Tag Archives: Indonesian

Juggling Words

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A while ago, I think it’s about two years, I registered with a Lowland version of something similar to Friends Reunited here in the UK. It’s a website to find childhood friends again, I registered just out of curiosity and to see who was on there. Quite a few people contacted me through email ever since, wondering what has become of me. At times it might be nice to hear from people from the past and it’s even nicer to hear what kind of impression you seem to have left or what memories. All of them seem to remember me sketching and drawing during lessons and breaks and some even kept my drawings all those years which is quite flattering. But I have to say I have doubts about the whole thing lately because I started to fail to see the point of all this when I discovered a pattern.

Let me explain: you’ll get an email in at some point, just a short one with an introduction about the sender and ending with the usual questions: how are you, what are you doing these days, where do you live, are you married, do you have children etc. And then you’ll end up replying to their email, carefully juggling the words trying to keep the balance between past and present. They usually ask me how my parents are, especially my dad; all my friends loved him because he was always interested in them and would ask questions or tell them one of his many stories. So I end up writing them that he passed away and tell them that I’m fine about it since most people don’t understand that, to me, death isn’t something final. It’s a transition which I celebrate, but how can you explain what took me years in a few lines?

Then there is a next email in which they proudly show a few pictures -followed by a request for yours- of their husband and/or wife and the children, because that’s how life is supposed to be to most: settle down and have a family. Of course I end up juggling with words again since I’ve always been an exception to the rule and my lifestyle is regarded as being at least a bit odd, but since I’m a creative person, even an artist to some, it’s accepted that I don’t have children and I’m not married *yet*, so I’m told. If I’m ‘lucky‘ I will get a follow-up email and then it usually stops there. Why you wonder? Well because I have nothing to tell them except for bringing up some memories and that’s where it stops. How can I relate to someone that has missed about 20 years of my life? How can I explain how I became the person that I am today?

One other thing that bothers me is the fact that some of them still have connections with my family somehow. I’m not afraid of telling them certain things, but I know I’ll take a risk by doing so and some things are better left unsaid. I really don’t care what they think of me, the truth will come out some day anyway but it doesn’t mean I should add fuel to the fire: they don’t need to hear from me, so it’s better to keep my distance, literally… After all, I moved here for a reason. I also believe in fate, if it was meant to be, these people would’ve stayed in my life for some reason, but they didn’t and I don’t feel much for bringing back ghost from the past just to satisfy their curiosity and hunger for a tiny snippet of information. I really don’t feel like keeping some channels open for correspondence…

There is enough going on in my life already without having the urge for expanding and getting involved in more time-consuming activities, I simply don’t want to. I would love to give my time to those who are actually part of my life, this life, here and now and not something that ‘has been‘… So I guess it might be best to put the profile on inactive. People end up having different walks of life, they choose different directions and paths which is only normal, but trying to keep something alive that is no longer there is simply a waste of time… I’d rather spend it in a more useful and far more enjoyable way: I met up with Ismoyo last Tuesday and had a wonderful time showing her around parts of London. She was over from NY for a few days to work on her project, a craft book which will be published and released in the US this year.

If you’d like to read more I suggest you’ll go over and visit her wonderful blog!

Only 6 days ago it was still a tiny root…

Batik And Soup

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Have you ever wondered about your memories? I have… and it keeps coming back lately.

The other day I was having tomato soup and buttered toast, something I could eat every day but I wouldn’t because it’s just not healthy. I was quietly eating, taking in every spoonful of soup, mixed with flavoured thoughts of the past. I was wondering why I like this combination so much and it took me back to my childhood, it started when I was about five years old. My Indonesian grandmother used to live in the east of the Lowlands in a small village where she was known as the mother of the local GPs: her daughter and husband [my aunt and uncle] and probably the only dark-skinned person along with her daughter of that part of the country. We would visit her twice or three times a year, which was always something to look forward to. An adventure and not just because of the long trip there although I loved driving around the country with my dad.

My nenek was extremely talented, she loved crafting: sewing, knitting, embroidering, crocheting, etc. Most of the time she would recreate characters from children’s books or TV shows. She would keep them for a couple of months until she had about 30 and then donate them all to charity, to children. When she first arrived at the Lowlands from Indonesia, she couldn’t speak the language and in order to deal with her grief for having to leave her home country, she started to create her life story in the shape of a large embroidery. Her husband was still missing because of the war with Japan and it took her over a year to find him, scrolling through lists of dead people at the Red Cross Unit in Indonesia. They had been separated during the war and ended up in different prison camps. She had to go back to Indonesia and leave her three children in the Lowlands, to look for him.

Her embroidery would tell all the details of her life, her pain but also her joy: how she met my kakek [grandfather], her life in Indonesia, her trip to the Lowlands by boat etc. She used fabric from Indonesia so she would still have a connection with her country, from sarongs, blouses or even curtains, most of them batik. Appliques decorated with shiny, glittery tiny beads, thousands of them… It had a special place in the house, on the wall, near the stairs up to the first floor, next to all the kerisses that had been in the family for ages. Not a dominant spot though but it would definitely catch your eye somehow. It was the most amazing artwork I’ve ever seen… and as a child I would ask her over and over again to tell me her stories. She would ask me to point at a detail that I liked and she would tell me her tales. Something that could continue for hours…

She also used to teach others how to play the piano or the organ. She had a piano in the back room and an organ in the spare room upstairs. She would go to church three times a week just to play the pipe organ when no one was around and of course the finale on Sundays. I was the only one she would allow to play her piano because she said ‘I had talent’. She wanted my dad to pay for lessons but we had no room in our house for a piano and there wasn’t any money for lessons either. Although she kept reminding my dad with each visit, it didn’t matter to me, because I could ‘play’ whenever we would go there. When my grandmother became older she stopped cooking those lovely Indonesian meals for us and instead of the usual Bami Goreng we would have tomato soup and buttered toast for lunch and get Chinese takeaway later.

While I’m writing this, the memories start to come back but unfortunately not all of them, some I just can’t remember… I now realise why a simple combination of tomato soup and buttered toast seem to have left such an imprint on my mind. I still wonder though whether your memories simply vanish over the years. They seem to become more and more transparent and incomplete, like a faded picture that has been lying in the sun for too long. What’s the purpose of having memories if they seem to fade more and more each year? To me it’s kind of a freaky thought that you end up with no memories at all once they’re all vanished… I’m referring to childhood memories in particular because especially those, are the ones that bring back certain emotions, pictures and even scents or flavours…

Even though each day is another opportunity to create new ones, wouldn’t it be a shame if they would all slowly turn into dim, hard to acknowledge, unrelated ‘nothings’?…

Memories… Will they vaporise like the rain on my window?