Indonesia, Part I: This Is Home
April 23, 2018 — May 10, 2018
One lunch period in middle school, I decided I wanted to sit with a group of Chinese-American girls. When I asked if I could sit with them, one of the girls asked if I was Chinese. I explained that my parents were Chinese, but born in Indonesia. I was Chindo. Confused, the girl then asked if I spoke mandarin or cantonese, to which I replied, “No.”
With that, she said, “You’re not Chinese. You don’t even speak mandarin or cantonese. You can’t be a part of our dynasty, so you can’t sit here.” (We had been learning about the different dynasties that ruled China in history class.)
It took me a long time to be proud of where I am from. In elementary school when we had to do a presentation on our family heritage, I remembered wishing I was something “cooler” or more common. My bule friends (a term I delightfully picked up while on this trip thanks to my cousin; it means “white friends”) were always an eclectic mix of Irish, German, French, English… I was from a country that nobody had even heard of until Eat Pray Love.
I was young, insecure, and ashamed that I was different. I wanted to fit in so badly and began rejecting that side of me. I wanted to be called by my American name, Priscilla, and often lied to people about where my family was from.
It wasn’t until college that I embraced my Asian-ness. People began calling me by my first name, Prita, and I started to talk more openly about my roots. After college, I finally found another Indonesian friend to talk about life in the motherland with. Suffice to say, I was pretty darn excited to return back to Jakarta after an eight year hiatus.
Here I was. A place where I could speak my native tongue. A place where the people eat with a fork and a spoon. A place where the durian is fresh and the soy sauce is sweet. A place where a sprinkling of cheese belongs on every dessert. A place where the Airbnb’s supply each bed with a bantal guling. A place where my entire extended family lives.
This is home.
“It is probably… her [family] she misses. Or her whole country, which you never think of until it’s gone, which you never love until you’re no longer there.”
— Junot Díaz, This is How You Lose Her
I spent most of the days in Java spending time with family and, since there are hardly any Indonesian restaurants in the U.S, indulging myself with Indonesian food. I am glad that my family members were okay with being tourists in their own ‘hood and able to show my brother and I around the island. Some days were spent exploring, other days we relaxed and shared stories about growing up.
It was nice to be together again.
We went everywhere on the island — Jakarta, Puncak, Bandung. Bahari even slipped away for a night to hike Gunung Gede, an active volcano in West Java!
Whilst traveling around Java, something I noticed was how many people wore batik (traditional Indonesian patterned clothing) on an everyday basis. My one Indonesian friend, Ellen, always wore cute batik dresses to work, and I wanted to make sure I came home with something of batik to show off my Indonesian heritage. I was anticipating the worst. I thought maybe it would be difficult to find something I liked, but I ended up needing to refrain myself from dumping all of my money on clothes!
People wore batik for every occasion — casually, for work, for an evening out… Even my cousin’s school uniform was a special batik that incorporated the school emblem. I have never seen a country donning its traditional wear with such dignity. It is as if everyone is saying, “I am Indonesian and I am proud.”
This trip not only reunited me with my family, but my culture too. Though I’m no longer an insecure kid, my stay has given me a newly found love and pride for my country. My only regret was not staying here longer, but I’m already trying to make plans before the end of this year.
Thanks fam for the hospitality, food, and laughs. I love you all so much, and I can’t wait to see you all again.
Terimakasih kasih, Jakarta. Sampai jumpa lagi!
