Some Parting Words

"The end of a journey is the beginning of another."

Elementary school teachers stressed that all stories must be composed of three parts: A beginning, a middle, and best of all, an end. For my 10-year-old self, writing the endings of stories was the most satisfying component of the writing process. I mean, the work was finally over and the story could be shared and enjoyed in its entirety. All stories finished. All characters ceased to exist. And all plot lines commenced. 

So perhaps it’s for these reasons that I have procrastinated the last two months in writing the end of my Indonesian story. 

I graduated from high school in a language that just last year, I couldn’t speak a word of. I performed a mashup of American cheerleading and traditional Jaipong all while rocking traditional, purple kebaya. Empowerment washed over me as I surfed on some of the most famous waves in the world and witnessed the melting pot of culture in Bali. I fasted with my host family and observed the holy month of Ramadan. I volunteered with an English teaching language initiative. I awoke before dawn to catch the world cup games with my host father. I created my own fireworks show with my friends on a mountain top and celebrated my last night in Bandung. I fed bananas to the vacuum-like trunks of elephants. I frolicked in tea plantations and tried to keep a smile through the 347 goodbyes I faced. I paraded on Capital Hill with my exchange comrades and shared our stories with US Senators and Evan Ryan. 

With a story this good, how could I possibly wrap it up? 

The truth is... I can’t. I simply can’t wrap up a years worth of smiles and compassion and adventure and lessons into a few short paragraphs. And for now, I don’t think that I want to. Indonesia has left an imprint. The story will continue. And I will return sooner than later. Thank you to everyone who has supported me on this journey, and encouraged me to keep the adventure alive. I couldn’t do it without you all! Sampai juga lagi! 

Street Food For Da Win

If one was to Google the most popular foods of Indonesia, the usual list to come up would have to be:

1. Nasi Goreng: Indonesian fried rice. This varies from city to city, but I can promise that it’s nothing like the greasy fried rice you can pick up from your local Panda Express. Nasi goreng from Indonesia is rich in spices, chiles, and can also include different options of protein such as chicken, fried egg, Indonesian sausage, seafood, or even rabbit. 

   

   Typical Nasi Goreng

2. Rendang: Rendang hails from the island of Sumatra which fortunately for me, is the island that my host dad is from. This dish is comprised of coconut milk, garlice, lemon grass, tender beef, and a slew of chiles depending on who’s cooking. The cook time for this dish can take up to twelve hours, but the effort pays off. CNN has named it the best food in the world.
3. Sambal: Samabl, in short, is a dish of ground chiles, garlic, onion, salt, pepper, and whatever other spices the chef is in the mood for throwing in, but emphasis on the chiles. Indonesians slather the spicy sambal onto nearly every dish they eat, and no two sambal concoctions are ever the same. Beware. A little bit goes a long way.

While all of these foods are staples in the diets of many Indonesians, what the Google lists of Indonesian foods often fail to mention are the uncommon local street food inventions that the common people have created. Without trying some of these delicacies, the list of popular Indonesian foods wouldn’t be complete. So without further ado, here are some of my personal favorites that can be found on the streets of Bandung. 

Lumpia Basah

 Number one on the list of favorite street foods is my all time favorite, lumpia basah. Lumpia basah is essentially the Indonesian equivalent of a burrito, except it’s fifty million times better. The chef will first throw some baby bamboo shoots, bean sprouts, and a whole egg into a wok and drown it in oil. They’ll ask if you want it spicy, but I don’t usually say yes unless I want my mouth to cry for a few hours. While that’s cooking in the wok, the chef will then make a crepe-like shell on a piping hot plate. I always find myself impressed with the precision and perfection of the chef’s skilled hands that never fails to make a perfectly circular shell, browned, but still soft on the outside. After just a few seconds on the hot plate, the chef slathers the shell in a sweet, peanuty-tasting sauce whose ingredients, despite my attempt to get them out of the street vendor, won’t be revealed to me. After a little more than a minute, the ingredients from the wok are dumped onto the sauce-drenched shell and rolled up into a banana leaf like a burrito.You can get lumpia basah for US $0.60.

Soto Ayam

My next favorite street food in Bandung would have to be soto ayam. Soto ayam is made from time to time in my home, but I have found that it tastes best when slurped under a tarp in the torrential rain. Soto ayam is essentially soup. For those that know me well, you know that I don’t do soup under any circumstances. But the Indonesians have a special flare with coconut milk, chicken, chilies, cabbage, stringy vegetables, and lime. Best served hot and, of course, with a bowl of rice on the side. This one will cost no more than $1. 

Martabak Manis

My final absolute favorite is martabak manis. Martabak has been compared to American pancakes but I think the only thing they have in common is their fat content and sugar. Martabak hails in the street food world, and only few are able to execute it well. Cooks start with a few cups of batter made from flour, sugar, vanilla, and plenty of eggs to make the end result nice and fluffy. The reason that martabak isn’t made in the home is because it requires a special pan and a source of high heat. Most vendors cook their martabak right over hot coals. After cooking in the special pan, you’re left with a large, circular slab of “Indonesian pancake” which is then drenched in condensed milk and whatever other toppings you choose. My personal favorite is shredded, white, cheddar cheese. (Side note: Indonesians have this strange obsession with canned, condensed milk and it’s literally put on every desert or sweet food in this country, whether it be banana cheese or a glass of chocolate Milo.) You can get a box of martabak enough for three people for no more than $2.50. 

Bonus Round:

1. Makaroni Basah: Super spicy macaroni thrown in a wok and fried with egg $0.50

2. Keju Aroma: Literally translates to “cheese smell” but it’s actually thin strips of cheese fried in a sweet batter 5 pieces/$0.50

3. Es Kelapa Jeruk: Fresh coconut water and fresh orange juice swirled together. BEst if sipped directly from the coconut $0.75

4. Mie Ayam: Shredded chicken, noodles, a sweet sauce, assorted green vegetables, and some spicy broth $0.80

5. Kolgo: I don’t like cabbage but, I devour it when it’s fried 1 plate/$0.10 

6. Buah Segar: Fresh fruit straight from the fields and trees. My favorites are melon, mangos, papaya, oranges, baby bananas and snake fruit.

The Mangos are Back in Season

SIDE NOTE: Forgive me for my lack of blogging/vlogging. Life in Indonesia has been moving incomprehensibly fast and it doesn't seem real that my countdown says I only have 49 days left. I have a feeling the stories will be easier to write once I'm back home in Bozeman and things start making a bit more sense. On another note, this is the last call to donate to KM! Do so here!!!!

This woman is my rock. And so is her juice and Milo.

The mangos are back. I've come full circle. The seasons have changed, and nearly nine months later, I'm back to my beginning. In my first weeks of arriving and adjusting and being completely terrified about my impending life abroad in the bizarre country that is Indonesia, I found solace in the simplicity of a glass of street mango juice. Granted that it was probably the instigator of an ongoing case of traveler's stomach, its smooth, tangy chill comforted me on the days when the daunting rain clouds poured torrential rains for my homesick tears that had forgotten how to fall. Or the time when I had spent my day in silence too afraid to speak my five words of Bahasa, so I instead resorted to sipping my mango juice on the curb and sharing smiles with the juice seller. In my early days, I found comfort in the simple beauty that my city held. Whether it be the towering sea-blue home next door or the way the sun kissed the battered alleyway on my morning walks to school. And it was these things that kept me going. It was these things that fueled my courage to live up to YES Abroad's standards. It was those $0.50 cups of mango juice that reminded me to embrace the beauty of the adventure that had so quickly engulfed my life.

Then the mangos went out of season, and the face of my friendly juice seller fell flat as she told me that mangos were not going to be back for a long, long time. As the mango season came to a close, so did my fear of getting lost in angkot, or lost in conversation, or lost in the thoughts that had constructed mazes in the inner fixtures of the person I was transforming into. I was growing. I was changing. I was loving. And just as quickly as I had fallen in love with mangos, I had forgotten about them and the obstacles that had been thrown in my face when they had been in season. Life became a bit more normal. I journeyed from city to city of Java with my host family. I spoke in front of large crowds. I met a collection of inspiring, uplifting people. I was busy, trying to finish an online class, make friends, learn how to cook, practice my Bahasa, volunteer. Each day quietly slipped by and suddenly the second half of my exchange was nearing its finale.

So yesterday, when I got word that the mangos had returned, of course, excitement ensued. My hands couldn't refrain from meandering over the rough, green peels, bringing me back to those first moments that just months before had quickly become foggy memories. My beloved fruit had grown, just as I had. But this time when sour mango juice hung on my lips, something had changed. The familiar comfort that had accompanied my mangos in the early months was replaced with something else entirely. Heartache. Grief. Straight up sadness. The juice woman's promise of "a long, long time" had passed in strikingly fast moments. The mangos are back. I've come full circle. And while the return of the mangos symbolizes the near end of this journey I've come to love so much, they also symbolize the start of a new one. The mangos are back. And boy, they are the sweetest they've ever been. 

For My Boys

"The pleasure of remembering had been taken from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we'd done were less real and important than they had been hours before."

Rewind to this time last year. My YES Abroad Finalist status to Indonesia had brought a wave of boundless happiness and excitement at the future to come. I had been surprised with a proposal to Prom that brought tears to my eyes because of its perfection, and I had even found the perfect emerald colored dress with my mom. We had booked plane tickets for a family vacation to California, the first trip to Disneyland in my life. Everything was perfect. After five years of hardship, things were starting to feel normal. Better than normal.

On the evening of April twelfth 2013, my kitchen was flooded with she smell of popcorn popping in my beloved popper. That evening my parents and I were settling down to listen to the first YES Abroad conference call. My heart leapt with excitement while simultaneously feeling heavy with nerves as I watched the green-lit clock on the oven waiting for the hour to strike. As the clock hit 5:30 pm, I dialed the number to connect. I paused for a moment. Overcome by the joy that we together were feeling as a family, I looked to each of my parents with a grin. "Let's get this show on the road." My dad was just as ready as I was. 

Minute by minute flew by, my anticipation for Indonesia growing with every word spoken about the upcoming journey. My cell-phone in my hand shrieked at 5:38, signaling that an unknown someone was awaiting on the other end. "Should I answer it?" I looked to my dad, whose head gave me a nod. 

"Helllllllo!?" My enthusiasm came to a puzzled halt as soft sobs greeted me on the other end. 

"Hello?" I whispered again. Something wasn't right. 

"Mallory?"

"Yeah?" My brain ferociously searched itself for ideas of what could be happening. 

"Cody is gone." Everything stopped. My stomach dropped. Surely she couldn't mean my Cody. And what did she mean, gone? Cody was supposed to leave for deployment that morning to Japan. Obviously he was surely gone from Bozeman by now. My silence posed the question that I couldn't speak. And her returning silence was the answer my heart couldn't fathom.

I have lost two crucial pieces of my puzzle over the past three years. Pieces that no matter how I hard try, I will never be able to replace. There are countless days when my body's entirety feels like its drowning in grief- as though to carry on with grace without my two best friends is less probable than the eight planets coming into perfect alignment. There are days, weeks, months, where every corner of my brain is flooded with their memories, voices, and stories. There are seconds where I question my strength, my momentum, my courage... Because those two boys provided both. 

But then there are days at the beach. Days where the sun's rays radiate a little bit of their spirits into my own. There are days when I meet a newborn boy named Luke or Cody, and their small smile reminds me that for every life taken, a new one is born, and what a beautiful truth that is. I live for the days when shared stories unify the people that have been touched by the souls of these two outrageous, courageous, young men.

Through their lives, and through their deaths, Cody and Luke left me with boundless knowledge and grace that my heart alone wouldn't have been able to find. It's because of these two that I strive. Everything that I do, the person that I want to become, I do it for my friends whose time was cut far, far too short. I loved them yesterday. I love them today. And I will love them forever, just as they have relentlessly done for me. That's all that my heavy heart has for now. Don't forget to tell your friends and family that you love them.

Indonesia is Weird

“Silakhan, Kak Mal. Take a seat!” It was my second night in the home of the strangers that were supposed to become my family, and I was still very much in my anxious, exchange-rookie stage. Cautiously I took my place at the table, fearing the food spread that was going to be presented for dinner that evening. My beaming mother placed a plate in front me.

“Why did she give me a heaping pile of burnt cheese?” I thought to myself.  

“It’s pisang keju coklat! You can only find it here in Indonesia!” My puzzled face and limited vocabulary encouraged her to continue. “Banana cheese chocolate!” Bananas? Did she mean the mushy, fruit nemesis that I had battled my whole life refusing to eat... Slathered in... Cheese?

“What is this country on?” I thought to myself. 

Flash forward to my first Monday at SMA Kartika. I was instructed to be at school fifteen minutes before usual sporting my school hat. “6:45 am at school? This country is absurd.” I grumbled to my host-mom.  After sluggishly making my way through the towering, steel gate, my faithful classmates grabbed my hand and started shouting the four words of English they knew. 

“Come on, Mal! Let’s go!” Before my eyes, students began falling into perfectly harmonized lines, segregated by class and gender. Reminding me of civilian soldiers, these students began saluting their elder students and teachers. And shouting. An abundance of shouting in their mother tongue that I knew a whopping five words of ensued. The fun didn’t stop there and next thing I knew, we were marching. My clumsy, bule feet attempted to march in sync with my perfectly practiced peers, without success. The girls behind me were lucky enough to witness the show I had made of myself and didn’t make an effort to cover there laughter.  After 45 minutes of standing, marching and reciting, my mind began to wander. I feared the long year ahead and attempted to count the number of bizarre, Monday flag ceremonies I would have to endure.

On my first day in my new home, I was exceptionally curious about the bathroom situation. I had heard the horror stories of squat toilets and bucket showers so when I saw the western-style bathroom and toilet paper supply, relief washed over me. My excitement was quickly taken down a few notches when I came to the realization that I had not a single clue of how to flush the toilet. I locked eyes with my white, porcelain foe. I decided to search for a lever on the side in hopes that it would be like my trusted toilet back home in the states. In my search, I found a knob on the side that seemed like it should do the trick. I rotated the knob. With the force of a firehose, water began spouting from an unknown source, drenching my entire front. This toilet was not in fact a conventional toilet. This toilet was a baffling, bizarre bidet.

I’m proud to report that I’ve come a long way since those initial days. In my early stages of living in Indonesia, this place seemed straight up weird. But here’s the cool part. These things, and so many others, they can no longer be classified with that word because these things are now my ordinary. Pisang keju is one of my most favorite treats.  And I can now actively participate in school flag ceremonies. Rising with the sun is no longer a battle, and I appreciate the extra hours of the day I can spend enjoying my country. I’m unfazed by toilets that make pig-sties look like palaces. Motorcycles frantically weaving between each other no longer put me on edge, but instead leave me smiling at the harmonious flow that is Bandung. I’m thankful for the school uniforms that were once a drag, and relish in not having to pick outfits for school each day. In the eyes of many, Indonesia is weird. But it’s these quirks and idiosyncrasies that I’ve come to love most.

I'm Homesick

“Now more than ever do I realize that I will never be content with a sedentary life, that I will always be haunted by thoughts of a sun-drenched elsewhere.” 

I'm an email addict. I crave the anticipation and excitement that builds with each special phone buzz that signifies a new message waiting. My fingers fiercely punch in my passcode to unlock my phone and open the email as though my life depends on it. Today however, is different. "AFS Travel Notification- Return" reads the subject line. My heart beats fast. I suddenly am unable to keep up with the rate at which my chest seems to want to rise and fall. 219 days worth of memories flood from every hidden corner of my mind. I put both hands to my eyes like magical shields, hoping they can somehow stop the tears that want to fall. I let the email sit, and still, it remains unopened. I'm homesick. With those few words, I'm homesick for this new home that I stumbled upon, and haven't even left yet.

Last July, I faced this same problem. As I drove through my mountains listening to Bon Iver, I silently shed tears as I thought of the imminent departure from my home. I was homesick. In my own home. And now, eight months later, I find myself facing a similar reality. 

I know it's been said many times, many ways... But I think the world of this place. I traveled far, far away from my home, only to feel like I never really left. My life has become one enormous paradox. I'm leaving home, to return home. I'm returning to the place where everything is simultaneously invariable, and yet downright foreign. The past 219 days have slipped through my fingers the same way the sand does at seashore. I so desperately want to scoop up my last 106 days, and lock them tight in a mason jar for me to hold forever. But of course, that's just not an option for me. As I stand on the brink of turning the page and writing a new chapter, I'm ready to go to war with this homesickness, and face it head on. I'm ready to embrace the pain as a gentle reminder of just how in love with my host country I've fallen, and just how much progress I've made thus far. As for the email, I'll let it sit for a few more days. No need to rush, ehh? 

Komunitas Menara- Giving Back

Bump, bump, bump. Our shiny, silver, Nissan Xtrail steadily progressed down the narrow, unkept, dirt road seeming strikingly out of place in the rural community. To my right was a small, open grass field with young children hanging from the remains of an old bus. To my left, sat an even smaller line of street stands selling a few basic necessities. Out the front window, was a semicircle of one-room, one-story homes that resembled the pictures of early houses I had seen in my history books. We had arrived. My four friends and I were greeted by a petite woman wearing a purple print dress, with her daughter shying away by her side. We were welcomed into their  home. One twin bed mattress on the floor. A child’s size lap desk. Walls decorated by the young girl’s Sharpie artworks. A small gas stove. And a pint-size bathroom in the back corner. In the ten by ten foot home, these were the things that first caught my eye. 

The young girl’s name was Annisa, and we had come to discuss the importance of her school. “Aku mau menjadi dokter.” I want to become a doctor, the young girl proclaimed without a hint of fear or hesitation. I smiled, because I knew that this girl was a powerhouse. Annisa’s mother began to give her testimony regarding the power of her daughter’s education within her family that under normal circumstances, wouldn’t be able to fund it. She contended that in result of Annisa attending school, her daughter had become more confident, self assured, and ready to chase her dreams. Her pint-sized daughter was excelling in English, Arabic, math, reading, writing, art, as well as effective social skills. Every word she softly spoke, left me feeling proud, inspired, and wanting to make a difference. What started as a YES Abroad project, quickly turned into much more than that.

Annisa’s school is a fully funded kindergarten created by the Komunitas Menara organization, or KM for short. KM was founded by one of Indonesia’s most prominent authors, Ahmad Fuadi. With the only goal of giving Indonesia’s impoverished children the opportunity to obtain a quality early childhood education, Fuadi built his first three KM schools. There are currently 30 million children in Indonesia aged 0-6, and less than half of these children have access to kindergartens. Let that sink in for a moment. That’s twenty times the population of my entire home state of Montana! 20 million children will never enter a school. 20 million children will never have the groundwork needed to establish a love of learning. 20 million children will never learn how to read, write, or obtain basic skills in math and science. 20 million children in the country that I now call home.

Indonesia has been nothing but welcoming and kind towards me. After being welcomed into the homes of strangers, offered free angkot rides, and given guidance as I attempt navigating this big city, I feel compelled to give back. I can donate my time, but Komunitas Menara needs so much more than that. With the ultimate goal of building 1,000 kindergartens, KM needs the financial support from you all. Nelson Mandela said it best when he said, “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” We are not only investing in the future of Indonesia’s children. We are investing in the future of our world. As technology advances, and travel becomes more attainable, many are realizing that our family is not limited to our own state or our own country. Our family is expanding far beyond country borders, and we are flourishing as an international community. Komunitas Menara can create an entire generation of doctors, engineers, writers, artists, researchers, and teachers. We can, and we will. It’s only a matter of time. Man jadda wajada.

*If you have been moved by the Komunitas Menara organization the way that I have, I encourage you to donate today! The campaign is now live here! Terima kasih banget, semua! Thank you so much, everyone!*