Wherever you go, There you are

Saying goodbye at the airport. A little bit of the same as last time. Hugs and tears, and confused faces from my niece and nephew. K understands. She’s done this before. Q is just sick of me giving him hugs and kisses, and he is need of a nap from waking up extra early. Milwaukee to Chicago is short, and I easily find my gate in Chicago. Of course I have a window seat. I can never decide what is better, being in aisle so I can get up whenever I want, or being in a widow seat so I can lean my head against something. Luckily I’m sitting next to an older Chinese couple, They get up about every other hour to pee and I just follow their lead. I watch the flight time decrease. It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere until I finally sleep for 3 hours.

After a 15 hour flight to Hong Kong, I arrived in my line to get my boarding pass for my final flight. I finally get to the desk, an hour before my flight leaves. After looking at my visa the lady informs me that I may have to purchase a return ticket upon arrival in Indonesia. I try not to panic. It’s fine. When I applied they told me I didn’t need one. And so it goes. I have a credit card, I have some cash, it will all be fine, I tell her. Lines at security and I’m supposed to be on my flight in 20 minutes. According to the map it takes 20 minutes to get to my gate. So it goes. I get through, run to my gate, stopping to pee on the way. In the bathroom I cry. Just a little. I already don’t know why I’m doing this. I miss English. I miss my family. I want a hug from my mom. I want an IPA.

Boarding. I’m behind a family of 4. One little girl looks bigger than my niece, but is potentially the same age. She whines that she doesn’t want to walk. I miss my family more. No one has blonde hair. No one has while skin. I want to go home. I find my seat. After 5 minutes 2 other American girls sit down next to me and introduce themselves, They are visiting their friends who just got done teaching in Jakarta for a year. Apparently they were transferred from Vietnam, and fell in love with Indonesia. They had a blast. My faith is semi-restored. They offer me a green tea kit-kat. It is delicious. My faith is restored more. I’m exhausted. The plane leaves 30 minutes late. I pass the time filling out the customs forms, praying I can just make it to the apartment and sleep. I pick at my chicken and rice. I gulp down two glasses of red wine and take a 30 minute wine nap.

I arrive in Jakarta and step off the plane. Instantly I’m blown away by how humid it is. My lungs fill with the dampness and I can’t breath. I regret my lack of appreciation for the clean, dry breathable air of Minneapolis. After getting in the wrong line and finally asking a policeman, I figure out where I need to go for customs. The man behind the counter takes a look at my passport, looks at me and immediately comments that he is also 23. He repeats my address out loud several times, trying to memorize it. “Can I come visit you sometime?” he asks me. My mind is blown. Is the customs officer really flirting with me? He asks me if I plan on traveling eyeing my hiking pack up and down. I respond by saying I’m very excited to explore the country. Baggage claim is crowded, but eventually I find my bags. Success! They both made it! I hurry through the second customs check, and they don’t even have me put my bags through security, just my handbag. I exchange money. I feel rich as I’m handed bills with 5000 written on them in exchange for my $120 USD. I find the girls who are waiting to pick me, among traffic and chaos, as multiple taxi drivers ask me where I’m going and offer me rides. The driver finds us and packs my bags in the trunk. I try to carry on the conversation started, but I’m exhausted. I watch the street and the city, taking note of the things that make this city better than the last one. Signs on the interstate, lines on the interstate, pedestrian overpasses on the main streets, an A&W, far less trash on the streets, recycling bins. The only similarities I can see so far is the smog that hangs over the buildings, and one small vendor selling cigarettes on the street corner. Suddenly I notice we aren’t on the right side of the street. But neither are the other cars. I’m confused and way over tired. They tell me one other teacher has arrived. Ruby from Ireland. Stephan from Belgium and Angelique (Angie) from South Africa (my roommate) will arrive tomorrow morning and afternoon.

I’m told we are getting close. I take note of the surroundings, trying to establish myself enough so I can explore. Places to eat are pointed out. Among them a bakery, a noodle place, and a McDonalds. That’s right. A McDonalds, right down my street. The building is tall, 25 stories high and I can see the school, located right in the bottom of it. This is going to be quite the adjustment. I walk in the main entrance and everything looks fancy, like a nice hotel. There is a security guard, and a pond with water flowing over rocks. Through the doors I can see a swimming pool. We turn the corner, and there is an unfinished portion of the building. Just cement. I take note of the floor and the room number as I enter my apartment. It is partially my style, partially not, but enough so that I will be able to live with it. I sign the waivers, receive my key and access card, and begin to work on setting up my room. Why am I doing this? It’s 1:00am. I become frustrated with trying to organize. I need more hangers, I need a few extra drawers or a shelf. I need hooks to hang things, and picture frames to decorate with. No, I need to go to bed.

I decide it is time to shower. Having no idea which side is hot and which side it cold, I hop in. I don’t even care. Once the hot water begins to pour out I do care. I need a cold shower. I feel as though I will never ever stop sweating. I freak out because I forgot to check for spiders before I got in. Short and done. I need to go to bed but I just want to write. So I write and I worry about using the toilet, reminding myself to always check for spiders. It’s 2:30am. I need to sleep.

I brush my teeth, almost forgetting that the water isn’t drinkable, I’m sure to spit it all out, and to wipe my mouth out. I crawl into bed, hoping to god for some kind of salvation from the jet lag I know will haunt me for the next 2 weeks. I’m wide awake

4 hours later I awake, to a very bright room. It is instantaneous. From darkness to light. It is as if the sun rises in about 10 seconds. I consider moving to the other of the two rooms because there are less windows, but I really like the long window and the bigger bed for purposes of when people visit. I get up and take an IB profen. My head is pounding, and I have no energy to deal with it. I heat water in the microwave and mix some of the instant coffee they left me. I eat cornflakes and milk, and can hardly keep it down. The milk is sweet, and so is the coffee, but my tummy is empty, and gurgling. I eat slow and combine the sweetness with sips of cold water. The apartment finally feels cool enough to put on clothes. I turn the air down 2 degrees Celsius, and dress in a hiking shirt and my longest pair of sleeping shorts.

Outside looks nothing like it did last night, other than the smog that still hangs over the buildings. I notice more trash on the streets. I notice a pack of dogs in the streets. I notice a gypsy village in the distance and people collecting trash. I notice unfinished buildings. I notice the mosques. It looks like Tirana, but with more trees. There is a block long park next to me, covered in green. Thank god there is more green here.

I explore the apartment, mapping out an organization plan. I find a second toilet, that I didn’t know existed. I already need to sweep, but there is no broom. I begin a list of things to get when I’m at the mall. They mentioned something about a mall trip once everyone has arrived. I soon begin on the rest of organizing my closet and room, and continue to add to the list. I need so much. I want this place to feel like home, because it will be for the next 2 years.

I desire internet, anything to help me check in with the real world. I want to tell my mom I arrived safely. I want to explore, but don’t want to do it on my own. Where is my sense of exploration? I want to be here in case anyone comes, and I’m able to make a connection of any sort. I consider a nap. It is too bright, and then all of the sudden it is pouring rain. 30 minutes later it is sunny again. I spend the day in the apartment, fearful of getting lost without a map or phone. I convince myself that I can explore tomorrow, but deep down I’m disappointed in my fear and inability to just do it on my own. I don't want to feel lost. I read Beyond the Sky and the Earth by Jamie Zeppa. "Wherever you go, There you are." I'm here.