Returning Home

Next - packing. I lived upstairs, the scales lived downstairs. I can't remember the number of times I had to pull my (overweight) suitcase up and down those stairs. I eventually ended up leaving most of my clothes behind, for the servants, and had everything else in one HUGE box, to be posted. My luggage consisted basically of the things that were truly precious to me - that I wouldn't entrust to post. These things were cassettes, comic books, photos etc... Stupid me posted my dictionaries back, which meant that for most of my second semester at school, I didn't have them.

We five students collected at the train station, where our chaperone, Mas Moran was waiting for us. It wasn't a particularly happy scene - I saw my eldest sister cry... and this really got to me, becuase I thought she didn't really care too much about me. Eventually though, we all piled into the train, for the 6 hr journey to Jakarta. Moran had conjunctivitis, and Valentine was the only one brave enough to sit next to him. We other four sat opposite each other, and made real idiots of ourselves, as we wiled away the hours throwing food into each other's mouths, and giggling our heads off.

At the station in Jakarta - no Rani. I didn't even have a clue of where she lived. We hung around for about an hour before she turned up to drive us to her house. I only have beautiful memories of this time. Sabina and I and Rani talking most of the night - going out to see the night market, when I was hallucinating from lack of sleep, getting my nose pierced, doing a 'balolo' drive (where you cruise the streets which are lined by transvestites) plus the three days at the end of stay camp, where everyone was happy to see each other, but we were all rather subdued. Then, of course, the day Rani took us to the amusement park, and the most delicious fried chicken in the world - cooked by her mother.

I didn't get much sleep in that week, but eventually came the morning where I had to leave. I woke up that morning, my nose piercing was infected, I was tired and miserable, I had the beginnings of flu, AND I'd somehow caught Mas Moran's conjunctivitis, so my eyes were all gucky and red. Because of this, I couldn't wear my contact lenses, and I refuse to wear my glasses, so not only was I unwell - I also couldn't see a THING (my focus point is about 5 cms away from my face - I'm severely short-sighted). It wouldn't have mattered anyway... I was teary from the moment I woke up.

Rani and her brother drove Sabina and I to the airport, which we reached about two hours before we had to even start getting ready. Making fluttery eyelashes at the airport staff got our luggage through without too much hassle, and then that terrible moment of parting, where you hug the people you've gotten so close to, and you know that the chances of seeing them again are really slim. There were 6 of us travelling together, and it sort of came to me, to organise them all thru to the lounge.

The Departure lounge was empty when I got there. I asked the attendant where our flight was - she pointed out to the runway, and said 'it's about to leave'. You never saw us move so fast... I was carrying my big long pink body pillow, and a heavy bag - everyone else was just as encumbered. EVENTUALLY, we made it onto the plane, then looked around us.... "Where's Josh?" "I thought he was with us" "STOP THE PLANE, WE'VE LOST OUR FRIEND" The flight was delayed 15 mins, and he still didn't turn up. He eventually caught a later flight to Bali, to catch up with us. Josh had been known for his extensive drug-taking, so the first thing we did when we got to Bali, was to grab his bag, and flush any and all drugs we found. (oh yeah - AFSer's look out for one another) The plane ride was long, and it was boring (and it was only 6 hrs!!) Josh had managed to find a friend in first class, so he just spent the entire time getting drunk. Arriving in Sydney, Melissa had the luggage check tickets, but I knew that she and the others were eager to see their parents. I had another flight to go, so I said I'd wait for Josh, and they could go. I haven't seen them since. Josh eventually turned up - escorted off the plane by security. I didn't really want to go thru customs with him - he was definitely going to be searched, and I didn't want to, because I was carrying a ceremonial dagger which I hadn't bothered to declare. Luckily - I wasn't stopped.... A final flight to Albury, by myself - I managed to set off metal detectors, due to the cutlery I'd stolen off the Garuda flight (I still use it!) and I was excited about seeing everyone again. Once I entered the airport, this excitement dissipated very quickly. My little cousins didn't recognise me... my friends had come to meet me, but I didn't really have all that much to say to them. I do remember though, that we had to drop them off at the cinema, I went with my friend to buy her ticket, and shouted out loud "Shit - they're expensive!!!" (compared to Indon prices, they were) I think that put her off me - as well as the compliment I gave her, when I first saw her again 'Lyndal - you've put on weight - you look fantastic!'. It's a typical Indon comment, and I said it without thinking. Stupid me.

I'm somewhat of a good example, of the problems faced when coming home. After a month or so of being back, I was in daily arguments with the vice-principal about the amount of jewellery I was wearing (I wasn't taking it off - it all had a story attached), my Indonesian teacher hated me, because my language was so much better than hers, my 'friends' basically ignored me full stop, I'd had to drop back to a class where I didn't know, or like any of the students, I missed EVERYTHING, the weather was too cold, and I'd end up at lunchtimes, in my mother's office screaming about how much I hated it all. And I did. I hated all and everything - nothing was going right. My school eventually put me into counselling. But what I feel really helped me, was in September, when I went to an AFS returnees gathering organised by my friend Becki. It was the first time since July that I felt comfortable and happy. Becki and I reminisced a lot about Indonesia, we listened to our Indon music, and I met Daniel. Daniel was a returnee from the States, we ended up dating for about 16 months - and I would never have survived my final year at high school without him - even if he did live 400 kms away. (We've since broken up, he's now officially classed as a 'drug-fucked cheating asshole'.)

For me... I returned to a small, red-neck rural town, after living a year amongst not only Asians, but Moslem Asians (shock shock horror horror) I love that country, I love the people, I love everything about it. But all I heard in my hometown was that it was dirty, and disgusting, and that Islam is bad, and that Indonesians were going to invade Australia, and that basically it was a useless country. I tried to defend it, and defend my experiences, which also lost me a lot of friends, and had me branded as even more of an outsider than I was. I now looked exceedingly different from everyone else (I was the first kid at my highschool to pierce their nose!) I spoke differently, and I had a different, VERY different viewpoint. And honestly, I'm not joking when I say that I lost every single one of my friends. By October, there were 3 or 4 people I'd managed to ferret out as suitable friends - for which I was eternally grateful.

I think I learnt quickly to shut up and not speak about the way I felt about my exchange - it wasn't appreciated, and no one cared anyway. My photos, and trinkets and tales were kept to myself. My re-orientation camp didn't help much at all - I was the only one to go to an Asian country, so whilst everyone else was raving about the parties, and the drinking and that sort of thing that they'd done - I had nothing to add, because my year was almost the polar opposite.

So I battled thru my final year and a half of high school, with the help of Daniel, and my 4 friends... then! I moved to Melbourne for Uni. I went to a Uni Orientation camp, where I met a girl named Suze. She'd learnt that I'd gone on exchange and she wanted to hear all about it. I talked about it for almost 4 or 5 hours - it was my first chance in 20 months to talk freely. Suze didn't mind... and I loved the fact that finally someone wanted to hear.

Still, my year affected me. About September/October last year, I was severely depressed. My friend tried to help me, and he ended up convincing me to go into counselling. A friend told me that I was still looking for Indonesia, and the acceptence I'd felt there. The counsellor said I was still grieving for my year. Why don't AFS tell you it's not a departure - it's almost like a death? Still grieving - after almost 2 and a half years since returning. I think I only started to pick up, after I phoned my host family to ask if I was still their daughter... (and I am!)

Even now, my year is something I don't discuss too much with the people I know. I love to share it, it's such a vital and important part of who I am, but it's too far distant, and too different from what most of the people I know have done. I remember one girl telling me that I spoke about it, as if I had only just recently returned. But the guy who is probably my best friend here at Uni, had lived with his family for 4.5 years in Jakarta. It's a common point between us (and actually the reason I went up to speak to him) and I guess we each just implicitly understand each other's backgrounds, because I feel more comfortable with him, than almost anyone else.

Last Friday, I reread my Indon diaries for the first time. It ended up turning into an 11 page letter to a friend of mine, all about my year, and the feelings that I had. It's actually one of the most therapeutic things I'd ever written - that and something I wrote in Yr 12, about the problems of being 'home' again.

My suggestion for these kids would be to share as much of it as possible - to see if they can find someone who will understand how important this year is to them. And to do a lot of writing - because people are usually interested in hearing tales and adventures, but the more personal things are harder to share. And most importantly - that no matter how hard they wish, they can't get things back to how they were. It's just not possible. I know, that when I return home to Indonesia it just won't be the same... and that thought makes me so sad. But the urge to see my family, and to reacquaint myself with the city is even stronger.

Don't toss your year away... keep it within you. Not at the forefront of everything, but as a reminder of good times, bad times, and what you CAN do, when you are determined to do it. My nose ring is a constant reminder of this for me. It's the 'little part of Indonesia' that I always carry.