Home, Near and Far

As I move the dirt around, trying to get it level, I hear the put-put of the sampon’s motor coming my way. He does his rounds about every hour or two. Because I live at the end of the road by the field, he turns around and gets two glances at the bule building his own porch before he moves on. Most bules would just hire someone to do it for next to nothing, but I enjoy it and don’t care. After a wave, I look back down to my project. I move the dirt around again, trying to get it level and ready for the next brick. Every action, whether it’s scooping dirt, leveling the sand or laying a brick, is accompanied by other thoughts. It could be a fragment of a song or a lingering memory of home both near and far. Or it could be a new thought about this place I’m in, my mind slowly making sense of this strange, different place. But...

...is it strange? Is it really that different? There are times when it’s perfectly familiar- when the smell of the soil, a person’s smile, the taste of some food seems like a nice memory from the past. Sometimes my mind stops reeling from the new and grasps onto something nice, timeless- maybe the view out onto the Puncak hills over iridescent green fields of rice and fruit; or the shifting gray and black clouds competing with the blazing sun to form another afternoon thunderstorm, thunder rumbling in the distance. Or it could just be that everyone you talked to on the way home from work understood what you were saying- in Bahasa- and you understood them. Sometimes things seem to be falling into place a little. Times when your mind can gain perspective, and you think maybe this is turning into a place you can call home, but that’s the second someone will see you and shout “Hey bule!” or “Hello mister!” as if they want to remind you how different you are, that you‘re not from here. Then that happens 5 times in the next 2 minutes and it seems everyone’s staring or laughing and your thoughts of home turn back to frantically dealing with the difference again.

But! You’ve learned to quickly shrug these thoughts off, because there are plenty of reasons why you should. There are reminders everywhere of the reality of the situation. Of how different you are, of how different this place is, and why that’s ok, be it good or bad. It could be any number of things, but it’s hard not to be touched by things here. The toothless grin of the bapau vendor as he wheels his cart into place, like he does every day. The warm smile from the lady working the counter at the store. Or the trash men grinding away down the road with their cart loads of scrap to sell. Or kids playing in the street, making funny, charismatic faces so knowing you thought only an adult could muster them. It’s endless really, these things, it’s all how you want to look at it. And most of the times the only way to look at it is: you’re not from here and you’re better off than most people here. Who gives a damn if you feel comfortable or at home, they have a life to live and it's not easy. There’s no doubt, sometimes you can’t help but look at things and say “whaaat the fuuuck!?” with a restrained exasperation, or maybe just… “why?”; but it has to be turned around. I’d be missing the point if I didn’t.