inspired in indonesia: maybe it’s because…

Almost 3 weeks into the new school year and, al-hamdulillah, I have a completely contrasting outlook on the future compared to how I felt this time last year. Not just a little different, but a radical distinction from the neurotic mess I was one year ago.

Maybe it’s because I now know what to expect- that the first week, or even month, of school doesn’t necessarily mean the first week of teaching. That the teaching schedule is tentative and apt to change at least a dozen times over the next month. That planning with counterparts is great in theory, but ostensibly uncharacteristic in the Indonesian school system. That teachers are late, students do cheat, there’s corruption in schools and classes get cancelled on a whim.

Maybe it’s because I have a year of experience under my belt. A year of trial and error. A year of fine tuning lessons, so that by the 5^th time I teach them, I’m finally successful. A year of evaluating what my students are actually capable of in relation to where the national curriculum expects them to be. A year of learning Indonesian. And a bit of Javanese. And a smidgen of Arabic should the appropriate occasion arise. A year of simply standing in front of a group of students who do not share my mother tongue and not only transferring knowledge, but also, as the Indonesians like to call it, memberi motivasi or ‘giving motivation’.

Maybe it’s because I finally understand the culture, even if I don’t necessarily agree with it. That people here will inexorably comment on skin color, age, weight, marital status and overall physical appearance on a daily basis. That the typical role of women is to marry young and start having babies. That higher education is rarely prioritized. That being force-fed will inevitably occur at least once a day. That there are infinite little cultural lessons I’ve learned over the past year which couldn’t possibly fit into this limited space, and can only truly be understood through first hand experience.

Maybe it’s because there’s finally evidence that my time here has had some type of positive impact. That the English Kids’ Camp we set up last October is still attracting kids every other week- and that my English Club girls’ confidence in speaking as well as their impressive improvement as teachers has been a direct result. That the English Corner plans I’ve been trying to push forward are finally, yet unhurriedly, becoming a reality- we received our first International Book Project donation last week! That my host brother no longer blatantly disrespects me; we’ve actually established a legit sibling relationship! That even though my kids are not fluent in English, they are more confident in speaking, less afraid to make mistakes, and know that there’s more to American culture than Justin Bieber (who I’m pretty sure is from Canada anyway.)

Maybe it’s because I’m now inured to things that used to trouble me. To the oversized rats scampering around the rafters above my mosquito net clad bed each night as I attempt to fall asleep, causing superfluous raucous and, as a result, needlessly unsettling dreams. To the unrelenting, incessant attempts to set me up with an Indonesian man. To a diet of shrimp still encased in shells (extra calcium), fish with heads still attached (less prep work), and significant portions of rice I’m expected to eat three times a day, every day, and from which I perfunctorily pick out tiny stones before I take my first bite (minor labor for my essential carbs for the day). All of which, by the way, has been sitting out for the duration of the day and/or over night uncovered.

Maybe it’s because I’ve made a couple of lifetime friends. That I have someone to vent to. Someone to genuinely laugh with. Someone with whom to go exploring and share secrets. Someone who doesn’t make snap judgments about me based on my background, current routine, or future plans.
Maybe it’s because I’ve accomplished things that I may have never experienced otherwise. That I can ride a bike in a skirt fairly gracefully. That I can eat noodles with a spoon and rice with my hand. That I can bust out the lyrics to an Indonesian pop song should I feel compelled to do so…and, amazingly, I feel compelled to do so more often than one might think.

Or maybe it’s because I’m in the homestretch. That I can see the light at the end of my transitory 10-months-remaining-tunnel, or as one of the new PCVs likes to say, only 22 2-weeks left (thanks Taylor).

It’s not all rainbows and butterflies this second year around, but it is significantly better than the beginning of year 1. So, to any new PCVs who may be feeling slightly overwhelmed, frustrated, confused, or simply uncertain that they made the right decision to commit 2 years of their life to this crazy endeavor, I promise, it does get easier.