BECAUSE I SPEAK ENGLISH February 9, 2010

I never gave it much thought until he accosted me.

“Hi,” he said unsteadily although he was smiling. “Do you remember me? You asked me about the machine two weeks.

I nodded.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Indonesian and which was I was wondering why you were speaking to me in English,” he explained with a lopsided grin.

“I get that a lot,” I replied laconically.

And then he was gone to another part of the gym to work on presumably his pectorals. Now that would explain the scowl he flashed me when I asked him about the machine and the subsequent furrowing of his eyebrows whenever his gaze fell on me. The gym manager probably told him that I wasn’t Indonesian but a Filipino. People say we look alike.

He wasn’t the only one who was far from welcoming. There was another – a woman in her 50s – who’d glare at me whenever she’d hear me order in English at the juice bar.  When she eventually cottoned on to the fact that I was not some rude Indonesian refusing to speak in the national language, she smiled my way and even cracked a joke.

“The cost will be Rp1, 000 less without ice,” she said. “It’ll be another less Rp1, 000 each without milk and sugar, and it’ll be half the price with no cup.” Then she burst out laughing. My friend Alvin laughed. I merely smiled as I don’t forget easily – it’s a Scorpio thing.

It wasn’t until Kriesky, a new Indonesian friend who speaks with an American twang, enlightened me on the English language and Indonesians. I had explained to him the predicament I always faced wherever I went around Indonesia.

“This is the thing,” he began, in between bites of tofu one Saturday afternoon. “It’s an unwritten rule. It’s rude to speak English to an Indonesian even though both of you can converse in English.”

His explanation had me thinking about the situation in the Philippines, which is more than a case of impoliteness. Speaking in English becomes an engagement in war – class or otherwise – in the archipelago. Within the context of social classes, English is the language that separates the probinsyano (person who lives in the province or rural area in one context and country bumpkin in another), heightening the classic conflict of barrio (village) versus cuidad (city), and probinsyano versus taga-cuidad (from the city). This conflict extends to the war of the mahirap (poor) and the mayaman (rich), of which Philippine history is fraught with. The probinsyano is stereotypically viewed as poor and uneducated, which is a prejudice that has never waned resulting in most probinsyano undergoing a complete make-over to cover, hide or elide – pick the verb – their origins that do not begin in the city. Filipino movies have never failed to highlight these social class tensions and, in fact, romanticize the binary opposites, which only strengthen the stereotypes of the probinsyano, taga-cuidad, mahirap and mayaman.  The endings are predictable fairy-tale-ending of love overcoming social class differences and living happily ever after.

But reality bites. English is generally spoken among friends, colleagues and business associates and the vernacular is used to address helpers, vendors at the wet market, jeepney, taxi and bus drivers, gasoline boys and security guards. English is the lingo in uppity places in Manila – think five-star hotels, Coffee Bean & Tealeaf, Starbucks etc.

In Singapore, speaking in English is not a case of impoliteness or a class war. It’s all about sounding like a reporter for BBC. The Singaporeans I’ve met have no qualms of lecturing you on the “correct way of speaking English” even though, most of the time, their own tongues get all twisted in a bunch. A former pedantic colleague tried putting me down by saying that I couldn’t pronounce the words correctly, and by correctly she meant sounding British, which she tried to sound like but ended up sounding like Ross. Remember that episode of Friends where Ross tried speaking with a horrible British accent in his class? That was her. I just asked her if her wedgie was cutting off the oxygen supply to her brain. A friend of friend encountered a similar situation. A student who thought he grew up in England gave her impromptu pronunciation lessons in Math class. He hadn’t noticed that he fell back quickly into his colloquial accent after reciting several words in his false British accent.

English is the language that my sister and I grew up much like the languages that other people grow up with whatever they are. My speaking in English was brought about by training. I attended schools that used English as medium of instruction and was – it still is – the language spoken at home alongside Filipino. Admittedly, there have been instances when I’d been forced to wield it like a light saber to put people in their places. I’ve registered protests in English with service staff – it was the language that could get them to act more hospitable rather than condescending. And I’ve locked horns with people in and out of work whose remarks had gone beyond the line of polite conversations.

English is my language of communication and ammunition when required. Spanish is another but I haven’t been able to utilize that fully. I’m working my way through Bahasa Indonesia; I’m grappling right now with the greetings in the afternoon – I need to distinguish between Selamat siang and Selamat sore. But I do know when to call out goblok every now and then. In the meantime, bearing in mind what Kriesky said, my conversations in Indonesia are a colorful mix of pantomime, tourist Bahasa Indonesia and, naturally, English.

SIMPLE JOYS February 7, 2010

It took a while to take in the words of Henry David Thoreau. When I received a text message from a friend in the midst of my troubled 2009 quoting him, its meaning barely touched my mind; it simply slid off like water on a duck’s tail. I saw it again when I scrolled through my saved messages – I thought I had deleted it – and this time I paused and contemplated on the meaning. Thoreau said: “Our life is frittered away by detail…Simplify, simplify, simplify!”

And here’s how I understood him.

 Brew a cup of hot green tea – genmaicha or jasmine – when you get home and with every sip, exhale negative thoughts and let positive thoughts come to you. It’s a good way to perk up after a very trying day.

 While enjoying your cup of green tea, put aside work for a while. It’s now time to focus on you because it’s “me time”.

 Go to the gym. The gym is a place for you to de-stress and to clear your mind of clutter making room for new and fresh ideas.

 Befriend a cat. I feel peace and happiness whenever B, my adopted cat in Indonesia, is around.

 Practice yoga to reconnect your mind, body and soul, and find your center. Yoga leads me back to myself and to accept everything about me.

 Go for a massage. I love the Balinese massage – the long, continuous strokes do wonders for my knotted muscles! Foot reflexology sessions are welcome treats as well. It never fails to jumpstart my exhausted system.

 Indulge in your favorite sweet delights. Treat yourself to that slice of chocolate banana cake from Secret Recipe or that coklat pisang goreng (chocolate banana fritter) you’ve been craving for the past week. Depriving yourself of such indulgence will only result in resentment and overeating.

 Meditate. I’ve been trying to follow the advice of Ketut Iyer, the medicine man Elizabeth Gilbert sought out in Bali, to meditate the Balinese way of smiling with the liver.

 Hang issues that you don’t want to face yet in your imaginary tree. Don’t feel guilty if you do that because you’re not running away from them. You’re simply preparing yourself to face them with strength and determination.

 Talk and write to family and friends because they’re your lifelines. It’s how I keep sane and grounded.

 Read. The mind is a precious gift from the universe that should never be allowed to degenerate. I always have a book in my bag and on my bed.

 Don’t be a hermit. While solitude is good every now and then, it’s also true for the reverse. Become a social butterfly and you might meet someone that you can connect with on certain levels, if not all levels.

 Smile. A frown will definitely ruin your day but a smile will set you off on a bright start. There’s much to celebrate and life is too short to grieve.

IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK? February 5, 2010

On the whole, I can say that I’m congenial, but not overly friendly. I don’t fake congeniality either because I don’t believe in putting on a mask only to take it off once the person goes away. But I can be standoffish, too. Sometimes it has to do with my mood and, at other times, the aura of the person. If I don’t like the vibe I’m unforthcoming. As I see it, it’s best to stay clear of provocation unless something nasty comes out of my mouth.  However, I put aside my idiosyncrasies and act as professional as I can especially in the workplace. I learnt that it takes a lot of emotional maturity and patience – thank God for yoga – because most people I deal with have the maturity of a box of rocks. Take this young colleague of mine, M, that is slowly reworking my notion of the graciousness of Indonesians. Call it naivety on my part, but I’ve always held Indonesians to be courteous up until this woman who’s downright boorish.

A friend tried to mollify my growing infuriation with her by explaining that she belongs to an ethnic group of Indonesia that generally lacks the cordiality of the Balinese and is particularly known to be brusque in their dealings with people. I couldn’t accept my friend’s explanation because rudeness is rudeness whatever race or ethnic group one belongs too. It reflects on one’s upbringing, which, in M’s case is completely lamentable. It’s a cycle of rudeness that will be perpetuated because it has become a regular occurrence that’s considered normal and “acceptable”.   Carried over from the private sphere into the workplace, problems will brew more than ever when Ms. Rude (M) crosses the path of Ms. Polite (me). I’ve seen her students mirroring her conduct, which is not surprising because the “role model” of goodness is the quintessential example of boorishness. There is no excuse in being ill-mannered. Moreover, hiding rudeness behind the curtain of culture or the veil of youthfulness is an act of condoning this appalling behavior.  

Is it too much to ask to

*Knock – She is oblivious of the concept; she simply barges into the room.

* Say thank you – She has a problem with expressing gratitude even though I and my other friends have helped her with work activities.

* Consideration – She thinks that the world revolves around her schedule and that she’s the only one working so everyone has to drop what they’re doing to accommodate her “requests”.

* Acknowledgement – Most of my colleagues nod and smile whenever we see each other at the corridor or anywhere within the workplace. I’m not asking her for a bear hug or a beso-beso (air kisses) but when I smiled and greeted her she just walked on by.

Seriously, is it too much to ask for people to comport themselves with manners?

CAT WOMAN February 3, 2010

“Cat food?!? Sosyal naman ng pusang yan!*” muttered the cashier with disdain under his breath while snickering as he packed the Whiskas into a plastic carrier.

We were running low on cat food, which was catastrophic because that would mean that Cayenne and Bugsy would not have anything for dinner so my father and I made our way to SM supermarket to get a bag of dry cat food (we call them pellets).

I felt sorry for the cashier – sorry that he ever opened his mouth. My father picked up on the snicker and he wasn’t going to let it past one bit. I stayed quiet, not wanting to be in the line of fire.

“What’s your problem?” asked my father in that deep, low voice that would have sent even Hades crawling back to the underworld.

“Uh, Sir, ahh… err… I…” stuttered the cashier whose face was turning beet red under my father’s sharp stare.

“Cats make better companions than most humans,” retorted my father, his stare never lifting from the cashier until we were out of visible range.

Cats – the domestic kind, not the feral ones – occupy a huge place in our family. Cayenne was a serendipitous arrival in our lives. The little kitten followed my sister home one day and stayed on. Cayenne, named after the pepper, has white fur with streaks of brown, and can be bossy about his meals. He’d know when my father would stir from bed early in the morning so he’d make his way up the stairs, tiptoe slowly into my parents’ room and then let out a high-pitch meow. Translated: “Hello, I’m awake and hungry. Breakfast please.” This would continue until my father walks downstairs; Cayenne will walk by his side. Cayenne also likes having his bowl filled with pellets when he wakes up from a nap or he’ll be really grumpy. His nose knows if the bowl is empty even if he’s nowhere near it.  Cayenne is snobbish. He doesn’t like our male helper and never liked our former laundry woman.  He’s not the type who would wind through the legs of his human friends to show affection.  Cayenne selects –he waits for my mum to arrive home from work, but he never waits for me. He does meow at me if I’m the only one left in the house to give him his Whiskas.

The keen sense of smell is one of the astonishing traits of cats. This is due, I read, to their well-developed olfactory bulb and the large surface of the olfactory mucosa, which, in a nutshell, is the part of the nose that allows odors to dissolve and be detected by olfactory receptor neurons. The size of the cats’ olfactory mucosa is said to be twice that of the humans, explaining why they can smell tuna and salmon a mile away.

Excellent hearing is another amazing cat trait. Compared to dogs who can hear up to only nine octaves, cats go one and a half octaves higher so there’s no getting past them because they can hear you loud and clear. In addition, cats know where the sound is coming from because of their large movable outer ears. Cats also have exceptional night vision but they’re color blind. They can only identify blue and green and can’t tell between red and green. 

Bugsy came a little later. This brown kitten also followed my sister home one afternoon and, like Cayenne, never left home. But unlike Cayenne, Bugsy was leaner and more extroverted than his brother, but frequented the veterinarian often. Sadly, we lost him a couple years ago. 

Our non- pedigreed cats have been a part of our lives for so long I seem to exude an aura alluring to cats anywhere I go. I could just imagine the cat talk: “Look! There’s cat woman! Hello food! Hello warm place to sleep in! Yippee!” Butch was this amicable tubby white cat I met when I moved into Stevens Road several years ago in Singapore. He had a habit of dropping by our flat through the door or the window and lying spread-eagle in the living room. He’d leave an hour later and walk up to his flat on the second floor.  At other times, he’d just peep in like a mother hen checking to see if everyone’s home. We were stricken with fear when he disappeared for a day because it was not in his character at all. While we were calling out his name our ailurophobe neighbors stared at us as if we had just escaped from a mental asylum. He returned the next day unscathed and, naturally, we have no idea where he went.

Like Bugsy, Butch passed away. His owner was overseas and had a close friend cat-sit when he quietly succumbed to kidney failure.

I have a new cat in Indonesia. He never came to my flat until one rainy night wet and hungry. Luckily, I had a can of tuna, which I served him. From then on, he’s now my morning call, meowing early in the morning for his breakfast pellets, and my welcoming committee at night whenever I get back from work, the gym or an outing. I call him B and remember not to get him Friskas Gourmet Flavor –he prefers Ocean or Tuna.  He’s the touchy-feely type, winding through my legs whenever he sees me. Come to think of it, he looks a lot like Bugsy except for the white booties.

My flat has come to serve as a half-way house for B’s friends who come meowing at the front door for Friskas. It seems word has gotten around that cat woman at Bougainvillea serves meals regularly – dry, wet and tuna (in brine or vegetable oil).

*Roughly translated as “That cat is so high-class!” The subtext is that they’re mere animals so they shouldn’t be fed at all. Unfortunately, most ailurophobes and those who have something against animals feel that animals should not be taken care at all.

TIME TO ROCK & ROLL* February 3, 2010

Hotel buffets are really good. Not only do you get fresh produce and freshly made foodstuff, you have a wide variety to choose from that you have to have the know-how of a military tactician to attack the food stations.

Meals are made more enjoyable with friends, old and new.  Everyone was just about to buckle down to some serious eating at Restoran Fiesta, one of Sari Pan Pacific Jakarta’s food and beverage outlets.

The seafood station, I thought, was the center piece of the buffet spread. Let the chef work his magic and you’ll be wolfing down mouth-watering seafood dishes dipped in any sauce you like.

An almost-full tummy calls for an interlude. Smile! Then dig in again.

Someone hit on the idea of creating a musical glass orchestra shortly before dinner ended. It must have been the sugar rush from the dessert station.

*Taking the cue from Bob Seger’s famous song “Old Time Rock & Roll” that was released as a single in 1979. I first heard it in high school when I watched Tom Cruise’s film Risky Business. The image of Tom Cruise dancing in his polo shirt and socks rocked the worlds of teenagers back then.

**Photography by Wilyn Magadan and Arnel Rigos

HERE COMES THE SUN* February 1, 2010

The late George Harrison, the former Beatles guitarist, captures my sentiments succinctly.  The winter of life has passed and it’s all about sunny days. So it was one wet Saturday evening that had me deciding whether to go for another serving of Seafood Gratin or Roasted Chicken at Restoran Fiesta. Instead, I swerved over to the Seafood station. It was just fitting to try the seafood since it was, after all, seafood buffet night. Weekdays showcase an international menu, I discovered later on. Eating – much less going to a buffet – was farthest from my mind then. But the sun has come, so hello buffet!

Buckets of rain were pouring over Jakarta that evening, but it was still sunny to me. I didn’t get stuck in traffic from Grand Indonesia to Sari Pan Pacific Jakarta on Jalan MH Thamrin 6 because, as everyone who’s living in Jakarta knows, when it rains in Jakarta, it pours, which isn’t all that different from Manila.  Also a smorgasbord of gastronomic delights was waiting for me. Adding to the sunny disposition was the excursion to the wonderful Food Hall at the West Mall at Grand Indonesia earlier in the day, which is a respite from suburban Bekasi. This gargantuan posh mall is a haven of indulgence!  I found what I was looking for – lemons (the big yellow ones I love), couscous, and boxes of green and chamomile teas. Believe you me – they’re rarities in Bekasi. Ah, the simple joys!

“Silahkan”, said the waitress, handing me a plate while presenting the wide array of fresh seafood on beds of ice – from mussels, crab, shrimp and squid to fish – before us. The shrimp and squid were my top choices, which I happily handed to the chef so he can work his teppanyaki magic and quickly added, “Jangan pedas Pak”. After 15 minutes, I was digging into scrumptious garlic-sautéed shrimp and squid dipped in sweetish Balinese sauce followed up by sushi particularly the one wrapped in fish roe. Dessert time! The station was overflowing with chocolate-y goodness, but a dessert glass of chocolate mousse and a plate of bread pudding drizzled with chocolate sauce were more than enough to satisfy my sweet tooth. My sugary coup de grace was a trip to the scooping station for delectable balls of strawberry (with strawberry bits), mocha and chocolate ice cream. Ah, the simple thrills!

 It goes without saying that meal – a la carte or buffet – is best enjoyed with good company and which was what the experience was all about last Saturday.

Simple joys and simple thrills now keep me smiling and upbeat about life.  It’s all about finding that sunny spot where I can bask and happily look at the past without recrimination. It’s all about gratitude to the universe for keeping my family safe among other things. It’s all about bidding good bye to winter and saying hello sunshine! Everybody sing with me -

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say it’s all right
Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun

 

*A song written by George Harrison and included in the Beatles’ 1969 album Abbey Road

FIVE OF CUPS January 31, 2010

From four, it ascends to five
Of the Five Cups, the rest scattered pell-mell on the ground
Yet hope remains with the two cups left standing
Do you see them?
Guarding its precious contents
Peel your gaze away from the fallen cups
To see what’s behind you
Let grief, sadness, disappointment
Wash away with the spilled cups
What’s done is done
 The past is the past
Let your gaze walk anew
Welcome
Health
Hope
Energy
Gratitude
New love
New dreams
New life

GYM BUNNY FOIBLES January 30, 2010

We were on one of our favorite topics over Yahoo Messenger one Sunday morning (Indonesia time). My friend Lou was slowly getting back into her running after being sidelined temporarily by fasciitis for several months, and is thinking of trying spinning at the gym soon. I had been hitting the gym for several months now. I used to be a gym bunny several years ago until I discovered hatha yoga and hot yoga. I’m still into hatha yoga except I’ve upped my exercise regimen with gym work ever since I arrived in Indonesia.

It helps that two of my friends are gym bunnies. There’s no way you’re not going to get off your rear end with those two guys around. Alvin is into spinning class and step aerobics while Arnel hits the gym floor like clockwork. I go for spinning class/step aerobics and then gym work and, in between rests, engage in bunny watching.

Gym bunnies come in different shapes and sizes! Some are exhibitionists letting it all hang loose in the women’s locker room. Lou and I see eye-to-eye on this – not letting it hang loose that is – which others brand as prudish behavior or being Asian. I call it not assaulting the sensitivities of others. Men are exhibitionists as well. Straight or not, they have no qualms of letting everything dangle. Sometimes it gets a little out of hand that it forced a guy friend in Singapore to just shower at home after being hit on several times in the locker room. Women nudists are a rarity In Indonesia unlike in Singapore. The gym bunnies would either change in the cubicles or make like a magician in front of their lockers with a towel wrapped around them.  In minutes, they’ve changed from street clothes into workout togs or vice-versa without any indecent exposure.

The other locker room goings-on would make fitness and health experts Dave Nuku and Kristy Curtis of The Biggest Loser Asia show shake their heads in disbelief. I’ve spotted women wolfing down fast food meals inside the locker room an hour or so before spinning or aerobics. I’ve seen some munch on pastel, tempeh and tauhu goreng, martabak or potato balls, popular local snacks, at the juice bar right after spinning class!

The gym floor is a pageant of bunnies. There are the miniature Green Hulks – bulky guys with arms resting on their latissimi dorsi – and the chickens with puffed chests and scrawny legs.  There is one paunchy gym bunny who’s a group on his own. Dressed in grunge style, accessorized with a water bottle and book, he lifts weights for several counts and then spends the rest of the time chatting up women on the floor, the stationary bikes or treadmills. Meanwhile, most Indonesian women on the gym floor are Asian J Los. These women put back the oomph in an era where zaftig figures are greatly frowned upon. Every curve is accentuated by their body-hugging workout togs but is invisible under their après-gym clothes.

One gym bunny reminds me of Madonna circa 1980s with her snug ruffled curtain skirts, color tights and diaphanous tops. She finishes the ensemble with a silver chain around her waist, fiery red hair and makeup. Another bunny, a gothic princess, perennially dabs her heavy eye makeup before they completely run down her cheeks. One commendable gym bunny is the senior of the lot whose buns every now and then would read “Touch Here”. Her energy is boundless, hopping from one class to another. She’d start with spinning class, shaming numerous cyclists who buckle at the first five minutes, and then she’d hop over to aerobics to shake her booty and make like a pole dancer sans the pole.

The instructors are another set of attention-grabbing gym bunnies, but that’s another story altogether.

WHAT’S YOUR NAME? January 27, 2010

Of the names for men, I’m partial to Robert simply because it’s the name of Twilight’s Robert Pattinson. Translated to Spanish, the way Roberto rolls up and down my tongue is an absolute kick. Next is Miguel because I had a high school classmate named Miguel who was quite a looker.  But he became the butt of jokes because of his perky derriere that could rival Granny Goose – this logo of the tortilla chips sold in the Philippines. You can spot him a mile way because his rear end would be bouncing in mid air. For women’s names, I find Scarlett unique although I can’t help associate it with the novel by Nathaniel Hawthorne, but the striking actress Scarlet Johansson does come to mind, too. Christina is nice – I simply love the way the R jumps off my tongue. Rosario, my mother’s name, is another R-rolling name I like.

Those names are good names in the sense that they reflect good-looking people so no making fun of them. But imagine being named after American writer Edgar Allan Poe and you can’t string a proper sentence together, or Marry or Merry. Being named after a fruit like Apple is a tad difficult to swallow. What’s next? Naming children after vegetables like asparagus or broccoli? I’m still having difficulties accepting this Korean singer-actor’s name, Rain. I ask: “Why not blizzard, typhoon or sleet?”

The play Romeo & Juliet first had me thinking of what’s in a name after Juliet rationalized her love for Romeo, her family’s mortal enemy. A name says a lot although in certain cases, like in the case of Romeo, names are mere symbols that do not entirely represent a person. On the other hand, names can embody everything, which can become a burden especially if certain names are of a sensitive nature. Kiki is cute in the Japanese context – think of the cuddly Sanrio characters Little Twin Stars. Kiki is the boy twin who flies with the aid of the star on his back and loves to go star-fishing.  Lala is his sister who loves to cook, draw and write poems. Apparently, she’s a little touchy compared to her brother. It’s still fine in the Indonesian context. It’s the nickname for Kriesky, but it took me a while to get used to it because the Kiki I met was far from like a Little Twin Star. He’s tall, buffed like Taylor Lautner, moonlights as a gym instructor, and carries a shirt and tie well.

The uneasiness sets in when Kiki is used in the Philippines. It’s the word for the female genitals so a man with that name can never live it down. Another name, Titi, is fine in Indonesia – it’s a woman’s name. However, in the Philippines, it’s a source of immense awkwardness because it refers to the male’s crown jewels.

The naming game isn’t as easy as it sounds. You can represent beauty, intelligence or both, on one hand or become the laughing stock on the other. How do we get around this conundrum? Let’s learn the name and get to know the person.

FITTING THE WORD II January 25, 2010

I’m still searching for my word for Singapore as I mentioned in the first part of this entry. But I don’t lack words for Indonesia. Several words come to mind. First is enchanted because the only island I knew way back then was Bali, the hailed island of the gods where dreams and romance come true. My first visit to Bali was far from romantic, but it was pleasant and relaxing. In fact, I had all the time in world. I stayed in Ubud, in this rustic resort, waking up to clear blue skies and views of quaint paddy fields. Processions of women dressed in their finery on the way to the temple were a refreshing sight every time I’d walk down the streets. Everything seemed so placid and everyone so good-natured that one might mistake it to be an ancient order of things in Bali until you read the tales of Bali of Elizabeth Gilbert in her best seller Eat Pray & Love. Bali in the halcyon days, according to Gilbert, had its share of history that was marked by oppression. It began with the Javanese royalty who, upon settling down in Bali, established a caste system and you know what happens in a society with a caste system. Slave trade was not absent from Bali of the early years either. The Balinese’s reputation was that of fierce fighters specially the traders and sailors, and well-disciplined particularly the army that was successful in repelling the Dutch colonizers until greed for power broke the united front of the Balinese.

The present sees Bali as paradise on Earth. It is the place that people find balance and peace from the maelstrom in their lives. Sanctuary is the word that is generally associated with Bali nowadays and I’m in total agreement with that.

The word changed when I visited Lombok and Manado separately with a friend on our “girls-only-holiday”. Both islands were bucolic so simple – as opposed to complex– was the word I associated it with. From the design of the resorts to the lifestyle to the food like nasi champur, everything was simple. No urban complexities to grapple with here – just pure and natural simplicity punctuated by bonhomous demeanor of the islanders.

When I found myself in Jakarta simple was replaced with cosmopolitan. The city reminded me of Makati, the dubbed central business district of the Philippines with its tall buildings, paved roads and sidewalks, massive malls and, not to forget, the legendary colubrine traffic jams. Walking would have been a better option that one time I got into a cab to go to Blok M to buy shawls. Bekasi, its suburban neighbor has its own charm. The pace is laidback – it’s somewhere in between urban nimbleness and village slowness. The people are generally amiable and exhibit none of the urban aggressiveness and callousness.

My word for Bekasi is haven. Although it lacks the convenience and modernity of Singapore, it’s a place that brought me back to myself, to the core of my essence. Bekasi is where I can be quiet without being questioned unnecessarily and where I can laugh out loud without being shushed. Here is where I’m not labeled atheist, irresponsible, non-conformist, crazy or different. I’m simply Ms. Liana with the nice curly hair. Here is where I rediscovered equanimity – I don’t lock horns with conceited people so I’m always in Zen mode – and it is the place where I’m piecing together my tattered life.

Refuge is my other word for Indonesia and Bekasi is that at the moment.