them in my arms or at least to tickle them and run my fingers through their hair. Children's little bodies are amazing vessels of love: they are created from love and they can accept, and equally gives out, a limitless amount of love. Anyone who love children with agree that being with children is like getting a fuzzy-rainbow-colored love recharge. The feeling will get duller as the child grew older and more mature, as they would lose their childhood wonder and take a more defensive/aggressive stance against the world in order to protect themselves, even if deep down inside they are still only a scared little child (aren't we all?). This threat of teenage angst (and adult madness) is the more reason why I want to give the best for my husband's children. Looking at them now, I realize how precious they are to me. Whenever I see the mothers' face/physical characteristic in their face, instead of the usual fiery jealousy I feel a strong desire to protect them. They are made from my husband's love and pure intention. I wish, I really wish it would work well with the mothers, so they (or at least one of them) can have the beneficial effect of a real family without the hassle of weekend commutes. Since it is not possible, all my husband and I could do is love them and care for them as good as we can during the short hours we are together, to show that them love and happiness and fun are attainable, and to prevent them from making the same mistakes and going through the same hardship and sadness that me and my husband has to go through before we are finally together. At this point, I couldn't care less about their mothers. The children's little hands and bright smile has killed that monster in me, and made me and my husband loved each other even more. To this, I thank them from the bottom of my heart.

I have always thought that would be the end of it. I always thought for them I am 'daddy's wife', or 'daddy's sidekick', a cool person that always care for dad and always in for a good (and silly) time. Yet a couple of weeks ago my husband's youngest child rushed from his playroom to the kitchen to asked my husband: "Daddy daddy, where is my Ibu?". We did teach him to call me Ibu, which means mom or older woman in Indonesia language, since he is too small to call anyone by first name only; but we did not teach him the 'my' part, it is his own preference to think I am 'his' and that I am a part of his world. And last weekend his oldest child demand to sleep in my arms instead of with him and told me "You look like mommy" with adoration and love in her eyes, which is, to me, the highest compliment a child could give to a woman who is not his/her biological mother. Their acceptance and love, given to me when I didn't expect nor request any, is my own badge of honor. Time will come when the childhood wonder wanes, when the grief of real world take charge of these innocent children, and when we have to face each other as adults. When that time comes, I just want both you to know: Me and Daddy love you very very much, kiddos.  

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 Strange Indonesian in US Land

Everyone just wants to be liked and accepted.

Except for Tim. Tim doesn't give a shit.

This morning I got two friendly reminder that I am who I am. 

The first reminder came when I disdainfully close Simon Winchester's book "Krakatoa, The Day The World Explode". It was a great and comprehensive book, but I felt cheated and angry when he compared the modern day Jakarta to its so-called Golden Days under the Dutch colonizations. Those were Golden days indeed for the Dutch who ruled the city, drained its resources to fill out their coffers and enslave the local native and being great and mighty all round. It was hardly golden for the locals who were treated as servants and becoming slaves in their own land, and being strangled with heavy tax and having to submit to the intruders' whim. This is a reminder for me to never forget the history of my people. Wherever I am, I am still an Indonesian and it will remained that way forever.

The second reminder came from my friend's Facebook status. She wrote about a taxi driver's comment regarding a street performer with monkey. He said: "humans are given wit by God to earn his own living. It's such a shame to use the animal instead to earn his living. Doesn't he feel ashamed to let a monkey work and earn money for him, and use it for his own well-being?" This is a reminder for me that in accordance to the values that I have held so long they are still very much valid wherever I am. I have always believe that there are more in this world than just trying to be accepted and fit in society, there are more in this world than just trying to get a comfortable living and if possible a better one than others. There are kindness and compassion, dignity and pride, knowledge of what is right and wrong and strength and wisdom to do what's right. These are what made us human and enrich our lives. This concept is very strong in Indonesia, yet from what I see it was less pronounced here. There is no reason though for me to just discarded this concept and what I believe on the accord of not being in Indonesia anymore.

It has been almost 3 months since I move to California, and the pressure is mounting. The difference between the life here and in Indonesia was huge and I had to radically adapt myself in order to keep my sanity and my well being: I subtly changed my Indonesian diet to fit whatever I can find in USA stores, I learned how the traffic and bus system worked and other basic day-to-day knowledge, I learned about being cautious with people and the many types of people in California (and USA in general). Yet day by day the pressure is mounting. I found myself questioning and fretting over and over again: Can I get a job here? Will my accent and my imperfect grammar prevent me from making a living and/or making friend? How can I look similar to these people, so they won't realize I'm from Indonesia? At this moment I am a full-time writer and housewife working in the convenience of my home, but soon I will join the workforce and have to face the society which I haven't got the slightest idea of. I fear rejection. I want to fit in.

There are so many things that I can expect in this life and in my upcoming introduction to US society, and I will enjoy the experience thoroughly by being me. The fact of the matter is, sometimes adaptation leads to either you successfully become one of them or that you successfully mimic them. When I moved out to Bali after spending my whole life (26 years in total) in Jakarta I could not fit in. I have the right look and pedigree, the right clothing and the right 'endorsement', yet I move and think and speak differently from the Balinese due to my years in Jakarta. I never fit in, but it did not stopped me from being so good with what I do or from chasing my passion and live my life to the fullest. I can fret and determined to try my hardest to be an American or at least successfully mimic one with the risk of failing miserably in the process and lose my sanity just like I did in the beginning of my Bali years, or I can just be me and use the additional Indonesian knowledge and wisdom that I know to enhance my living experience in USA. 

I am not born in USA and I can't change that, but that is merely a fact and not a debilitating condition. True it seemed like joining a race where all other contestants are better equipped and have clear advantage over me, but it doesn't mean I am not good myself. It may take time but I will survive and reach the finish line. And I will succeed without losing my own identity in the process. I am Indonesian. That's who I am. That's what I am.