Sanctuary from the Mad World

This and this posting brought back bad memories why I left home.  The frustration and helplessness turned to anger come seeping back.   

After getting my bachelor degree in 1996, I was determined to go home.  I figured, lots of people went to Asia, including Indonesia, as expats for better opportunities.  The environment was both exciting and exotic.  There were lots to learn and do and I wanted to be part of the action.  I would also be foolish to slave myself with some clerical jobs with little career prospect (among other things, let's be honest, due to my foreign status) when my degree will be valued highly in Indonesia and I could start ahead of my peers.  So, after a year's detour in Beijing, I went home.

I had a good job in a bank.  It sort of fixed my career path that I belong in Finance.  Then the financial crisis started but I had enormous fun, job-wise.  I was eager, young, though naive and the learning curve was steep.  Life was great personally, too, as a young woman under my parents' roof: meeting new friends, going to parties, dining out, staying up late, etc.  My parents took care of the annoying nitty gritties like extension of ID card, car registration, etc.  Basically it was just me, the little money I had, and my little car, courtesy of Dad.  The traffic jam wasn't bad at that time and to this day, I often romanticized about driving around town in those years, weaving in and out of traffic, being nimble and agile and speedy.  It was the best driving experience unlike the slow, sleepy chugging here. 

Sure I experienced little discomforts such as not finding products I used to have, not finding affordable English books and good English bookstores, not having good internet access, etc.  But my job allows me to travel to Singapore from time to time and I'd bring back suitcases full of books and things I couldn't find in Jakarta. I made do with whatever I had and survived well.

Somewhere around 2001, I got restless.  Unconsciously, I felt that the city wasn't welcoming anymore and things just went from bad to worse.  Traffic jam was getting unreasonable.  Maybe I grew up, but I began to notice things:  decisions were made in haphazard if not insane way.  No one cared about anything or anybody else:  if one was trapped in a traffic jam, tough luck.  If you were going the other way, let's laugh at those who are stuck because you'd outsmarted them.  The rich got their own special treatment of course, they didn't have to suffer like we do (like being allowed into the busway lane) and therefore they couldn't care less.  Money bought everything, including fraud and murder. 

The poor also don't care and think they deserve special treatment because they're poor.  Hitting a motorcycle is a cardinal sin, regardless of who is at fault.  The slumps can blast the speakers as loud as they want for an all-night party but the rich behind their gates can't even say a peep or else riots ensues.  Granted, the poor's life was so sad it is easier to look the other way than listen to their stories helplessly.  Sure a help is better than none but when do you stop?  There are just so many of them.  On the other side of the spectrum, people think it's almost chic to throw away food to be slim while there are starving, begging children at every junction asking for change.  The elite gets more and more lavish with their spending:  every new boutique/club/high-end restaurants are chock-full with people.  I wonder how the waitress or shop keeper, who often are not paid very highly, must feel to see these people eat their month's salary in one sitting.  

Customer has no right and it's even worse when faced with government and medical institutions.  They are either arrogant or pathetic.  Doctors, the police, and taxmen have absolute and unquestionable authorities.  They are god-like, perfect in every way with no mistake or weakness. 

Compassion slowly disappears.  Once my newly arrived Indian boss and I were driving on Kuningan and witnessed an accident where a mini truck flipped to its side as we whizzed by.  The driver didn't stop.  My boss was astonished and I explained sheepishly to him that, in this town, people don't stop because we don't want to be tangled:  the police will demand money before releasing us as a witness and, if we bring the wounded to the hospital, we have to cover their medical bills before the hospital do anything.  

Then there's the hypocrisy:  people get increasingly religious but that is not reflected in daily lives with increased corruption, glorified views on extra marital affairs, and more TV programs on ghosts!  Celebrities are applauded for their charitable (and normally, religious-related) activities and soon, their nude pictures appear in the internet.  The so-called role models don religious attires only during the fasting month and dress seductively (their word, again) when overseas and fans still admire them.  The rest suffer the consequences:  innocent internet sites get a blanket ban, ridiculous, half-baked regulations mushroom.

These contradictions eat up my conscience.  I don't mind about the hardship but the moral decay, hypocrisy, and selfishness disturbed me the most.   In my last years, I told my husband I would end up dead.  I couldn't digest these anymore.  There was no reasoning in this country and I am a very strong believer in reasoning.  I also believe in clear, implementable rule to ensure a fair playing ground for everyone. I'm not naive to say that the rich in developing countries do not get their share of preferential treatment but at least the 80-20 rule applies.  I used to come home sobbing after spending 3 hours in a traffic jam, dizzy from the fumes.  I screamed equally to an extremely stubborn, greedy official and a helpless waitress.  I was going insane and numb and saw no way out of this mess.  We couldn't afford to live in the city to cut travelling time short so we, like millions of Jakartan, had to grin manically and bear it.  I was traumatized dealing with governmental and medical institutions (I still am).   I was afraid of being left on the street in case of accident.  I became very nervous all the time.

Occasionally, I complain about these to friend but no one saw the problems.  They all asked me to be patient because that's the way the city was (I abhor that shallow, insincere, thoughtless advice).  Some thought I just worshipped the western way of living.  Others told me not to change the world and just be grateful.  But we could change it!  If we want to.  Of course, no one cares because it's always other people's problems.

So with heavy heart, knowing that I'd be leaving my family behind, I asked a huge sacrifice from my husband and we agreed for me to take up this offer to work abroad.  

Life is really peaceful here and I cherish it.  I realize the difference when I call home.  My mother would discuss things like the traffic, the flood and these things do not cross my mind anymore.  Instead of complaining about traffic and a particular truck driver who tried to wiggle his way illegally in front of my car, I can discuss with my husband the American election or gossip about my day at work.  Instead of speaking to him on the phone about route to take due to possible flooding, I discuss what we want to have for dinner. 

I spend more time at home doing things I love:  trying out new recipes, reading, watching TV, or quietly enjoying my little apartment.  I go to bed not thinking of what route I need to take this time to beat the 3-in-1 or whether this time, I'd get robbed at an intersection.

The writer of this article is a dear friend and I admire her determination to go back and face the system, one bureaucratic mess at a time.  I admit I can't.  Some may think I'm a lesser person because instead of doing my bits, I run.  But if life is only once, I want the best for my life and, unfortunately, this is it.  Besides, if I truly believe it's going to change, who will make it?  Me and which army?

Leaving is truly a good decision for me and I'm glad my husband is also a convert now (as long as I cook his favourite food from home, I guess).  I don't mean to advocate living overseas but this is my story.  I realize how lucky I am to have this choice when I needed it and I can't wish enough for those who want this chance to get it as well. 

This year, I realize that I do not see this place behind a pretty, dreamy gauze of mist anymore.  As I ride the tram, as I walk my usual route home from work, as I meet my friends for coffee, I truly feel this place is my home and I no longer feel I'm blessed to be transported from the mess to this tranquility.   It is where I belong, for as long as the circumstances allow.