The Day I Died

I died that day. I can tell you every vivid details of what had happened, and why I ended up being among the dead like I am right now. You don't want to hear about it? Well I really don't care. I would tell you all about it anyway and you will listen. That's what bartenders are for, goddamn. You got other customers, you say? Well honey, this is no bedtime stories. Feel free to do whatever you want, but just pretend to listen. Now pour me another glass, will you?

How old were you when you first saw the sea? Too young to remember, eh? You lucky dawg. I first saw the sea almost a year ago, and I still feel like crying. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my whole life. The blue water with the streak of white wave. The cool sea breeze with the scent of salt and foreign lands. The warm sand that massages my feet. The sunshine that warms you to the soul. My god,  James; it is the most beautiful thing ever. I pity you for being robbed of that first impression, really. There is nothing like seeing the sea for the first time and fell in love with it. What? Your name is Jonathan and not James? Well, same difference.

I have lived all my life in the arid mountain. You get to see a whole lot of cactus and ocatillo and pebbles and sands, and lots and lots of dust. I remember the song we used to sing when we were a kid: “In the shade, in the shade of a saguaro, you and I can't find relief”. That's exactly how it feels like. All the little things thrive there in the mountain: the scorpions, the spiders, the mice, the rattle snake; yet we people have to deal with it the hard way. The dry weather would parched our lips and skin, and water is scarce to say the least. There is nothing to see or do there, not that there is anything we would want to do after a tiring day in the sun. I worked as an office clerk, and after work and dinner all I wanted to do was to retire to my bed with the fervent hope that the swamp cooler would actually work for once. I can't believe I lived that life for so many years. Then it all began. 

My husband's friend invited us for a week vacation in his beach house here at Mission Bay. I don't know much about him because he had already moved to California by the time I met my husband, but apparently they were really good friends at that time. I had my doubts, mind you. I was reluctant to drive eight hours to an unknown land and have to share a house for a whole week with a complete stranger. Despite the hardness, I was so used with my hometown and the comfort of my own house. My Ma is from the mountain too, and my husband is from the nearby city. We would go to Tucson now and then to visit my husband's dad, and that's about as far as I have been in my whole life. I wanted to tell my husband to decline the invitation, but I felt selfish for even thinking about that. In retrospect I think I wanted to go as well, thus the silence. I should have said no.

On the designated day we started our road trip to California. It was a pretty sunny day, and I could feel his excitement rubbing off on me. The bags were safely stowed in the trunk, we have a little soft cooler filled with cold drinks and snacks, and our MP3 player was stocked with at least 100 songs to accompanied us in the road trip. We were all prepared and all set to go. The road trip itself was amazing, I've had never seen such vast land and such long long road. The windmill farm took my breath away, they were so huge and majestic! And the rocky mountains that looked like it's made by a giant who decided to play with a bunch of pebbles, it was just gorgeous. It felt like we were in an old episode of Star Trek. And after the mountains came the lush greeneries of San Diego County, such greens that I have never seen in my whole life. The shops and the cars and the people, all looked so noisy and crowded and interesting. I was scared, I really do. I felt so out of place with my jeans and boots among these people who barely cover themselves, and I wanted to ask my husband to return immediately. I didn't though, and we continued our trip.

I couldn't tell you how it feel to be there at that time, when I finally subdue my fear and discomfort and just give in to the stimulation. All of my five senses were awoken, and they were wildly enjoying themselves. The pastrami sandwich we had for lunch cost us $15, which was roughly the amount of money I spent on grocery shopping for two days in our hometown, but it was such a treat! I have never eaten anything as delicious in my whole life, and the difficult name and explanation like stone ground mustard or Russian slaw, for me, justify the whole experience. The vacation house was decorated in white and had all these pretty ornamental sea shells and bleached white starfish, a balcony for each level of the house (total three levels), and was located only a short walk to the beach and an even shorter walk to the bay. The bay was beautiful and looked like the lake we visited one time in Arizona, even though this one had more sailboats and paddle-boarders and the water was definitely colder. But the sea, ah the sea. It was surely love at first sight. The water was colder than I imagined it would be, even colder than the bay. The seaweeds and kelp were no beauty as well, and the seagulls were intimidating. Yet the sea was beautiful and magnificent. I fell in love with her.

In the house, my husband's friend Mark greeted us and gave us a room for ourselves in the second floor. To my relief there were two other women and another couple joining us for the vacation, they were all Mark's friends. All of them chatted easily, even my husband, but I was too shy to say anything. Such a meek little mouse! I could only smile shyly and nervously holding the glass of wine they have given me, while everyone was already on their third glass or more and looking more lively than ever. My husband was appointed as the chef of the day, and even though we have made barbecue for so many times before, it felt really different to be among those lively beauties. We, I mean they laughed and joked around and were so joyful and merry, so confident with themselves and loving the hell out of their life. After dinner we all walked to the bay to see the fireworks, huddling and playing tags on the sandy beach which we all ended up in some sort of a pile just before the fireworks, too sloshed out to untangle ourselves and just laughing uncontrollably.

The next day we all went out to the beach, this time I was in my first two-piece ever, courtesy of Mark's friend Miranda. She was a beach wear designer and insist on giving me one of her work so I can get a 'healthy glow'. I was embarrassed at first, but the look on my husband's face was priceless, and so did the intense gaze from Mark. I felt powerful and in control. I loved it. The women, delighted with their new toy A.K.A. me, taught me everything they know about their life. They taught me about their gluten-free diet and vegan lifestyle, they taught me about matching accessories and shoes and dresses, they taught me how to flirt and win attentions. As the days went by, my skin became darker and my confident grew stronger. The little meek desert mouse have transformed into a genuine So-Cal girl. Another drink please, if you have time, so I can finish the story.

Don't get me wrong, I resisted the changes at first. I was uncomfortable with the amount of money they spent, or their wasteful habits. They insisted on the healthiest food possible, but a whole bunch of those went to the drain or stored for an eternity in the leftover boxes inside the refrigerator. They insisted on keeping the earth 'green', but they kept on buying these purified water in the bottle instead of reusing their old water bottle with tap water. They talked confidently about themselves and boasted their adventures and lifestyle, but they get super insecure when they saw somebody dressed a tad nicer than they are and would end up bitching about that person while buying another 'bling' to comfort themselves. It was all a facade, a rat race to ensure that they were better than others. Oh I could see that all right, I could see that as clear as day. Yet even though the logical me hated all of those things, even though the sensible me kept on reminding me of the comforting life I have back home, I still wanted to be a part of them. I wanted to be a part of these beauties, these attractive creatures-by-the-sea that were everything that I was not. Here, fill my glass. It won't be long now.

On our last day, Mark threw a party for us all. Miranda dressed me up in her sexy red dress, and Kerry – Miranda's partner – did my hair and makeup. I felt like Cinderella. We danced and laughed and had a good time, and then Mark suggested that we hit the club. Everyone agreed except my husband, who said he'd rather stay home and rest for our long drive tomorrow. Miranda cheekily asked if I would be driving tomorrow, and when my husband said no, she announced that she would 'kidnap' me for the night to everyone's laughter. I should have stayed home with him, but I wanted the night to last a little bit longer. There would be no more crazy dancing and joyous laughter in our desolate little home in the mountain, I told myself. I wanted to live the dazzling life just a little bit more before I return to my dreary old existence. Before we all went out my husband hugged me a little bit longer than usual, which should already be a premonition. I hugged him back and kissed him and told him I'll be back before midnight. We both knew it was a lie.

We went to so many clubs that I couldn't remember how and why we ended up losing the remainder of the group, and it was just me and Mark in his car. Mark was driving us through a beach side parking lot  when Miranda messaged him, saying that she and the others were already at home. I nervously smiled at Mark and told him we should be heading home, I didn't want my husband to be worried. He said OK, but asked that I should allow him a few minutes enjoying the quiet beach at night. So I did, and we walked to the edge of the water and sat there in silence. My phone rang soon after, it was from my husband. Mark pulled the phone away from my hand before I could answer it, and pushed it into my purse before he gently kissed me. The split second felt like an eternity for me. I should have slapped him and demanded to be brought home immediately. I should have cried for being violated in such a way. I should have cussed myself for allowing myself to be violated from the first place. But instead I kissed him back. Our kisses became stronger and more passionate as we hungrily devour each other in the reek of champagne and expensive cigar and in the comfort of warm sand, all while my phone rang. And that is when I die. 

It was already past two when we returned home. I took off my dress and went to bed, but my husband didn't even flinch, either he was deep asleep or pretending that he was asleep. When the dawn broke I saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at me and caressing my hair. His bags were already packed, but mine had not. He already knew what will happen. He kissed me over and over again, and between his tears and silent sobs he said “I love you sweet angel, I love you so much”. I cried with him, but I have made up my mind, and he knew it. He left shortly after while everyone was still asleep. Silent tears were streaming down my cheeks as I heard his car engine down in the garage, and how it faded as he drove away. Mark came in while I was still sitting there, crying and grieving. He hugged me close and wipe my tears away, and soon we were making love on the bed that still has my husband's scent and warmth. 

This one's on you, you say? Thank you but don't pity me honey, I did what I have to do and I have no regret. When I said I die, I really die inside. Mark and Miranda helped me to established myself here, and I flourished quite well. Yet day after day I could feel myself eroding, and my existence is now measured on how other people looked at me. I am a walking empty shell, albeit an attractive one. This life I chose is an empty life indeed, and often times I missed the simplicity of my old life, but I can't go back. We tried to reconcile, my husband and I, but I could only stay with him for a little over three months before returning back here. I have glitter in my eyes, and that's all I wanted to see. I have no regret.

JONATHAN: The lady had walked herself out when I saw her coat at the bar stool. I ran outside to give it to her when I saw her standing still at the sidewalk, looking intently at the live band across the road. “Kiss me, out on the bearded barley/nightly, beside the green green grass,” she sang softly along with the band, hugging herself tightly and swaying to the music. I stood next to her till the end, as she whispered the last part of the song with tears on her cheek, “So kiss me...” I wrapped her in her coat and she cried for a long time in my arms.

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Note: This short story won the Commendation from Society of Southwestern Arizona on their annual writing competition. The judge's comment is as below, but feel free to add your own in the comment section below!

Great description at the beginning. Who is James/ Nice, good character, at the top of page 3. Great description throughout. Character is strong. Needs tightening, but has potential. Enjoyed the format. 

White, Black, Discrimination, and An Indonesian in Between

Just like the author, my husband had a biracial daughter and biracial son. Oddly enough, I don't think any of the author's concern ever popped up in any of our conversation regarding the children's future. They are both light-skinned, but he assured me that anyone with black ancestry could easily figure out that they come from black descendant. Nevertheless we are more worried about how they can cope up with the already difficult and sometimes nonsense life in America, and more importantly, how they can open their eyes and accept the world in all its glory. Their mothers are accomplished women on their own, I guess that's also one of the reason why we wasn't that worried. 

Being an immigrant, it's always difficult to read about things like this. If we are talking about discrimination, frisking, and all that jazz, I would like to point out that I have to have my green card with me all the time when I am in the state of Arizona. I don't think Iggy Azalea would have that problem even though she was an illegal immigrant for 6 years. A friend of ours who is a Hispanic descendants told us she was frequently stopped at border patrol station, and at times even have to explain on how she was driving with a truck that was registered under somebody else's name (which is her husband). She is a natural-born American. My cousin wanted to take the Greyhound bus to visit me in LA, I urged him to think twice and look for other alternatives because I am very afraid that he would get harassed and bothered during the lengthy (more than 24 hours) trip. I went on a bus ride in Los Angeles and there was an intoxicated young black man busy harassing a Hispanic woman, calling her names and such. It was only a 10 minutes ride. 

Immigrants are always at odds. An agent from the Child Service Agency was positively aghast and in awe when I could answer her back in English and phrase my words more eloquently than she could. But even before I arrive in US, I have been a subject of doubts with many of husband's friends and family tried to talked him out of our relationship because they believe my motive is not love. How is that for prejudice? As for job opportunity, despite my stellar skills and impressive track record I have yet to secure even a single job in US, and only gotten about 3 or 4 interviews so far. I may have applied to the wrong companies for the last 2 months, but the fact is that my other friend from Indonesia has been applying for work since December 2012 and had only acquired one this month, and her field was more specific than mine. She got it only after she took courses in America, despite her own already qualifying education and lengthy job experience in Indonesia. It's like catch 22: I can get a job if I can show I have the experience, but how can I have the experience without getting a job first? This sounds unfair, and it is. Can I considered this as racism? I can, but I would choose not to. It sucks, but I am aware that if I were in their shoes, I would also thought hard about choosing someone from a country that I never even knew existed; even someone with American education and job experience can be a bit dim, why risk with someone who had none?  

Discrimination with a hint of slavery is not unfamiliar for Indonesia people. Some Indonesian, thanks to the Dutch that colonized (read: take over our land, enslaved our people, and dried out our resources for their own profit) Indonesia for more than 350 years, still have the slave-master mentality. These Indonesian think the white men are better than the Indonesian, and adore anything western. A great number of Indonesian celebrities are half Caucasian, people who went to western countries for their education (Australia, US, etc) are also considered more worthy than people who were just educated in Indonesia. I myself have enjoyed this obvious racial prejudice for a while, getting to have a well-paid jobs just because I happen to be fluent in English. To make matter worst, apparently a vast majority (if not all) tourists from western countries still have Allen Quatermain's 1800's way of thinking: that we Indonesian are a bunch of barbaric lawless uneducated people. Stories about how foreign business proprietor treat their local employees in a way that would not be accepted if it's done in their own countries (inhumane, disrespectful, unfair) are dime a dozen in Bali. These foreigners also demanded a higher salary and/or fee than the locals, and they will get it even though some of them work there illegally. I accompanied a western friend to a business meeting where, after he got a little too cozy and apparently forgot that I am Balinese, divulged that he hated Balinese and he thought they were just a group of greedy MFs. The potential clients kept glancing at me in horror and I could tell she was absolutely uncomfortable being caught in that situation. He didn't get the job, of course. 

If at this point you already said in the top of your head, "White man is the worse!" then allow me to rectify that. White man is not the worse. Discrimination is, and it is done not only by white men. Discrimination, or should I say fear for something different, happens everywhere and being done by everyone in this world. It is not only the white that discriminates (me as) an immigrant, the black also did the same, and even in the immigrant circle that would ascertain where you stand in the pecking order. My white husband can easily do all of the 7 points that the author wrote, but get this, people could still complain that he achieve all of that because he is white. "Of course he could get that education, he is white. Of course he can go anywhere he wants, he is white. Of course he can protest, he is white." Which sounds like a discrimination to me. You know what he can't do? He can't walked in a predominantly black or Hispanic neighborhood without looking so out of place and worried he'd get mugged or harmed. This is not a baseless fear, he can't even walked in LA without somebody asking him for change, while I can walked about without being bothered. He married a black woman for 10 years and in the end he still doesn't get accepted in the bro clique. When he casually told our waitress in a Colombian restaurant that he was born in Latin America she asked, "How come? You are white!" although to me the waiter looked as fair skinned as he is. He is also a 'target' back in Indonesia, where people charge him for things many times more than they would usually charge the locals because of his skin color. Is this all not discrimination?

When my cousin first came to US, he told me how his fellow student from Africa received harsh discrimination in the suburb area where they live, with people locking their apartment doors whenever the dark-skinned students walked by. It exists. It is painful. It is unfair. The question now, what can we do about it? You can't forced someone to change their perspective towards you, however, you can always offered a new, more favorable perspective. 

A few weeks ago I saw a black woman got denied entry in the Social Security office in Downtown LA because she carried prohibited items in her bag. She was told to leave the items outside the building, and she wasn't taking it. She cussed and insult the officers, even went as far as accusing them to target her and trying to prevent her from completing her business in the office. The officers, naturally, gradually became harsher and harsher towards her with every angry and insulting comments she made. The thing is, I knew for a fact that just a few minutes before her a black woman and her grandma was also denied entry, this time because her stiletto looked like it can be use as a weapon. She manage to resolve it gracefully and got inside in less than five minutes without any voiced raised. A few minutes before her my white husband was also denied entry, this time over a mini screwdriver. And in the morning a white woman was denied entry because she had some lead pipe pieces in her pants. And just before that, I had to go back home because I had accidentally brought a Tasser with me to the office. I was denied entry as well, but the atmosphere were much lighter back then compared to when they were dealing with the angry black woman. If anything, it should be more strenuous because stun gun is actually a dangerous weapon; but I was laughing and being polite all round, and the officers even made jokes with it and invited me to come straight back without waiting in line once I have placed the stun gun in a secure place. Mind you, I look very foreign and anyone who saw me would know instantly that I am not American. Shouldn't I be considered more dangerous than the other 'suspects'?

The story above has two significance. The first is the significance of attitude. Considered yourself in the officers' shoes, which person that you dislike most? Naturally, it would be the angry black woman (even though my stubborn white husband would probably come second since he too was very vocal about having to secure the insignificant screwdriver elsewhere). Then, you would undoubtedly resort to the readily-available stereotyping that black people are violent and unreasonable. It is always easier to generalized people according to the already popular belief, especially if it's a negative belief. It's like saying all Muslim are evil, all white girls drink Starbucks, all straight Christians hate gays, all third-world-country people are uneducated; even if there's only a few people that actually do that in each respective group, it is enough for others to condemn all the group members as a whole. The fact that there was another black woman that was not angry or violent may not even registered in your mind, or if it was registered you would label her as an outlier. 

When I told my cousin that the black people in America scared me, I did not think about my husband's exes or his friends from high school, I did not think about the young man from Mississippi that I helped at a TAP Metro station or the old man that chat with me on the train to Culver City, I did not think about our eccentric neighbor or anyone in LA that has been so generous to me with their smile and assistance. When I told my cousin that the black people in America scared me, I was thinking about the verily drunk man that pulled the zipper on my backpack and went on an expletive-laden tirade because I was apparently blocking his way (I was not) and then proceed to harass my husband, even though he was with his toddler child, for some money. I was thinking about all the other people with smug look in their face when they stopped and asked us for money, even settling with slices of our pizza as if we owed them something. I was thinking about the rap songs that is filled with expletive and violence and glorified criminality. This, mind you, is how someone who is not tainted with American culture sees what's happening in America, how someone who is not brainwashed, so to speak, about white supremacy sees what's happening in America. Attitude matters, I always say to my Muslim friends. It is not enough to quietly disagree with the violent way a very few Muslim behave, they need to speak up and show the world that terrorist way is not equivalent to Islam's way. Can't this be a similar approach to the black people in America?

The second significance from that story is to try to keep your head clear. The angry woman accused that she was targeted, when actually other people had been denied entry as well. I don't know what it's like to live as a black in America, but I know what it's like to live as a minority in Indonesia. When we live in the outskirt of Jakarta where Hindu is minority it is very difficult for us to build temple/praying site, with neighbors looking at the temple in our house as if it was the devil's shrine and some other people throwing human feces to the Hindu community's newly-built main temple, the only one in miles around. The education level in some places in Indonesia were very low, and it makes them an easy target for "Salem Witch" type of riots, where innocents people would be persecuted and harmed if they were from different tribe or religion. In the big 1998 riot, churches and other praying sites were burned, the Indonesian-Chinese were robbed, raped, killed. Even now, there are still religious leaders and groups that spread out false accusations and inflames hatred towards other religion. And yes, the living condition in Indonesia is not as benefiting as the living condition in America. How'd you like that? I didn't froze and lament on my unfortunate situation. I can't (and won't) change the fact that I am not the majority, or the fact that there will be ignorant out there that would harm me if they can. To me, the only option is to keep moving forward, to keep improving myself, because for hell I don't want to be stepped on by anyone. Anger and self-pity won't get you anywhere, because it could work as an excuse when you actually haven't done your best. You just have to keep moving forward and focus on yourself.

One thing that always amazes me is the amount of information and self-education you can easily get in US. Unlike Indonesia, even the smallest libraries here have decent amount of books and Wi-fis are available almost anywhere, and books can even be owned for as little as 50 cent from Friends of The Library. I had to taught myself English through books/songs/movies, Internet is slow and expensive, and books are difficult to come by. At times I would stand for 4 hours just to finish reading a book at the bookstore (because it was too expensive to buy it). Yet here I am in America. My career has been illustrious to say the least: A medical graduates, an English teacher, a wedding consultant for high-end clienteles, and a budding writer that just won her first commendation. Mind you, I was the only dark-skinned person in the ceremony and I heavily suspect I am the only one that is not American as well. If I could do all of this, why can't others? 

For all that matters, it is unfathomable for me and my husband to say: "I wish our child(ren) would stay white" in order for them to be able to do things that my husband could do because of his so-called white privilege. The world is rapidly changing, battles lost and won, wars started and ended. It is far more important for us to teach our children about the dynamics of the world, about how to be good and nice and strong, and how to keep themselves from harm's way. We can't protect them from the ignorant people that could hate them because of, well, anything actually; but we can taught them pride and that mindless haters are just a part of this world as termite and zombie bees (albeit with more annoying quality). Everyone got discriminated one way or another, and it's happening all over the world because the majority of humans right now is a bunch of d*ck who can't come to term with their own insecurity and jealousy. Why fear the inevitable? 

When You Walked Out That Door

The room got a lot colder when you walked out that door. Just like that. Some people wouldn't even notice the difference in temperature, but for me it was like between cozy spring and chilly winter. The clock seemed to tick a lot louder, filling our apartment with the automatic tick tock, a grim reminder of the time I have spent without you. I pulled the duvet over me. The down feather filling would've caused me heat stroke should I use it in my hot and humid tropical country, but this morning it felt as thin as my beach sarong, and twice as cold. It's so cold. So very cold.

Was my life without you ever this cold? Was my life without you ever this lonely? You went away and suddenly my life froze. Am I being delusional? A crazy clinger and a madwoman desperate for love? But life before you was cold. Life without you was lonely. In the sunny days filled with amazement and adventures, in the lovely nights filled with enchantment and mysteries, I have walked alone for so long, and deep inside, a chilliness grew that can't be broken even in the hottest, sunniest day. I laugh and I smile, but the hollowness were there, silently freezing my soul from within. Then you came, and your embrace broke the spell I cast on myself.

With you, there is no need for pretends and facades. I am allowed to be myself, without limits and restriction. There is no need for me to smile a fake smile and say "Everything is fine" when it is actually not, just to protect your feeling. I could cry if I want to. I could scream if I want to. I could cuss if I want to. I could give you my all, because you were strong enough for that. For the first time I don't need to think what or how my partner would feel, because with you, I know you would understand. And when I see your face in the morning, sleeping so soundly next to me, it is like looking at myself. You are my reflection in the mirror. You are the one I have been waiting for so long.

I love how warm your body is when I lay next to yours. I love how you embrace me so close and never let go. I love how our fingers intertwined and locked in their own embraces. I love how you made me feel wanted and love. Every night that we sleep in each other's arms feels like a new blessing, and I keep telling God how good it feels to be with you and how thankful I am to have you in my life, even though I am sure He already knew that. The scent of your body, the strength of your arms, the softness of your hair, the stubble on your chin when you forgot to shave, these are the things that lulled me to sleep, the things that represent stability and strength that you provide for me. Lest forget the occasional kisses, which I am sure to receive every now and then even when you were barely awake, a beautiful reminder of how much you love me.

Then you walked out of the door, and the room became very, very cold and lonely. I know you would be back in the evening, smiling and grinning happily because it feel so good to be home. I know the apartment will then be filled with laughter and love once again, and the coldness in the apartment and inside me couldn't touch me anymore. I know that there will be days where I wouldn't be in the apartment all by myself, when I got a job or have other things to do. I know that. Yet this morning, I also know how cold and lonely my life was before I met you, and how cold and lonely my life would now be without you. Come home soon, love. I miss you already.