Be the Church; on Christmas and Everyday

This post was in my draft folder and in the spirit of trying to compile experiences and reflections, I've updated it for this year. I'm surprised that even after 2 years, so many topics remain relevant. Thank you for reading. May all the blessings of this holiday season be with you throughout the year!

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As long as I can remember, Christmas has been my favorite season. Beginning with a big, gorgeous (and REAL!) tree the day after Thanksgiving, the season continued with community service, introspection and reflection, baking, church services, song, and much, much, merriment. In looking back, now from a completely different vantage, shopping was also a big part of the season, but in my family, it was never about TVs, camcorders, and new cellphones, but about the tireless effort to find just the right thing for all the right people; sometimes it was something small (a pack of gum to joke with a friend who can't seem to live without it) to the video game with the music that you swore you couldn't stand. The point of the shopping was about showing the people we care about that we remember them and love them - idiosyncrasies and all.

Christmas is, after all, about love. There are many ways to show it and the month of Christmas would be spent working to show it - in as many ways as possible.

For many of us, those ways begin in the pews. We know about Christmas because it's our faith tradition. We celebrate Christmas because it reminds us of God's gift to the world, Jesus Christ; God made flesh to live, love, and even suffer among us in human form.

I came to Indonesia as a missionary; not to proselytize, not to "plant churches", not to even really talk about my faith, but to serve.

It's been more than five years since I've worked as a missionary, but in reality, I've never stopping working towards that ultimate call to "be the Church".

It's easy to get caught up in what that means. In a place where religion is as much a part of one's identity (and even social status) as faith, it can be a challenge.

Daily I am reminded that the life of Christ, much like any of our lives, is seen through the eye of the beholder. What is "Christian" to some is arguably NOT to others. What makes the foundation of my faith may, or may not be, what fortifies the faith (or religious practices) of other Christians. Regardless, we are called to be the Body of Christ. For the past seven years I've been trying to find that place, been trying to be a part of the church of believers. I've been trying, to the best of my human ability, to follow Christ the Redeemer.

As an outsider, I'm thankful that I don't have to put  my religion on an ID card. I'm thankful for the privilege that allows me to practice my faith in the way I know as an American and not in the tracks of colonial empire. It is a privilege and I am thankful, but I'm also sad.

I'm sad that I can't engage in the traditions and conversations that predominate in my culture. I miss the opportunity to "do" things that make me feel good and hopefully help others. One year we "adopted" a family; a single mom with two or three children. That year, for the first time in my life, I had a decent job and a little disposable income. I didn't spend much - maybe $200 - but I bought what was on the list and I spent as much time on that as I would with someone I knew. The bathrobe had to be a nice one...and on sale...the other things had to be things that anyone I knew would love to have. I threw in some extra things that I loved when I was killing myself to make ends meet...a pretty pair of earrings, fragrant bath and beauty products. I had put my heart into that endeavor and it felt good. When I was struggling as a single mom, I received a little basket from a Sunday school class for Mother's Day one year. I remembered how much it meant to have pretty things for me. Of course it's a blessing to receive baby clothes and other related needs, but mommies have needs, too. It felt good to finally be able to (hopefully) return that feeling. I miss that.

One day a few years ago I was sharing some of those things with my Mom. True to form, she said "Well Charlotte - you're going to have to create new traditions". And also true to form, I tried to do what she advised.

In 2014, we began hosting an intimate Christmas gathering. The first year consisted of a small group of friends - we all had our stories and together we shared our joys and struggles. The next year we added a few more, and the next a few more, and this year, 2017, was the largest of them all, but the spirit of peace, joy, friendship, and togetherness remained.

This new tradition is a blessing for me - it's the one time of year I can "be me", with all my idiosyncrasies and silliness. Most of all, I can express my faith in a new and very real way. You see, I neglected to mention that our Christmas gathering is always an interfaith event. I have taken part in religious-but-not-my-religion gatherings for babies, marriages, housewarmings, and more, but our Christmas gathering is the one time that I can share my traditions, my joy, and my sense of love and happiness with the people I appreciate every day throughout the year.

The menu is a "fusion" of Southern American and Indonesian selections - bean soup and rice are a staple, as are rum balls and bourbon balls, but this year we added a tray of fried treats - tempeh (tempe goreng), corn fritters (dada jagung), and potato croquettes (perkadel), not to mention the famed "tape ketan hitam" (fermented black sticky rice wrapped in leaves). We have coffee and tea and special concoctions whipped up by an extremely talented friend. There is laughter and comraderie. It is the highlight of my year.

Now as I said before, I'm not in the business of proselytizing or trying to "plant" anything, but when a friend who came asked me where I was going to church the next day, I told the truth. This is my church, I said. Our Gusdurian friends jokingly call our house the Karangploso Church (Gereja Karangploso). It's a place where all are welcome in the spirit of peace, joy, and love.

So while I miss the very American aspects of a Southern Christmas season, there's much to be said for creating new traditions. I'm thankful to share love and appreciation with friends and to have this opportunity to feel peace, joy, and love abounding.

And isn't that something we all need, not only at Christmas, but everyday?

Choke

The past 7 years have been a time of exponential growth and no shortage of sadness. It is hard to be "the Other" and even harder when there's no feasible way to change it.

I have been singing in choirs since I was a small child, but had never sung alone in front of people until I arrived in Indonesia (except for one talent show in Brazil when I was 17...does that count?)

It seems to me that most non-Indonesians, especially westerners, come here because they love it or because they have a good job. If they're lucky, they come here for both reasons.

I came here because I thought I'd finally found something I could do for the rest of my life...and get paid for it: serve God. I love people, I've already served in every position in a restaurant and I've also been an Elder in my church and in the choir. I love to do for others.

Perhaps I should have stayed in the US and done for others because I have been able to do little more than choke ever since I got here. I don't teach the way they wanted me to, I'm not white enough, and I'm too liberal. Not only that, but being a white southerner who grew up with utopian ideas thanks to Sesame Street, I'm not the one to sit quietly and accept or accommodate injustice and silly games. Oh and did I mention that I won't lie and can't be expected to, no matter which culture wants to claim it as a tradition?

I stopped taking formal language classes when the schedule of my so-called "work" changed. Conversing with others is the best way to learn they say, anyway, but I quickly tired of the conflicting directions I was given, as well as the laughter. It's hard enough to manage in an extremely different environment without the added bothers. I guess I mostly stayed silent for about about 3 years; at least as far as language learning.

Finally I realized how stupid that was, plus I moved to a place that is more accepting of differences and the people I was around didn't make a sport out of making fun of others. I've been learning, but it's hard. I don't have much incentive to learn. I'm an introvert, I am not allowed to work (visa issues), and I know enough to have sufficient conversations anyway.

I recently joined a choir. After being completely disillusioned with the post-colonial church and realizing that my western whiteness makes anything worse in this context, I've been trying to find a way to worship again.

I was supposed to sing two sentences in Javanese and I choked. I forgot the entire second sentence and I squeaked though the first one. I'm embarrassed and I feel like I let the choir down.

The part I forgot? In English it would be "my life is always blessed". The part I remembered was "Ever since I've " let go and let God". Yep, that's right.

Ever since I have tried with all my might to follow Christ, speak out against injustice, and be "the light", my life has been a mess. I now know why people choose to follow the status quo. It's easier. I have never felt like more of a failure.

Is that what it's supposed to be like or am I being punished because I'm just so awful? Don't answer too quickly because I assure you, such an answer opens a veritable Pandora's box.

The long and short of it is that sometimes when you try to save your life, you lose it. I haven't gotten much past the lose part. I'm still lost and apparently, still choking on my ignorance and experiences.

Mustang Sally and Big Bad John

Ever since the I became acquainted with the tiny, crying kitten who would come to have the name of Mustang Sally, I knew I was in for more than I expected.

I didn't mean, really, to get her. A few days before I heard her cries in the dark early morning, one of our clan had disappeared. Sophia was likely taken, but I kept on hoping that she had only run off; momentarily spooked over a neighbor's fireworks. When I heard the fearful meowing, I went outside and saw her. Under a parked car, she wailed. Hmph. Not Sophia, I can go in, but wait. Is she following the trash collectors? Oh if they pick her up and toss her in their cart she'll surely die! Let me just follow along and make sure that she stays out of their bins. We had enough, or too many (depending on your perspective), cats, but when the trash collector scooped her up and handed her directly to me rather than tossing her in his cart, what could I do other than take her?

Sally is, without a doubt, the most challenging of all our clowder of babies. She is either full of love and cuddles with the other cats, and even with us, or out of nowhere she'll pounce and swipe one on the head or nibble my leg when I'm at the sink, especially if I sing! The other cats seem to understand her ways as she is now the slightest of the bunch and any one of them could take her on, but they don't. They must know something that I need to learn. All the same, she ofen prances about on my last nerve. A while back I wrote about Sally and while I should have written a follow up to say that although my new experiment of reaching out to her with more love than scorn has made a positive difference, she's still Sally.

After bopping one of the babies on the head today, I did what my daughter knows too well: I sang her an on-the spot song entitled "Sally, don't be an asshole". As usual, Johnny came to check on his lover. They have a special relationship that I try to understand because Johnny's nature is the most peaceful, most purely spiritual, and most docile of any of them. He's the only one who'll engage with her when she acts like that. Jack and Saucy give her "the look" while Peter and Simon stare in utter amazement that such a little thing acts with such bravado.

Johnny and Sally - love from day one

I kept on singing because it wasn't a bad song and oddly enough, she stopped fussing at me for singing and sat down to listen. Maybe she was thinking "WHO is being an asshole, Mom?" As she listened, so did I. Where did I hear that melody? Is it from another song that I've embellished? It didn't sound half bad so surely I didn't make it up!

All of a sudden Jimmy Dean's Big Bad John popped into my head:

"Kinda broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip
And everybody knew ya didn't give no lip to big John"

I stopped my singing and thinking and rushed to the computer to hear Jimmy Dean's hit.

Johhny

As with many songs that made their way into our American consciousness, Big Bad John tells the tale of a big strong man with a questionable background who has a big heart. A heart so big that he sacrificed himself for the lives of 20 miners. 20 miners who feared him to the point that they'd hardly talk to him and probably excluded him from their daily lives, but it didn't matter. Big John saved them because of who he was, not because of who they were. He was not a leader, he was not the boss, and he was most definitely an outsider. And yet he saved the day.

Being out of context for so long and experiencing the magnificence of Islam Nusantara, the culturally contextualized practice of Islam specific to Indonesia, I often reflect on American Christianity, my faith tradition.

It's tempting to think that my Christian religion is practiced relatively the same all around the world because of the basic tenets, but similar to the question of which came first, politics or history, I have to ask, which came first? Culture or religion?

As the very Indonesian understanding of Islam permeates this society,  I've learned that the same has happened in the US regarding Christianity, as very surely it's happened everywhere else in the world. Our American cultural traditions honor the underdog, especially the ones with the big hearts willing to sacrifice themselves for others. We LOVE Big Bad John. Maybe, just maybe, to many of us the idea of an ousider thinking of others before himself is something Jesus would do. To think that there is one pure way of practicing religion is ignorant at the least and dangerous at the worst. Our cultures are woven into the ways we practice and understand our faiths. There are no absolutes. Absolutes form the foundation for modes of outdated thinking that manage to emerge from dark places whenever the rest of us stop paying attention.

Recently on Facebook there have been some posts about the leader who ruled Indonesia for more than 30 years. He is viewed as either a kind of father-figure or as a despot, depending on your perspective, His era is referred to as the New Order and was ideologically based on the same kinds of organic heriarchies that influenced the facists of the early twentieth century.

Perhaps you can't see how Sally fits into all this.

According to David Bouchier in Illiberal Democracy:

              Guidance, hierarchy, harmony, structure, familiarity, paternalism, and 

              patriarchy were all key themes in the Soeharto regime's attempt to 'order' 

              Indonesia's social and political life

The awareness I've had about everybody "knowing their place" has finally made its way into the relationship I have with my pets.

You see, Sally doesn't exactly fit in. She doesn't really fit in the way I want her to (I mean I like to keep my things picked up, but for the sake of neatness, not because I have to worry about them getting peed on).

Not to mention that she can be a bit of a bully from time to time.

I wouldn't tolerate behavior such as that from a human. Why would I endure it from a mere cat? I realized that I put up with her for 2 reasons, mostly. Number 1, she's a part of our family. Number 2, she's a cat and I can't expect her to think rationally like a human being should.

This is the part where it all comes together.

In the typical hierarchy of living things, humans should be at the top of the pyramid (much like Soeharto was during the New Order and as a father is often similarly placed in the family structure,)

The trouble with that pyramid is that the people at the top don't always act in the most rational, humane, or intelligent ways meaning that their position at the top is not legitimate. It is false and based on power, money, gender, privilege...you get the picture.

And sometimes those lower in the pyramid act with more intelligence, grace, and aplomb than those at higher levels. Sometimes, those in lower levels, one such as Big Bad John, save the day.

In the 21st century we are facing new times and new ways of thinking. The out-dated idea of structural heirarchy is being replaced by the idea of "heterarchy"

Image with thanks to http://www.maccoby.com/Articles/CreatingNetworkCompetenc.shtml

Even in my rather isolated circumstances I can experience the changes happening in the world. In this case, it's through my cats.  The main difference between hierarchies and heterarchies is that heterarchies are kinetic. They shift and change position - they can evolve.  Who we are, the roles we play, and our positions in society change depending on need and ability. Figure it out, understand it, and make it work.This is in high contrast to the hierarchy model in which places are set in stone and immobile. That model is being superceded. And I learned about it in real time from Sally.

Sally has taught me that there is room at the table for everybody. The onus is not on others to adapt to us, but on all of us to hold space for one another so that we all can learn and grow, together. To have compassion, to think outside our own limited bubbles, to be forced to see something from another perspective. Sally's relationships with the other cats showed me that they knew something about her that I didn't, or couldn't, grasp. 

That made me pay attention.

I've struggled with Sally. She has taught me more than I've been ready to learn and somehow, somehow, she's finally calmed down. She's not a bully anymore.  Sometimes we need to let others teach us something; even if that other is a cat. Class dismissed.

Thanks, Mustang Sally.

A Lesson from Feline Friends

Our favorite cafe is a place where we can visit friends, have delicious coffee and even a tasty traditional beverage called Es Sinom, laugh, read a book, and enjoy the warmth that permeates the space – from the first floor to the open terrace on the top with the amazing views of the city. As is common with friendly places and kind people, all kinds of visitors are drawn in to share and be comfortable together. Two of the most precious guests, and now residents, are a mother cat and her baby.

Kopi Ireng at Oase Cafe

When they first arrived, the baby was less than a month old; tiny and completely dependent upon mommy for sustenance. The mom realized she had found a good place – the people were kind and fed her. They loved both her and her baby. She was finally safe from the struggles of the street. She became very protective of her new digs; she would absolutely not let another cat come in and she guarded her baby, and her new home, against other would-be interlopers with all her strength.

Last night when we arrived there for our weekly gathering, there was a new visitor. A small kitten, maybe 2 or 3 months old. A fluffy and clean kitten, it walked around as if it had found a new home, too. Where was the protective mother with her little baby? Even though the little baby isn’t so little any more, everybody knows that to a mom, our children are always our little babies. So, anyway – where were they?

The new kitten seemed relaxed and comfortable around people. Weird, I thought. Why has this one not been run off like the others before?

As usual when paying attention to cats, I learned something.

Later on in the evening, the resident baby cat arrived. True to form, she walked around and checked everybody out. She saw the new little baby sleeping on the lap of a friend and continued on her journey. “Where’s the mom?” I kept thinking.

The not-so-little-anymore baby - completely at home

Finally as we were leaving, I saw the mom with 2 cat friends hanging out by the side of the road near the corner of the cafe. If they were human beings, they would have been shooting the breeze and chatting amicably. Whoa! That’s the mom that won’t let any other cats come near her treasured safe space? Wow! Look at her now!

Then I began understand.

When resources are limited and we don’t know where or how we’ll get our next meal, the natural temptation is to hoard. To protect. To exclude. To save ourselves first.

But when we know we are safe, when we know we are loved and we’re being cared for, we can be more open. We can begin to share.

Now this isn’t to say that when we struggle we tend to be greedy, it’s only to highlight how easy it is to try and protect what we have. I recall working as a city planner and hearing complaints from surburban residents that there was another subdivision being built next to them and they’re cutting down trees and grading the land! I would nicely remind them that before their own subdivision was built, the rural residents likely had the same concerns. We can’t run around trying to meet our own needs and slam the door on others doing the same, or can we?

All of this thinking reminded me of having faith in God. Some verses from The Holy Bible, Matthew 6:

25 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. ... 26 Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. ... 

28 “And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29 Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30 If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? 31 So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33 But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. ...

The mommy cat at the cafe finally got it – she was loved, she was safe, and she and her baby would be cared for and given food, as well as a loving home. Perhaps when she realized that, she was able to be friendly with the other cats, possibly even letting them come inside for a meal and to rest. She was certainly letting them closer than she ever had before. Maybe she knew that it was OK to share her good fortune with others.

My point is that if animals, especially cats, can love one another, share resources, and change their behavior when they realize they are loved, safe, and cared for, can we human beings with sincere faith in God ever do the same?

 

Peter and Ti at home. Different litters, different places of birth, different ages. One love.

Looking on the Sunnyside

This post is dedicated to my Grandfather

Being conscious of our thoughts and working through our emotions may sound like New Age mumbo jumbo, but I don't think that my Grandfather followed that path. He was a Methodist.

This may have happened when he was 91 - two years before he would pass away, or maybe this happened when he was 93 years old; the age at which he left us, but it doesn't really matter. The answer he gave to my Grandmother's sister was something that we often heard from him. And it is, I believe, how he managed to live so long and be such an inspiration to so many people.

He was in the hospital. He had respiratory heart failure. He was going Home.

"Well, Calvin. There's only one way out now and the road is coming to an end."

"Well, I know all that, but I prefer to look on the sunny side"

And there he was, lying in that hospital bed looking on the sunny side.

He was surrounded by his dearest family members, a staff of nurses and doctors who treated him with love and kindness, flowers and cards from former students and friends who loved him and that he had loved during his time as a teacher and principal.

The sunny side.

That's the sunny side. We can't control other people - what they do, where they go, how they think, but we can control ourselves and our thoughts. He chose to have happy thoughts. He chose to look on the sunny side.

Sometimes it's hard to keep our chins up in the world. Especially with what is happening now, but every era has had its challenges. I don't know who read more than my Grandfather. He was an academic and his library was an endless source of fascination for me - he had a little of everything, it seemed. He and my Grandmother also watched Walter Cronkite every night, they also watched Laurence Welk, too. He knew what was happening in the world and he did not live in a bubble of ignorance.

When faced with social change and the regular challenges of life, I know that instead of reacting with hate, judgment, defeat and withdrawal, he was moved to love more, to serve his community at every turn, and to never settle with my knee-jerk ideas and rebelliousness before he could clear his throat to tell me how to think on those things with reason, compassion, and what I now know would be called "grace".

My Grandfather was a Southern man. He came from a long line of educators. He had been an officer in the Navy and a high school principal. He didn't entertain silly ideas or "mumbo jumbo", but he also would not be reduced into pettiness or negativity. Rather than complain, or "belly-ache", as he called it, he did his best to do as much good as he could where he was. I never heard him say ONE word that could be construed as racist - and that's considering the definitions from both then and and now. The bottom line is that my Grandfather was many things, but one that he was not was a HATER.

It seems that the more we learn and grow, the more likely it is that we'll uncover things that make us feel ashamed or guilty, even hot-damn angry; about our nations, our cultures, even about ourselves and others. It's crystal clear to me and even though it gets hard  - anger, hate, resentment, and spite come a'knockin', but I'm not gong to answer the door.

I prefer to look on the sunny side, too.



Psalm 121 (NIV)
A song of ascents.


1 I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.


3 He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.


5 The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.


7 The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
8 the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

Where to Begin?

It's been 6 years since I have been on this journey; it's been 5 since it took a drastic change in direction.  The saying "no matter where you go, there you are" is true, but true in a way that seems to defy its snarky tone. I am the same me, in my head, but to think that I am free from the labels, assumptions, and the context of my surroundings, well that's just folly. Our context determines our identity. Chimamande Ngozi Adichie precisely describes that shocking reality in the novel Americanah.

It is etched into both my brain and being that if I don't have anything nice to say, I need to keep my mouth shut. I wish that I had more nice things to say, I do, but honestly, these years have been the hardest of my life.

The inauguration of the new American president prompted my reflection on the meaning of a "post-truth" world.

You see, I've been learning about post-truth for the past 6 years. Indonesia continues to reel from a 32-year long authoritarian regime that impacted almost every aspect of daily life. Through laws, policy, dictates, and propaganda, the mindset of the greater society was altered. Once propaganda gets in the water and once people can be fooled or forced to believe it, it doesn't just "go away". William Faulker said the past is never dead, it's not even past.  William Faulkner was right.

I've  read on Facebook the ugly name-calling from all sides and, while I've never been one to shy away from a good argument in person, the depths to which my society and culture have plunged shock me.

We, just as much as anywhere else in the world, "developed" or "developing", are swimming in hate, judgment, and "othering" with dreams of salvation by a boss-man/authoritarian.

It's understandable; I mean, really. Wouldn't we all like to shut those damn idiots up? (whoever they are) Why don't they get the hell on out of here and back where they belong? (whoever and wherever they may be) And they sure are stupid! Idiots! (no matter how much education they have or how respected they are in their respective professions) And if they look like "us", but don't think like "us", the "They're not real Christians/Muslims/Patriots/Nationalists!" admonishment is hurled at the newly minted "other".

We've descended into a stinking bog of identity politics and for my part, I always thought that kind of primitive thinking belonged somewhere else.

Now I realize there is nowhere else.

It's a part of the human condition and the idea that some are more civilized, developed, or "modern" is a farce. My mother once said "wherever there are people, they're going to act like people."

We do indeed.

How dare I ever have thought that we were better? That our systems were better? That our way was better? There are people in power who seek to destroy and dismantle every single thing that made me think my country was great.

As a woman and a Southerner with open eyes, I know that injustice abounds, but being an 80's girl made me think that we were moving past our wrongdoings. We were going to be better. I thought that phase of our history was over.

But injustice is no phase. It is so very human. It always has been. To fight it, we have to be prepared to lose some things.

Lose our jobs,
Lose our self-respect.
Lose our ideas about civilization.
Lose our standing in the community.
Hell, lose our community.
Lose our identities, our privileges, our sense of being right, or for that matter, what "right" actually means.

You see, the systems that perpetuate injustice rely on our compliance, our silence, and even our cooperation. Systematic injustice is beyond a person or party. It's in the water.

Not falling into the gooey morass of societal norms means that sometimes we can't comply with what we're asked to do, we can't be silent, and that means, finally, that we won't be able to cooperate.

Sometimes, we just can't drink the water.

The Dakota Access Pipeline controversy, the "accidental" coal ash spills in the Tar River, and the lead in the water in Ferguson show that systemic injustice is in the water both figuratively and literally.

Systemic injustice is in the water, not just in the US, but everywhere.

To make a change, we have to learn to be thirsty. We will have to lose some things; some conveniences, some privileges, some income, but isn't it worth it?

John Stewart, the famous American humorist and social critic, said if we're not willing to act on our values, they're not values, they're only hobbies.

I want to say that acting on our values today means that we're going to have to learn to be thirsty.

And after 6 years, what do I know? Damnation, I'm thirsty.

The Road That Brought Me...

This evening I had a refreshing conversation with a young woman I met at the 1 year birthday celebration of Gubuk Tulis, a local community group that supports and encourages reading and writing. www.gubuktulis.com

As the event wound down, she asked if she could ask me a question.

I said of course, but in my head I was thinking "oh gosh - somebody wants to practice their English...at 11 o'clock at night!"

"You seem like a person who loves Indonesia," she opined. I hesitated because I'm grateful and I appreciate many things, but love is a strong word. I guess I kind of looked to her to continue because I wasn't really sure what I should say.

"Well, specifically I guess it seems that you love Malang" she continued in her precisely articulated English. After a flash of appreciation and amazement for her language skills, I breathed a sigh of relief. Whew! That's easy and a good conversation starter.

We were able to talk about some serious things like opportunities to work, in general, to teach, specifically, but what we talked the most about was how, in her words "most white people do not love Indonesia."

The fact that she said "white people," oddly enough, was a welcome change for me because the word that is most often used in Indonesian is "bule." Bule means "white person" - or a white water buffalo, even - and sometimes people will say that it means "foreigner", but that phrase is "orang asing" and I've yet to hear of a white person being called an "orang asing" in conversations. We're "bule".

Listening to people dance around the justifications for using the term "bule" is tiresome and, so late at night, I just didn't want to begin a conversation centering on why I can live on foods other than bread and cheese and how the weather here, for me, is not too hot.

I was very pleased that this young woman was prepared to communicate honestly and openly.

Anyway, as I was saying, her directness and honesty were a breath of fresh air.

She shared that she once had a professor who couldn't stand it here, I'm assuming this was a white person even though the country of origin wouldn't necessarily be a clue, The professor, apparently, had mentioned the traffic, the burning trash, the low salary...

"Wait wait wait..." I interrupted. "She told you all those things?"

"Yes, and she's now in Jakarta teaching there" she replied.

"Oh Jakarta," I quipped "that's an improvement." (I try not to be snarky, but I am, actually, proud of Malang. This is my home.)

At this point in our conversation, I shared with her a story about a kind of rule that I try to follow. It goes like this:

The region I come from in the United States is called the South. We have our own culture and it's pretty different from what most people from other countries think of when they think of the US.

When I was growing up, I went to school with a lot of kids who had come there from other parts of the country. When I was still a child, I often heard from friends that "we" talked funny and "we" were backwards, I can still clearly hear the comments in my mind because I heard them so often and because, I believe, they are still common.

"Why is everything closed on Sunday?"
"Why are there no bagels around here?"
"Do you have any decent bakeries?"
"Why do you people put so much sugar in your tea?"
"Is everything fried?"
"Why do you guys cook all your vegetables to death?"
"I bet you don't know even where (insert name of country or Canadian province here) is!"

That was tiresome. And it still is. I've had more than my fair share of conversations with people from the "civilized parts" of America who still think the South is a backwater bog of inbred derelicts.

The common retort, as I got older, to the barrage of insults and denegrating remarks was "The road that brought you here will take you back!"

I guess because of that experience, I'm determined to never say bad things about where I live. Of course I see the things and experience the things that so many "white people" complain about. Everybody sees it. Everybody experiences it.

But I also see something else.

I see a community of people who have welcomed me. Where I used to live, it was common, even for adults, to point at me and screech "BULE!!!" That does not happen here. People actually treat me like a person.

I see a community of people who speak up for what they love and what they care about. The motto for the local football team, Arema, is Salam Satu Jiwa (Peace of One Soul). It doesn't only apply to the fans and the team, though. That spirit is in the water here and diversity is embraced and celebrated.

Malang has many big trees, sidewalks, efficient public transportation, and an engaged citizenry.

There are committed scholars, religious leaders, environmentalists, business owners, activists, and elected representatives who work to make Malang a place to live with a high quality of life for all its citizens.

And just as much, I know that the road that brought me here can take me back. I will not be that person.

My new friend and I had a nice conversation this evening and I'm glad that she initiated it. Sometimes I need to be reminded of good things, of how my own life experiences shape and form my present, and most of all, that there are still people in this world who care - about decent conversation, about learning something new, and making a new friend.

From Malang, Salam Satu Jiwa.

Cats Are Aliens

Having an open mind has always been important to me. I've tried to understand things from the perspectives of those with whom I disagree or can't understand. I try to catch myself making ugly judgments about things that I may not have all the information about and I like to think that I can change my mind, my actions, or my beliefs accordingly. This is a kind of special hell for an overthinker, but I must say that I'm feeling relieved that maybe I won't have to work so hard any more.

(wonder if I need to add a disclaimer that this is an attempt at satire? Nah!)

I mean, truly, why worry about what other people seem to be doing - actions may speak louder than words, but when we understand a person's INTENTIONS, we don't have to focus on their actions anymore.

 So simple!

 If someone says they're not racist or that what they did is NOT what it seems to have been, who am I to say otherwise?

 I can't get inside their head and figure it out for myself, so I should just go with what what they say, or better yet, what other people say.

 Easy peesy!

  In that same way, what does it matter how my intentions are interpreted by others?

 They need to try harder to see my perspective.

 Maybe I just need to tell them that I'm smart and that I know what I'm talking about.

 That should suffice.

 I can back it up and there may even be friends who'd back me up, too. That's the new world and I believe it's going to be a LOT easier to get along since we don't have to think so hard. We can just look at things, decide what they mean, and move on.

 If any explanation or reasoning (ARGH!!!! SCARY!!!!) gets in the way, we just have to remember:

things are never what they seem, 

but they are always what we believe them to be.

I saw on YouTube a video that "proves" no disabled person was mocked by someone that many thinking people either love or detest.

 What does thinking mean, anyway? 

The definition of thinking: our brains are churning around and producing thoughts. 

(Told you this new world's gonna be a piece of cake). 

Everybody's smart! Everybody's dumb! 

The days of dignity and decorum are O.V.E.R. 

As Ted Nugent sang, "cause I got me a rock & roll band - it's a free for all!" WOOOOO! 

I got a little rock and roll band. And they're aliens.

Some people seem to not like cats. They're too independent. They're evil. They actually hate you. Damn cats. Why can't they just do what I tell them to do? Hmph. Don't they know they're just animals? Some people eat animals. SMH. Anyway.

I saw on Facebook that cats can't resist a circle. They have to sit in them. Silly people. They said it's because they like to feel safe or something. Well, since I know all about cats and am near 'bout surrounded by them everyday, I know what they're really doing. 

See, people don't hate cats because they're independent. People hate them because they're not people. Cats don't hate us because we are not cats, cats are just pissed off aliens.

 Everybody knows that to go to a different place, we just have to step through a portal (I saw it in Warcraft and read about it in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe - just to name a couple of sources - there are many stories about portals between dimensions

 - you can Google it.) 

Cats are always trying to get back where they came from - that's why they're always getting in boxes and sitting in these circles. They were sent here to spy on us and thought they'd get to go back. ha ha. Stupid cats. Thomas Wolfe said we can never go home again even if sweet little alien angels are looking in that basic direction trying every portal possible. 

Boxes, circles - I read a book called Star Dragon that says that cats are actually dragons that come from the sky. You know that the ancient tapestry in Bayeux, France shows Halley's comet and some people (didn't get to use THAT phrase in college, but this is so nice now!)  think that aliens and dragons and comets are related. It just makes so much sense! 

So cats are aliens and they want to go back, but they can't. 

And if you thought they hated us before, worry not. 

We should have it a bit easier for the next few years. 

Now they know we can't go back either. 

Suckers! ha ha