The glasses that I wear have been with me for a long
time. I can’t really remember how long,
to tell the truth. I think I got them in
high school. When I came to Indonesia, I
brought two pairs (in accordance with the recommendation of Peace Corps, which
also advised us not to bring contact lenses).
My dad had bought me a lovely new set: titanium, rimless on the bottom,
and with larger lenses than I’d had previously.
I kept my worn old Nike brand glasses as backups.
Five or six weeks into training those new glasses fell out
of my backpack on an angkot after I
failed to close the pocket properly. I’d
been switching between normal glasses and prescription sunglasses—another shiny
pre-Indonesia acquisition—and just didn’t pay enough attention. Despite my and others’ best efforts to get
them back, the new glasses were never recovered, and I’ve spent the last two
years wearing what were already a shabby set of specs.
The color of the rims used to be a solid metallic brown
color, but it looks as if paint has chipped away in places, and now there’s an
odd mixture of silver and brown. At the
ends of the parts that go behind your ears (what are those even called?), the
silicone material that covers/rounds/softens the metal has curled up and
twisted at the ends like the corners of an old book, and the metal is poking
through one of them. The glasses haven’t
sat straight on my face for at least four years. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to pop
the lenses back into the frame.
Somehow it feels like nearly everything else I own—and
everything about my appearance, when I think about it—could be described in
similar terms. Shabby, functional,
oblivious to the impression it makes. My
backpack has been with me through high school, college, Europe, and all of my
Peace Corps service. I have not traveled
anywhere without it since my junior year, and it’s starting to look its
age. The bag’s black color is badly
faded. In Flores it got soaked with
ocean water, which has drastically accelerated its aging. Thus drowned my iPod, which had outlived its
time in any case. The zipper-handle of
the little pocket cracked, and the zipper itself is too corroded to be opened
(in fact it’s stuck in a semi-open position).
The same goes for the zipper of the minor pocket containing my
sunglasses, which I haven’t opened in months.
At some point I’ll have to cut it open to get the sunglasses out. Other pockets only open when forced by a
ripping action. There is now a four-inch
slash in the small pocket, where somebody cut open my backpack and stole my
digital camera on a bus. I only
discovered the theft the next day, so it was deftly done.
And then there’s my appearance. I’m skinnier and lighter than I was in the
US. My hair is usually a big mess and I
don’t really ever know what I want to do with it. I shave once every two weeks or so, and the
beard grows in patchy. My clothes are
awfully worn out. Pants and casual
shirts are faded and stretched, and almost nothing fits quite right. I’m afraid my shoes won’t ever shine
again. Dress shirts have been stained by
sweat around the collar, and a scent of mold clings to most of my clothing, as
it does to my pillow, no matter how many times I wash the case. If I use a blanket at all, it’s a thin, raggy
sheet with grey and white stripes. Thinking
back over the last three or four years, I don’t remember more than one or two
instances of buying myself new clothing.
I’ve always just worn what was given or gifted to me, or took something
I found lying around for my own. I don’t
have any bags suitable for short-term travel, so I use a large green tote-bag
originally intended for multiple-use at grocery stores. When not employed as a travel bag, it doubles
as a hamper. I can and have lived for
weeks out of those tattered black and green bags. My wristwatch stopped working again, and this
time I’ve procrastinated getting it fixed and serviced. Sitting on my bed for several weeks, the
leather strap was totally molded over until I wiped it down just before
starting to write this.
Everything is shabby.
Most hours of the day I’m not conscious of my appearance or
the appearance my belongings. It doesn’t
occur to me, so it doesn’t occur to me that it could be occurring to others, so
I don’t feel much in the way of insecurity.
I simply forget to think about it.
But now, for whatever reason, I’m thinking about it.
**
There are six weeks left in my service as a Peace Corps
Volunteer. A couple weeks ago marked my
two-year anniversary in Indonesia. Last
year I had a special post for the occasion, but this year it felt rather muted
and even overshadowed by the sigh-heaving relief of the ID-6 Volunteers, who
made it through their first year, and the arrival of the ID-7 trainees.
I suppose I haven’t mentioned it on this blog yet, though
everyone who knows me probably knows this anyway, but I’m entering the Master
of Public Policy program at Duke University in the fall. Getting the graduate school application
process behind me was a big weight off my shoulders and allowed me to focus
fully once again on the things happening in Indonesia. People keep asking me whether I’m excited for
grad school. The answer is yes, but it’s
not dominating my thoughts just now.
There’s a lot to think about before burying myself in books (but not snow,
Jay).
I just got done with iGLOW, a girls’ empowerment camp. Before iGLOW, I was in Yogyakarta with Melanie, and before that in Surabaya.
Things have been really busy, and the coming months will remain so. After my service finishes, I’ll tarry a while
in the Gili Islands of Lombok, then fly to Switzerland, where I’ll spend a few
weeks before going back to the US on July 2nd. A month later I’ll be moving to Durham, North
Carolina. At that point I’ll be ready to
get really excited about grad school.
**
Maybe it’s an inescapable consequence of being so close to
the end, but I’ve been thinking a lot about these last two years. The first eight months were a time of
tremendous change and growth. The second
eight months were steadier, and gradually the perception of grand changes
ground down, especially moving into the third eight months, when I had to begin
balancing my service with preparations for the future. I stopped counting the days a long time ago,
and I’m not staring at the countdown as the end approaches. Still, the closer it gets, the more I feel
it’s the right choice for me to leave Indonesia and start something new.
A few weeks ago, I had a VAC meeting in Surabaya. At VAC meetings, PCV representatives meet
with the top staff in country to discuss various programmatic concerns and
generally facilitate communication between staff and PCVs. One issue that was brought up was the amount
of time PCVs spend out of their community.
Generally speaking, staff wants Volunteers to stay at their sites if
they’re not on official holiday, and they suggest that Volunteers not be away
for more than two days per month on personal business. In reality, most PCVs are away from their
sites more often—in some cases much more often.
This point led to a discussion about what a PCV whose entire work
centers on their school (such as myself) is supposed to do with themself when
school is canceled for weeks at a time.
Should they just sit around doing nothing?
That question is an important one, and the staff’s answer is
yes.
I already knew the answer and the reasoning, but hearing the explanation
again revealed a lot to me about my current mindset. Why should PCVs remain at their site, even
when there is no school and nothing particularly interesting going on? Because the very fact of our presence in our
communities is valuable to the people in those communities. Sitting around and doing “nothing” is never
really nothing, no matter how boring it can be at times. Being visible in our communities, being a
part of our communities even when there’s nothing exciting happening, is one of
the things that distinguishes Peace Corps Volunteers from the many other
do-gooders to be found in the developing world.
Our presence and integration is a source of pride for our neighbors and
builds fellowship among us. That’s why
it’s valuable, and that’s why we should stay put.
And that’s how I know that Peace Corps isn’t for me
anymore.
Because staff is right: it is valuable, it is special,
and it is what makes Peace Corps
different. But it’s not a job I want to
do. I’ve done it for a while now,
however imperfectly, and I don’t want to keep doing it past my term of service.
I like doing service work.
Working person-to-person has been satisfying and challenging, and I feel
that I’ve given much of myself and received much in return. The knowledge and experience gained over the
last couple years mean that I have more potential to be effective now than I’ve
ever had before.
But I’m also weary, and I’m troubled by signs of remoteness
that have become manifest recently. Other Volunteers (Erin and Martine, both
with excellent insight) have written recently about the small talk/minor
interactions that define a PCV’s experience in Indonesia and the attitude with
which we approach those moments. Though
PCVs often feel that all the attention they receive is unfair, burdensome, and
invasive, in reality it’s no individual’s fault. To my mind, a perfect PCV would cheerfully
engage with every inquiring stranger, despite the predictability and
repetitiveness of such conversations, treating each situation as an opportunity
to make a new friendship and increase mutual understanding. No one is perfect, of course, and people
often would rather be left alone with their thoughts or their music.
What disturbs me is the way I’ve evolved an ability to avoid
such interactions altogether. Something
in the expression of my face, in the accent of my speech, in the posture of my
body keeps most strangers from even initiating conversations with me
anymore. It’s not that I scowl, but I’ve
learned how to project an aura of unapproachability and disinterest. I’ve learned how to answer opening inquiries
(“where are you from”, “how long have you been here”, etc.) with such brevity
and indifference that they almost never lead to any longer conversations. There was a time when I got into those
conversations with great gusto. I
recognized their value and consistency with my role here as a PCV, and I wasn’t
put off by their repetitiveness. I was
eager to see where they would wind up.
But no longer. I
don’t enjoy the small talk with strangers, which does not lead to meaningful
cultural exchange. Perhaps I’ve been
spoiled to work for a long time with counterparts at my school who are Indonesian
and with whom I have had deep exchanges, both personally and culturally. Whatever the cause, my heart longer buys the notion
that such superficial interactions are truly valuable. These days, only the truly determined cross
that gulf of detachment (and those are the people who are more interesting to
talk to). I’ve become indifferent to
compliments, which are given freely here as a matter of politeness. I dislike being addressed in English, though
it is done as a courtesy. I loathe the
fits of laughter that come over people who, after arguing among themselves
about it, ask me if I can speak Indonesian and learn that I can. I hate the cheap points I can get with people
here by saying two words of Javanese, and I’ve come to avoid saying things I
know will trigger overdone reactions, even though they would endear me to the
person I’m speaking with.
Maybe that’s jadedness, but it’s not cynicism by any
stretch. I believe that what I’ve done
and what I’ve achieved with my counterparts and colleagues has been meaningful
for everyone involved. Earlier today I
watched as three of my counterparts discussed how they could integrate a lesson
on expressing opinions with a message for students to weigh the pros and cons
of getting married young or waiting to get married. It was immensely satisfying to watch these
three teachers working with high expectations of themselves, viewing the
planning meeting not as a nuisance, but as an opportunity to make a difference
in kids’ lives. We’ve made it to this
point together, through so many ups and downs.
These two years have been well-spent for me, and I would make the same
choice again in a heartbeat. I believe that the PCVs here are doing something
good and worthwhile and that this program deserves to grow.
I’m just not the one to continue the work. At least not in this capacity as a PCV. I could continue working with Indonesians and
with other PCVs, but I don’t want the restrictions and I don’t want to be bound
by Peace Corps’ mode of community integration.
I’ve taken a lot from my experience here and learned more from it than I
can articulate, but it’s time to move on.
