Nowhere (Wo)Man

It has been a rough week to say the least. Monday I was frustrated by the inability of certain people to do their jobs, and I spent a good portion of my Monday and Tuesday trying to make up for their lack of efforts. It all turned out fine in the end, but you could absolutely say that efforts may often go unnoticed here. Not really the issue at hand, so I'll digress.

I have been dealing with culture shock in nearly every way possible: My emotions are a roller-coaster waiting to de-rail. My body is craving anything and everything. I eat chocolate cake for breakfast and ice cream for dinner. My thoughts are obsessive. I decided I wanted to learn how to clog and spent a good 2 hours emailing dance studios about where to find tap shoes (none have responded.) My body is deformed. I'm putting on fat, my stomach is adjusting to the food and water by rebelling against me with nausea and diarrhea. I'm always exhausted, and I'm not sleeping. My head pounds with a migraine that has lasted for a week straight. I am annoyed with everything about the city that surrounds me. On Friday I went to try and mail a package home, and returned home with the package in my hands, soaking wet. Partially from the rain I walked home in, but mostly from the sweat that had dripped down my back from the exhausting 30 minute walk in my high heels on broken sidewalks, and around 10cm high puddles from the torrential rain I was almost stuck in, as I tried aimlessly to hail a cab. I screamed out my frustrations adding in a swear word here and there for effect.

I F#$%ING HATE IT HERE! I'M F#$%ING DONE! GET ME THE F#$% OUT!

After venting to my roommate, taking some time to cool off and watching an episode of Dexter I had to force myself to cry. The tears weren't even there. I had to think of so many sad things from my past to even shed 5 small tears. What the hell is going on with me? I'm sad, but I'm not sad at all.

I re-read posts from Albania, recognizing where I'm at and convincing myself this won't last forever, it will pass and I will be in love with my life again. I'm empty. I see nothing here. No part of me exists.

The following morning we wake up to head to the botanical gardens to celebrate being in Indonesia for 4 months. The cab driver has no idea where the train station is, and has to stop to ask twice. I'm frustrated and ready to turn around and head back to my bed. Eventually we make it, find the right train (thanks to a very nice man) and hop aboard for the 75 minute ride. Once in Bogor we can't find a cab, and though we try our best, our walking efforts do not work and we are eventually picked up by a guy driving a van, 5 Kilometers from the train station. I'm frustrated with all my failed attempts at doing things on my own.

Finding Love

The gardens are wonderful. We snarf down our picnic lunch in the least picnicky spot, all while being forced to take pictures with nervous looking Indonesian children. We walk, enjoying the plants, the smell of freshness. We enjoy the sound of birds around us, and the crunching leaves under our feet, and the solitude after our multiple escapes from every group of Indonesian students that try to approach us for a picture. Finding our way home is easier, though the train is awful and packed like sardines.

Nature!

After arriving home I cook, and I mean really cook for the first time. I make pasta and chicken and veggies in an avocado cream sauce. I'm experimenting, and exploring. I want more, and convince my friends to head to a new bar though it is an hour across the city. I cannot take another night with the same awful top 40's band. I cannot take another night with the same faces, and the same lighting. I cannot stand the thought of standing outside the McDonalds trying to get a taxi home at 2 in the morning. The routine is engraved in my mind and I hate it.

I look at the menu and discover an American Pale Ale, leading to indescribable amounts of excitement. The food is exquisite and I can feel the satisfaction in my stomach. When the band finally plays I am afraid I am in love with the place. The music isn't marvelous, or anything like what I listened to back home, but it isn't Rihanna, or Bruno Mars. I get the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Elvis, and the Doors.

I feel fulfilled, if only for a night. It is enough to sustain me.

This weekend has proven something: If I am willing to put in an adequate effort, if I am willing to take some chances and try some new things, then I will find love. And by love I mean nature, good beer and food, and decent live music.