Tag Archives for reflections

Syrian reflections

A year ago at this time I was experiencing the last day of my too-short live-in affair with Berlin. Spring was finally gaining ground over winter’s tight hold, the light was accumulating subtly more each day, impetuous buds were breaking forth on the trees, people were beginning to flock to the parks to laze about and absorb the increasing warmth and the rising sap in blood and bone was beginning to awaken and shake off winter’s sleep.

Today is calling me back to my time in Berlin very specifically. Today that ridiculous puppet that is currently named President made the deplorable decision to rain more suffering down upon the people of Syria, who have had twenty times more than enough of it for any lifetime. Today I am remembering the German class I took during my time in Berlin in an arduous attempt to reawaken the buried and slumbering bits of language in my brain, and today I am specifically remembering the Syrian man who was part of my class.
It was a month-long course and at the end of it we all had to give a 5-minute presentation in German about a topic of our choosing. Mahmoud and I were the two quietest people in the class and, at least in my experience, we seemed to be the two who struggled the most, though, to be fair, everyone else in class had a huge lead on me because they all knew English in addition to their mother tongue whereas I pretty much only knew American and a random smattering of bits from a few other languages.

I don’t remember all of the presentations, but I will never forget Mahmoud’s. This gentle, reserved man put together an unexpectedly beautiful slideshow and presentation about his home of Damascus. I sat through his halting words and growing emotion and thought how beautiful a place it was and felt a bit sad that I would most likely never get to visit it….and then quickly upon that thought dawned the realization that he might never get to see it again either.
And here he was, exiled from his home that he loved so much, living in a strange foreign country trying to learn the language to be able to get a job and build a life there, probably with family members still living in war-torn Damascus and possibly not knowing how they were or if they were all still alive, to be separated from them in such a time of need and not be able to help, to battle the knowledge that such earth-shattering events in your life and the lives of others were happening in the world and were also being blindly ignored by so many other people, people who had the power to help and possibly stop such things happening. And there I was, about to return home to America and what would it be like if war suddenly broke out and I was stranded in this foreign country, unable to return home, unable to account for my family and friends’ well-beings, to not know if they were safe or suffering, to not be able to help from such a vast distance away, to contemplate the possibility of not ever being able to return home to the place that I loved, to have such devastation hang on my heart and wonder how other people could not care that it was happening. To try and imagine, just for a minute, what the reality of that experience would be like.

By the end of his presentation Mahmoud was practically vibrating with a deep welling of emotion for his home and had run out of things easy to express. The intensity of it filled the room and I could see the effect on everyone else’s faces and how none of us quite knew what to say to honor it without being too heavy or too light.
Still, to this day, I remember that, the intensity of emotion that gripped him as he talked of his home.
Still, I think of that day, I think of Mahmoud, every one of the too few times I see some news about Syria.

I do not know how we are to do it, but we need to bring the fire of humanity back to our leaders, to open their hearts to compassion for their fellows and to all the suffering that they are perpetuating in this world. This is madness to not care. This is pure madness to know of terrible things being done and do nothing but make them worse.
My crying is nothing compared to theirs.

May our leaders all wake up to their mortality, to their humanity and connection with every other living being on this planet. May our leaders wake up with hearts overflowing with love and compassion for all others and with minds sharply focused and motivated to use their power to move mountains to end the suffering of so many peoples on this earth.
May we all wake up. May we all be free from suffering. May we all share peace in this lifetime.

Further reflections from Indonesia

image

I’ve been 36 days in Indonesia so far, though without internet for a fair portion of that and I feel a bit behind on sharing observations, so here’s a random collection:

– I think I’ve finally adjusted to being in such humid hot climate again, though I keep forgetting how quickly the equatorial sun can crisp me. Seriously, if I walk around for even ten or fifteen minutes outside in the middle of the day I go inside and discover that my exposed skin is noticeably pinker. Wearing hijab makes a lot of sense in this respect.

– Despite the insane amounts of sugar they put in things here, they have shockingly missed the memo on doughnuts, which are merely fried dough and have nothing to do with sugar.

– It only took me eight days to miss tacos, which should not be interpreted to reflect badly on Indonesian food, but rather upon my enduring love of tacos.

– People. People, everywhere. Holy crap, so many people.

– I’m getting used to a fairly consistent low-level of confusion. “Did they actually hear my order?” “Hmmm…the food has arrived, but will my drink ever come before we leave?” “Is this the way we are supposed to go? Was there a sign back there? Is this actually a road?…” “They just answered Yes(or No), but it doesn’t seem like they really understood what I was asking…” “That answer to my question, didn’t actually answer my question and also gave me five more…”

– Money is confusing here. Banknotes begin at 1,000 and continue (5,000…10,000…20,000…50,000…100,000) and prices can often be seen in millions (e.g. 3,250,000Rph). It’s roughly about 12 or 13 USD to Rph, so I default to dividing by 10, which equates to a lot of decimal moving.
It took me about two weeks to get used to all the zeros, though I still sometimes mess up converting things in my head. So far it isn’t clear to me why they still keep all the zeros since most things are priced in units of 1,000, though I’m sure there’s an economic principle involved such as might also explain why we still use Daylight Savings Time in the US and don’t use the metric system…you tell me.

– I arrived in the beginning of the rainy season, though so far, it hasn’t rained very often. Do people still not believe in global warming??

– I am appalled daily by the general lack of responsibility to trash here. In the bigger cities like Jakarta, Yogyakarta and (I think) Denpasar, there is trash collection and some street cleaning. Even so, people seem to not even think twice about throwing their plastic bottles, wrappers, etc. right on the ground or out a car window. Rivers and creeks are apparently great places to dump waste and even better locations are beautiful viewpoints. Those ones are especially great places to put fish bits and really stinky trash, as I’ve experienced. We went to one of the local tourist sites yesterday, the Taman Sari, and there were piles of trash collecting in some of the corners as if even celebrated historical palaces aren’t to be respected and that extra price they charge foreigners at tourist sites is obviously not part of the cleaning budget.
As poor as some of the rural areas and a lot of the people are I’m rather surprised they aren’t at least collecting recycling for money (admittedly there would need to be a recycling center of sorts for that to work). It gives a lot of good food for thought about what might possibly resolve the issue, about how much this is a disregarded problem all over the world, what would be effective ways of instilling that sense of responsibility in different cultures, about how much this is a disregarded problem in my own culture…

– I am often distressed by the general lack of care and respect for animals. It’s painful to see. Who am I to tell that carriage driver that he should voluntarily not earn any money this week/month because his horse is obviously very sick and malnourished and needs water and food and rest from work? What about the dead cat in a cage at the hotel? Just…why do I even have to be asking about a dead cat in a cage??

Also along this line, luak coffee, which originated in Indonesia as a wild foraging rarity, and is now produced by extremely inhumane industrial methods: http://world.time.com/2013/10/02/the-worlds-most-expensive-coffee-is-a-cruel-cynical-scam/
The wikipedia article explains a little more about the history of it: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kopi_Luwak

– Admittedly I may not have been in the areas where they are or maybe I don’t know enough to distinguish them, but so far I have only seen less than ten possibly homeless people begging for money.
Less than ten, in all these millions of people.
That’s very impressive, especially in contrast to my Bay Area experience.
It has been explained to me that in Indonesian culture family is #1. Family always comes first. There are many different cultures comprising the archipelagos of Indonesia, but in most of them people live in a large extended family structure, and a lot of times even the names they go by are derived from their position in the family. Generally each family also has land allotted to it, which is used for living and also rice fields and gardens and they don’t often sell it (because they use it to live on and by its production), so, even if the family is poor, the whole family can be provided for.
(I realize there are probably many cultural examples that contradict what I am saying, I am merely relating the little bit I have learned so far in my admittedly limited experience.)

– You can very easily eat a solid meal for less than $3USD here, which I’m quite enjoying. It’s mostly rice (or soup) with some sort of meat and usually not a lot of vegetables, but it’s a lot more trustworthy than American food at the same price as it doesn’t come out of a box and it’s usually cooked right in front of you (as long as you don’t mind the MSG).

– Fresh Indonesian tofu (cooked) is the worst thing I think I’ve ever eaten. I’ve had some since then that didn’t taste exactly like a steaming pile of cow dung, but I’m still rather leery of the vegetarian dishes and their tofu content after that experience.

– There is an amazing selection of fruit here and a usually disappointing selection of vegetables. I’ve tried several new fruits that I’ve never even seen or heard of before of which my new favorite is sirsak (soursop). I really wish we had it in the States.

– There is also an amazing variety of flowers and plants and trees here, though I mostly have no clue what they are. We haven’t yet been able to find a botanical garden, nor a good English bookstore and so far my attempts at asking what plant that is have resulted in “that’s a flower” or “that’s grass” (purple flowering plant that is definitely not a grass).
I may be able to figure some of it out now that we have consistent internet access…

– I am almost daily reminded of and given opportunity to appreciate the level of quality and extent of the education I have received in my home country and also the easy access to information that I take for granted.

– I am tired of being stared at. all. the. time.

Only 24 more days to go! Let’s see what further adventures bring us!