The end of my service is near, my friends. My mind is racing more than ever. Here's a little clip of what the inside of my brain looked like as I turned a quarter century old.
1) Why am I itchy?
2) I have to help my students prepare for an English debate contest. That's coming up on Friday.... Guess I'm working until the bitter end!
3) How many more call-to-prayers do I have left to listen to in Indonesia?
4) 17 days X 5 calls-to-prayer/day = ......ONLY 85 LEFT?!
5) Mmmmmmm, coffee!
6) I should go to school. It's 7am
7) No, I'll sit here, enjoy my coffee, and be late.
8) Wow, I've turned into such a local. I wonder if this relaxed attitude will work in New York
9) Omg, I'm still itchy.
10) It's noon. Oh no! Only 82 more call-to-prayers left!
11) AW! Ibu got me a cake!
12) Her hug is by far sweeter than the cake
13) This is my third and last birthday in Indonesia. Oh, how I've aged
14) AWWWWW! My LES students came to give me gifts
15) Why are the throwing flour at me at the same time? Oh right, it's tradition to pull a prank on the birthday girl.
16) I've gained 2 kilo since the beginning of the month
17) Whatever, I'm taking the extra serving of rice anyways
18) Omg, Bu Muji, you don't have to buy me a gift
19) Ok, are we really driving into town after dark so I can pick out my own gift? Lol, fine
20) What batik fabric do I want? Hmmmmmmmm.
21) I want purple fabric, so I can remember Bu Muji. Purple is her favorite color.
22) I'm itchy again. Ohhhh yeah. This is, without a doubt, my third time getting scabies since March
23) Wow, I've never seen Konan Beach at night. It's so quiet and peaceful. I'm glad Bu Muji and her husband took me here.
24) Bu Muji was the first person to take me to this beach two years ago. She bought me coconut milk. I wonder if she remembers.
25) The evening prayers are my favorite. Only 80 call-to-prayers left. I should silence my phone and enjoy this last one on my birthday. Allah hu akbar.
I've had my fair share of embarassing and just plain strange moments these last 2 years. Here's a highlight of just a few....
Bank Trips: When I first moved into my village in June 2014, I could not handle the heat. I woke up sweaty, went to school sweaty, came home sweaty...I was just gross all around. Luckily, I found respite from the heat. I discovered that the local bank was the only buildling in town with air conditioning. One day I was sick of sitting in my house and sweating all day long, so I grabbed a book and headed to the bank.
I sat there for 3 hours until a teller finally asked, "Miss, do you need help with your account?"
"Oh...no! I'm just reading" I gave him a friendly smile and returned to my book.
Coffee Mandi: The mandi (bathroom) is a small, tiled, multipurpose room. The toilet is in another room next to the mandi. In the mandi, I can shower, brush my teeth, wash my clothes, and pee all in one spot. Some days I spend close to an hour doing all my chores in my tiny, tiled mandi. One morning, I got the ingenius idea of taking my coffee into the mandi with me. So there I was...in the mandi...naked...washing my clothes...and hair....sippin' coffee. After I came out, my host mom asked, "Do all Americans do this?"
I didn't want her to think I was strange, so I said, "Yeah! Of course! Totally normal, ibu."
A Foreigner? HERE?: Locals will stop and stare at me like I'm some alien walking along the side of the road. People will shout at me or motorcycles will slow down to get a better look at my face. I was so confused at first. I'm just a normal person, why must they stare? I finally understood the local perspective about a year into my service. I was riding on an angkot (a large van used for public transportation) and we were pulling into my very rural village. I spotted a Caucasian couple walking around the market place. I literally had not seen a white person in my village, ever. I threw open the window, hoisted my torso out of the vehicle, and hung out of the side of the van until we drove away from the couple. That was the day I started calling myself a local.
May I Help, Please?: Many times locals will treat me like a child because I'm a naturally clumsy person. If I try to cook, my host mom will take the frying pan out of my hands. If I try to help with the rice harvest, my host dad will shoo me away insisting that it's too much hard work. A few months ago, my neighbor was throwing a wedding party for her daughter and her new son-in-law. Everyone in the neighborhood was at her house helping her cook for 300+ guests. Of course, I wanted to join along in the festivities, so I offered to shred coconut. The other women kept telling me that I couldn't.
"You'll cut your finger on the shredder!" they shouted. After 5 minutes of pleading with them, they finally let me help out. I'm sure you can tell where this story is going....
Not even a minute into shredding one measley coconut, I scraped my finger against the shredder. Blood spewed in all directions and I quickly put my finger in my mouth to ease the pain. My neighbor just sighed, took the shredder from my hands, and let me to the bathroom. For the rest of the day I sat in the corner and watched everyone else cook.
I've had many more embarassing moments and I'm sure there are more to come in the last 58 days I have left of service. Stay tuned....
One topic that doesn't get enough attention is volunteer-to-volunteer relations, so I'll touch on that on as best I can.
We live in a small social bubble with a little over 100 volunteers. Most of us live miles apart and lead completely different lives. Each village is different and therefore each volunteer's living situation is different.
Even though we live far apart, we still work as a team. We see each other at every training session and work together on community projects such as IGLOW/IBRO (Indonesian Girls Leading Our World/Indonesian Boys Respecting Others). We also join Peace Corps groups such as the Gender Equality Committee, Peer Support Network, Volunteer Advocacy Committee.
On top of being work partners, we're friends! Most friendships here are built on common interests, but sometimes we're friends because we have only one major thing in common: the Peace Corps. And sometimes, sometimes, we form romantic relationships with each other....or purely physical ones.
To recap....We work with each other, travel with each other, date each other, befriend each other, endure long Peace Corps training sessions with each other, party with each other, and try our best to support each other through the hard times. Of course, it's not all fun and games. Sometimes we give each other tough love when all we really want is a hug. We gossip about each other. We judge each other for random things. We snap at each other when working together.
I've acted childish with some volunteers and received the same treatment. It felt rotten at the time, but these problems seem incredibly silly the closer I get to ending my Peace Corps service. One of my best friends in Peace Corps had to leave her service 3 months early. When she left her village and said her goodbyes to other volunteers, she told me that any problem she had with another volunteer was simply forgiven.We've been through so much personally and as a group that it's difficult (nearly impossible) to hold grudges.
Before I left for Indonesia, Returned Peace Corps Volunteers insisted
that the people I would meet here would quickly become family. I had a hard time believing this, but as I close my service I understand what they mean. There are only a certain number of individuals who can understand this hot, crazy, sweaty, rice-and-selfie-filled life that I've been living for 2 years. We might not get along every second of every hour of every day, but what family does?
We're a family. A different type of family. A
specific family. A Peace Corps Indonesia family.
For about a year, I have been planning a sex education and HIV/AIDS awareness camp. I hesitated doing it because I wasn't sure how much money I would need, if anyone in my village would help me, or if kids would even show up. I finally just sucked it up and told myself, "This camp is going to happen." Luckily, I had the support of my counterpart, Bu Muji, the entire time.
The banner for Camp SEHAT that welcomed all the students
I did most of the fundraising, but honestly Bu Muji put the rest of the camp together. Once the money arrived, she called all the presenters, wrote the proposal, and made sure the stickers/t-shirts/banners were made on time. I am so grateful to have someone in my village who is so passionate about HIV/AIDS prevention. She is a true gem.
Bu Muji doing a presentation on sexual harassment
The name of the camp came from another volunteer, Carly. SEHAT stands for Sex Education and HIV/AIDS Awareness for Teens. "Sehat" in Indonesian means "healthy." The acronym worked out perfectly! Camp SEHAT hosted 28 middle school students in a 2-day, 1-night camp.
Students lining up to register for Camp SEHAT and yours truly helping greet everyone!
For the most part, the camp ran smoothly. However, the students and I endured a lot of jam karet (rubber time) for the first five hours. Presenters were late, the opening ceremony was late, and we were late to starting our get-to-know-you game. It made my New England blood boil, but I had another volunteer, Julia, there to calm me down.
Four teachers (myself included) host the opening ceremony at Konang Beach
Over the course of 2 days, the students learned about sexual harassment, sex education, HIV/AIDS prevention. In between sessions, we played games and sang songs. The kids seemed to enjoy both the seminars and the games, so I'd go ahead and call that a success!
PCV Charisse and her counterpart Pak Khoirul Huda presenting on germ theory
Additionally, Julia brought two Indonesian friends with her who work in the health sector. They were so impressed with Camp SEHAT that they are trying to replicate it in their village next month. Their camp will host between 70-80 students. They are also looking to extend the camp, so they hope to do a 3-day, 2-night camp. I am so excited that this idea has hit the ground running!
Julia and I are both working on making materials and resources available for Camp SEHAT so that other Peace Corps Volunteers can replicate it in the future. I hope this is a sustainable project that I can leave behind as I move on from Peace Corps Indonesia. So far, it's off to a great start!
My service in Indonesia is quickly coming to an end. I have four months left and so my host family frequently asks me, "Will you return to Indonesia?" I always respond with a friendly, "Inshallah (If it is God's will)," but in my heart I know I'll return here someday.
In the two years that I've been here, I've seen my village transform
before my eyes. The beaches are cleaner, the roads are newly paved, many
of my students have smartphones, minimarts are popping up left and
right...I feel like I'm watching a baby grow into a toddler and
wondering where the time has gone. When I think about returning years and years from now I ask myself questions like, How much will change? What will this place look like? Will my school be the same? What new shops will open in the town center? Will the market still be a labyrinth of locally grown fruits and veggies or will it be replaced by a Hypermart (a local chain similar to Walmart)?
I think I found the answer to these questions when I went to India over the December break. I hadn't been there in over 9 years, so naturally I was curious about how much had changed. When I boarded the plane, I secretly hoped that going to India would be like reuniting with an old friend and feeling like nothing had changed. I wanted to come back to the noisy, chaotic, and overwhelming (yet fun) India that I fell in love with during my last visit in 2007.
Bharat Mata, the national personification of India as a mother goddess
Alas, my hopes were quickly crushed as I walked through the Mumbai
airport. I couldn't even recognize it because the place was recently remodeled.
Everything was so much more glamorous and...orderly.
Well, maybe the roads will still be broken and bumpy like I remember it, I thought. Nope. The highway from Mumbai to my Surat (the city in which my parents live) is perfectly paved. Absolutely no bumps along the way. The roads weren't the only thing I noticed on the way to Surat. Almost all of the infrastructure I saw was either new or well on its way to being reconstructed. The bridges were equipped with streetlights, the toll booths were orderly, 4-story shopping malls were blossoming everywhere, and yes....I even saw a Starbucks.
Holy cows! #Indiajokes
About halfway through the car ride, I noticed a large animal moving on the side of the road. The voice in my head screamed, Yes! A stray cow walking freely on the road. Some things NEVER change! This was the first glimpse of the old India that I remembered. I looked around and realized that the India I knew was still there. I just had to look a little harder. Yes, the roads are newly paved, but on those paved roads are brand new Hondas and Suzukis that weave in and out between the rickshaws and the motorcycles and the bicycles and the large wedding parties in the middle of the streets and cows (especially cows!). It's still just as hectic as it was 9 years ago.
Me pretending to drive a rickshaw. Beep beep!
During the rest of my vacation, my parents took me around the city to their old homes and neighborhoods. The house my mom grew up in in being remodeled as I write this, but that doesn't mean the entire neighborhood is changing. Walking down my mother's street was like walking through an ongoing battle between modernity and tradition. New houses and apartment complexes are sprouting in every direction, but I didn't have to search hard to feel a sense of familiarity and comfort.
My mom's bathroom in her childhood home built in the 1960's
Building a new bathroom in my mom's home on the second floor with a tub!
A home similar to what my mom's home looked like before renovations
This is all just on the surface of India that is changing, though. It's the culture that is nearly untouched. For instance, it is still okay to show up unannounced at a relative's home. Shops don't open until 11am or later. When walking through the market, shop owners scream, "BOL" (Speak!) when they think you're ready to buy something. After they've greeted you in this aggressive manner, you are expected to start bargaining immediately. And lastly, locals will bend over backwards to make sure you have eaten a warm home-cooked meal whenever you visit. Each time I visited my mom's friends and family, I was welcomed with fresh Indian bread, vegetables covered in delicious spices that made my lips tingle, sweets that could give me diabetes just by looking at it, and of course homemade spiced chai (the original, not the Starbucks knock-off).
After I returned from my holiday break in India, I stopped wondering what Indonesia will look like in ten years. Change is inevitable, but it happens slower than we think. I know if I visit in the future, my host family will try to serve me warm, sugary tea and wafers. My neighbors will ask the usual questions like, "Mau ke mana?" and, "Dari mana?" ("Where are you going?" and, "Where are you coming from?). I know my counterpart will first shake my hand before wrapping her arms around me in a Western-style hug.
When I visit my village in 2026 or 2036, things will, without a doubt, be different. But I know I won't have to look too hard for the things I'm leaving behind in 2016.
More Photos From India
My mom talking with a dear family friend of ours. She made me pav bhaji (a Indian dish of spicy vegetables and buttered bread) and she sent her husband out to the market specifically to get me ice cream
This is a photo from my cousin's clinic. The power went out, so his receptionists sorted prescriptions by candle light
Supermarkets are popping up everywhere in India, but that doesn't mean you can't buy your veggies from street vendors like these ladies!
The market in Surat. You can buy clothes, jewelry, sweets, pots/pans, and a whole bunch of other things here. Be sure to answer the shop owners when they yell, "BOL!" at you!
My mom buys her milk at the grocery store, but my aunt has her milk delivered every day in a silver tin (the little container hanging on the doorknob). India, old and new!
The culture in my
community places a strong emphasis on togetherness. Locals, especially young
women, find solitude uncomfortable. I felt it was my duty as a
Peace Corps Volunteer to show my community that being alone is nothing to fear.
I wanted my village to observe my confidence in solitude and adopt my
behaviors. I jog alone, walk alone, and run errands alone.
When I first started doing this, I immediately received
criticism from my
neighbors. They would warn me “You should bring a friend.” “It’s not safe to
go alone.” “It is very dangerous for a female to travel alone.” Over time,
their words of concern slowly frustrated me. I soon became stubborn whenever I
was told not to be alone.
Last month I was stressed from a heavy workload, and
therefore I became very irritable. Every time someone told me not to go
somewhere alone, I felt I have had to defend myself. I knew I needed a break,
so I decided to hike Mount Merapi, the most active volcano in Indonesia. I thought about inviting some friends along, but I decided not to. I
wanted to prove to my community (but really to myself) that being alone was
nothing to fear.
A photo of Mount Merapi that I took on my way up to the summit. "Mount Merapi" literally translates to "Fire Mountain"
I know hiking alone can be dangerous, so I took all the
necessary precautions. I packed a med kit. I informed 5 other volunteers, the
Peace Corps staff, and my siblings to let them know of my whereabouts. I researched
various websites to get tips on hiking Merapi. I even hired a driver to get me
to and from the city of Yogyakarta. Of course I had to pay extra for him to
chauffeur me around, but in my mind the money was worth it. Even though he
wasn’t hiking with me, I took comfort in the fact that someone was waiting for
me at the end of my journey.
When I arrived at the Merapi National Park registration desk, the
clerk asked me if I would like to hike with a guide or with other tourists. I
confidently declined his offer informing him that I will set out at dawn the
next morning, alone. “At dawn? Most people head out at 1am.” My ears perked up
at this; my brain and my heart then battled over my next step.
Heart: “This sounds like an amazing adventure!”
Brain: “Don’t even think about it. You’re traveling alone.”
Heart: “But it’s a night hike…on a volcano. And I can watch the sunrise at the summit.”
Brain: “You’re going to get lost, fool.”
Heart: “My adventurous spirit shall guide me.”
Brain: “You adventurous spirit is going to guide you straight into
the afterlife.”
My brain won the argument; I told my driver and the owner of my homestay that I would hike at dawn.
The next morning I set out at 5am like I had promised. The homestay owner told me the hike was 4 hours up and 3.5 hours down. I expected to be
back around 2pm, 3 at the latest.
There were posts like this along the way, so I was reassured I wasn't lost
The trail was clearly marked, so I had no problem navigating my
way up the mountain. About 75% of the trail is on a lush, green mountain. That
was the easy part.
The hard part was getting up the summit. The volcanic crater
is made up of sand, pebbles, and boulders. Walking became impossible, so I
started crawling up the crater. I was pretty much falling up the crater.
Eventually, I made it up to a place that large, but very loose rocks. Each step I took caused the rocks to shake. My brain and
heart had another battle at the summit.
A photo of the (almost) top of Merapi's volcanic crater
Heart: “I’ve made it this far. I HAVE to get to the very top.”
Brain: “It’s dangerous. You’re the only one on this crater except
for those campers down there.
Heart: “But will it be a victory if I don’t make it to the top?”
Brain: “It’ll be a victory for Death, yes. Plus, you’re an aunt.
You have to be there for your niece and nephew.”
My brain won again and I started to make my way down. I hiked
up with minimal issues and therefore felt reassured I could return safely. Little did I know
it was downhill from there. As I walked down the crater, I saw a guide and
two French tourists making their way up. The guide pointed to my left
and said, “You should go down that way.” I was already falling down the slope
and onto a path towards the right.
“Can I go down this way?” I asked.
“Yes, but it’ll just take a little longer.”
This video shows how difficult it is to walk on the crater. My feet dug into the stand and I frequently fell forward sending a mini avalanch of pebbles trailing near me
That’s fine, I thought. I just wanted
to get off the terrifying crater and back onto lush, green ground. I refused to
let my mind go into panic mode, so I thought of people saying comforting words
to me.
“You got this, K!” said my sister, Priti
“Come on, Tuku. You can do it,” said my other sister, Mukti.
“Go, BEFF!” said my brother-in-law, Rahul (yes, my family has a
lot of nicknames for me).
I walked down the crater for about thirty minutes until I slipped
and sent a few pebbles tumbling forward. I watched one pebble fall off a rock
in front of me, but I did not hear it hit the ground until a few seconds later.
I threw another pebble and counted the seconds until it hit the ground. Seven seconds. The comforting words in
my head vanished and I started to worry. I knew I could not climb down it, but
reversing my steps also seemed impossible. Large rocks crumbled into a thousand
tiny pebbles when I tried to grab onto them. I was quite literally stuck in
between a rock and a hard place.
I decided that backtracking was the best option. I needed to
get back up the crater and then walk across it to get to the base where I knew
there were other people. I started to crawl back up the crater for the second
time. I came to a rock about 3 feet tall. Part of the rock crumbled when I
tried climbing it, sending me tumbling backwards with dirt and pebbles hitting
my face. My mind went into survival mode.
I can’t let my mother
bury her youngest child.
Adrenaline filled my veins as I pulled myself over this rock. Once I reached the top I looked down at my hands. I could see that they were scraped, but I couldn't feel the pain. I then willed myself to
crawl on my hands and knees for an hour back up the steep volcanic slope. I
know I was running out of water, so I told myself that I couldn’t waste energy.
Every move I made had to be calculated; I refused to let my body flail.
The 5 campers who graciously let me hike with them
Eventually, I
crawled far enough to a campsite where I met five local campers. As soon as I
saw them, my body realized how much pain it was in. My limbs ached and my lips
were dry from dehydration. I was also bleeding from my hands, elbows, and knees. The campers offered to hike with me down the mountain after taking care of my
immediate needs. At this moment, I feared being alone. I happily took their
offer and the six of us hiked down the mountain together.
“How fast are we
going to go down?” I asked in a shaky voice.
“As slow as you
want,” one of the boys replied, trying to comfort me.
Both my driver and the homestay owner were anxiously waiting for me at the base camp.
My watch read 6pm. Three hours late. They helped me wobble back to the homestay
and waited for me to shower and eat dinner. After I told my story, my
homestay owner asked, “Oh! You took the path on the right side of the crater?
Many people get lost there…about one person every month. It takes the rescue
team 1-2 days to get them out!” He proceeded to congratulate me on crawling out
of that dangerous place. “Not many people can do that.That’s why we have the rescue team.” He also told me that he was going to call the rescue squad to come get me if I hadn't returned by 6:30pm.
I was shocked at
what he was telling me. I was kicking myself and patting myself on the
back at the same time. Soon after, my driver packed my bags in the car and we
headed back to the city. He made conversation with me in an attempt to get my
mind off of my horrible hiking experience. After an hour of driving, we saw a beautiful view
of Merapi as we reached the bottom of the mountain. My driver then asked, “You
went up there to prove something. Did you?”
“No.” I said as I
turned my face away from Merapi.
Maybe Indonesians
are right: some things shouldn’t
be done alone.
September was a rough month
for me. It had been a long time since I had to have extended interactions with
Indonesians. After school let out in June, I went home to America. When I came
back, I sat tight at site for the month of Ramadan. Then I had a weeklong
training in Surabaya followed by another week stuck in Surabaya for medical
appointments. The summer of isolation left me feeling
disconnected from locals.
When I started teaching again
I became easily frustrated with cultural norms that I have encountered
throughout my service. Being at school for 5 hours felt like an eternity.
Teaching alongside my counterpart felt foreign. My students bombarded me with
questions I don’t have answers to. It took an entire month to readjust to
school, but here I am feeling like I’m back in the groove of things. I’m a big
fan of listicles, so here’s a list of things that used to frustrate me and how
I’ve grown to love them….or at least, tolerate them.
1) Jam
Karet: the art of being fashionably late
Why this used to bug me: My last job before Peace Corps was a resident assistant position at American University’s Housing and Dining Programs (go eagles). Our motto was, “Five minutes early is on time. On time is late. And late is unacceptable.” When I moved to Indonesia, I knew I would be encountering jam karet, which translates into “time is like rubber” (i.e. it’s flexible). If a meeting started at 2pm, I would be there at 1:55pm, just like my good ole American U roots taught me. Of course, everyone else was late and my blood would boil with every passing minute. Over the last year and a half, I’ve not only learned to tolerate it, but I’ve come to love it.
Why I have come to love it: I’ve learned to use jam karet to my advantage. If I’m running late, I don’t rush myself. In my school, it is more important to eat breakfast, wash up properly, and drink your entire cup of coffee before starting work. I used to feel guilty being late. I would begin to sweat (from heat and stress), walk faster, and ignore people on the street who tried to say hello to me. Being here has made me slow down a lot. I think my fast pace city slicker self needed that wake up call. In the morning, I actually wake up and smell the coffee. My ibu roasts herself and it smells delicious!
2) Students
who take notes slowly
Why this used to bug me: I noticed that my students don’t take notes while I
write on the board. I’m assuming my students were never been taught these
skills because they simply stare at me while I’m teaching. Each day, I have to
tell them to write down what I am writing on the board. I used to have to wait
at least 4-5 minutes in awkward silence for the students to catch up. I tried
to teach them the skill of taking notes while actively listening, but it was
only effective on 2 out of 32 students. I gave up and decided to work with it
instead of against it.
Why I’ve come to like it: I use this awkward note-taking silence as an opportunity
to listen to music. I bring my laptop into class and blast Taylor Swift, Justin
Beiber, and Indonesian pop songs. I tell the students, “You have until ‘Blank
Space’ ends to finish taking notes.” The kids really enjoy it and even give me
requests. They’ve introduced me to a lot of Korean Kpop music while I’ve been
introducing them to hit Bollywood singles. Thank you, music, for filling all
the awkward note-taking silences.
3) Communal
Learning: or cheating, as Americans would call it
Why this used to bug me: I’ve always been encouraged to do my own work. It was
a huge shock for me to learn that my students openly cheat. When I ask one
student a question, another student will answer for him/her. My students also
help each other on tests by turning around in their seat and talking to one
another.
Why I’ve come to tolerate it: I can’t stop the cheating that happens during tests,
but I have learned to use communal learning to my advantage. I speak to the
class in English and expect my students to help each other translate what I
say. There are usually 5-10 students who collaborate with each other to decipher
my words. Afterwards, they translate it to their peers. It’s a great way to get
students to listen and to learn from each other. The students who actively
participate see it as some kind of game. I never said it was a competition, but
for some reason they race to their dictionaries every time I open my mouth.
Whatever works!
4) Looking
Fabulous
Why it used to bug me: Javanese culture (at least in my desa) puts a lot of emphasis on looks. They iron their clothes, they comb their hair, they pin their hijabs with a cute little flower pin….etc. Basically what I’m trying to say is that they always look on point despite the heat and humidity. During my first year of teaching, I could barely get out of my bed without breaking a sweat. I wore the school uniform, which I did not think was flattering at all. I either had to wear a tan army-looking uniform or colorful, patterned batik shirts. This is simply not my style, so I let myself go. I stopped shaving. I didn’t comb my hair. When people commented, all I could think was, “Why do you care what I look like!?”
Me in all my uniform glory. Not a happy camper
Why I like it now: I’ve learned that it’s good for my mental health to dress like myself. When I packed my bags in America, I threw in a bunch of old skirts, long sleeve button downs, and kaki pants. I figured it was okay to not dress up because I was going to live in a village; who was I trying to impress? I also read blogs from other volunteers saying that they had stopped putting emphasis on their looks. In my mind I took this as, “I’ll look like hobo for two years and come out liking it.” No, that’s not true at all. I had enough of the uniforms and the batik this semester. The loud colors and flower prints are not me. So I asked my counterpart if it was okay to start dressing like myself again. She said it was fine as long as I covered up.
This lesson in fashion also taught me how rude I was being to the local culture. My idea of professional attire do not match their idea. Therefore, I allowed myself to slack off when it came time to dress up. I felt above it and felt like I didn’t need to impress anyone. I’m glad I got off my high horse. No one needs that sort of negative attitude in a school environment!
What I dress like now. My own clothes, necklace that I brought from home, and a new pair of speck. Happy as a clam!
Don’t
get me wrong. There are still things about the education system that bug me. I
get annoyed when class is randomly canceled for a teachers meeting. I don’t
like lesson planning alone. I grind my teeth every time a student leaves in the
middle of class without telling me where they are going. Things aren’t perfect,
but I’m back on track and that’s all that matters.
