Expressions of Annoyance and Anger

I am thankful I took up swearing before I came to Indonesia. It was never really my thing, and I was incapable of pulling it off effectively. My friend Goob* can attest to this, as he loves to cite the only time he ever heard me say the “F” word in my youth. It was in response to his unfair guarding of the jail during a manhunt game. To this day, I feel the expletive was fully warranted, even if it was poorly executed. Concealing himself behind a bush and acting as if it wasn't cheating was intolerable. 

The swearing started brewing over the years as I began running more. It served as a valuable outlet when I was annoyed by other runners: the stomper, the guy who wore bells on his shoes, the intermittent sprinter/walker. I find it's a welcome and healthy release of aggression - an indispensable tool in maintaining my cool (if I ever had it). 

I haven't hit Jersey Shore or sailor status as of yet, but one needs these little stress relievers for daily life. It is especially nice here since no one knows what I am saying. For fun, sometimes I swear away on my bike as I’m waving to the folks along the road, and by the time I'm home, I feel oddly refreshed. 

Pet Peeves

Recently, I made a list of things here that unleash these fun-loving swear binges:

• Going to the mandi and knowing someone just peed in it (no bowl – just straight on the floor. You know, the one I stand on barefoot.)
• Two TVs blaring the same show 5 feet from each other and no one else is home watching either of them
• Cats falling on my bed in the middle of the night
• Cats, in general (sorry, Henry)
• Someone riding along side me or directly behind me on his/her motorcycle as I ride my bike
• Person in the above scenario trying to have a conversation with me
• Dodging opening car doors as well as motorcycles, becaks, or horse-drawn carts that pull out in front of my bike without looking
• A person who sits next to me on the bus when there are so many other seats empty
• The one printer at school is out of ink, not working, or simply has disappeared.
• The fact that none of my students, boys or girls, can leave class to go to the bathroom by themselves
• Someone I barely know texting me in excess of three times in a row within a 3-minute period before I ever had a chance to respond (The record is 32 unrequited texts in a 10-minute period all from the same person.)
• 5am phone calls from 8-year olds
• 5am phone calls from anyone
• People saying insyaAllah as if that is all they need. Last time I checked with the Almighty, studying is still required to pass a test (NOTE: After jotting this one down some months ago, they may have something here as studying really doesn't seem to help pass the test. Check for upcoming post entitled "Tests and Time". Still, I'm sure the Big Guy appreciates a little effort.)
• A women in a toko 1) talking below an audible whisper to me 2) in Javanese 3) as a TV is blaring at an excessive volume directly next to me (the trifecta of communication annoyances here). Then, this same woman getting visibly bothered that I couldn’t properly respond.  
• All the teachers wearing the new sports uniform we received the day before, while I am wearing the old, tired ohlaraga. One after another, about eight teachers in succession asking why I am not wearing the new uniform. How - the Clark Griswold - am I supposed to know we were supposed to wear it if no one took a second to tell me? 

Fact is, any one of the above things could happen to me on a good day, and I’d either barely notice it or easily shrug it off, simply because I am coming at it from my happy place of respect and understanding. Once I enter that dark place, however, these things could send me spiraling down that diaper-wearing, BB-gun-toting, balcony-baby-dangling, hamburger-eating-on-the-bathroom-floor road to crazy.

The saturation point. 

I can usually tell when I am reaching it by the frequency with which I am getting aggravated by things – sort of how you can count the seconds between thunder and lightning to measure how close a storm is. The more rapid these occurrences of exasperation come to me, the sooner I need to be removed from the streets and confined, so as to protect the safety of others.

Bottom line: The problem is usually me. And as a volunteer, I try to manage and buffer my occasional irritability so as not to cause an unintentional international incident.

Perspective
For some perspective, it helps to keep in mind that I am most likely probably annoying the heck out of others from time to time. While researching a lesson for my 11^th graders called “Expressions of Annoyance and Anger,” I discovered that I possess a multitude of characteristics that many in this world find particularly infuriating: random whistling, laughing too loud, talking or kicking in my sleep (apologies to all the other female PCVs I have already pushed off the bed in my short tenure here), excessive cheeriness, constantly misplacing things, referencing outdated TV/movies, arriving late to functions, my inability to ever consume a beverage silently...a real treat, aren’t I?

Not fully aware of what pet peeves exist in my new culture, I started wondering what it is that annoys my students - who I believe to be some of the world's most mild-mannered teens. I had them write down what irritates them or makes them upset, and here, in their own words, are some things they came up with:

• "When waiting long time for bus to go home."
• "When someone promise, but she can’t keep her promise."
• "When I singing before class." (I made this student sing in English when he came 30 minutes late to class the day before. Good to know I can be a source of annoyance in all cultures.)
• "I annoyed moment stand in line bathe in the cottage." (Most students live in a pesantren and have to get in line at ungodly hours of the morning to wait to use the few bathrooms there.)
• "When friend wound heart me."
• "My friends always mean to me." 
• "My friend is made a mean joke."
• "When I don’t have money."
• "If nothing food for eat."

Not exactly the inner rage I was hoping for, but certainly a bit of a different perspective (and an eye-opener that maybe we need some healthy sessions on how to be a good friend). Reading my students' writing always helps me refocus and remember that those little things that can bug me don't really amount to a hill of kacang in this world. 

What Makes It All OK  
Sitting at graduation a couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t help but think of one short year from now when graduation will be one of my last events here. For all the daily annoyances and frustrations, I can already see that leaving here will be a complete shit show. Complete.**

I’m not a particularly good TEFL teacher. I have not initiated any large-scale projects in my desa, nor am I sure if I ever will. I can’t even get teens here to understand that “punk” is something completely different from what they think it is (Linkin Park? Come on, guys!). But I have a lot of love to give. I am good at that.

For the most part (though some readers may disagree).

I fall hard and fast. It’s how I roll. I get easily attached...

...to those squishable babies and kiddies on my street

...to my ibu and niece as they mock my every move 

...to the “naughty” teens in my classes who I can plainly see are special and smart and talented - in addition to having outrageously awesome hair (watch for upcoming piece on Desa Do’s)
...and to my fellow teachers with whom I karaoke, aerobicise, and share the wonders of sarcasm.

Leaving here won’t be pretty. 

Neither is this footage of me singing karaoke at graduation. Enjoy. 

And here is one of the first weddings I actually took pleasure in attending because it was for my two friends, Mbak Ira and Mr. Novi. I was able to work the crowd and hang out with all my peeps, drinking some refreshing es in the shade.

Baby Aira, at 3 months old, is already way cooler than me as she rocks it on the back of her mom's motorcycle.

*Don’t we all have a Goob in our lives? If not, you certainly should. 
**No, not literally, Aaron. 

I Got the Fever

A couple of years ago, my friends Elinor, Trish*, and I trained for the NYC marathon together. Here is our publicity shot:

Picture doctored by Edwina Hay

They both finished well before I did, and after some confusion and investigation in the medical tent, we discovered Trish had been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after collapsing by the baggage trucks.

I was completely jealous.

I had always dreamed of someone rushing me to medical attention in those moments when I felt like I was dying after finishing a race. In response to my pleas of desperation year after year, the surly NYRR ladies usually just stuck pretzels in my face and told me to keep walking.

Trish was rushed away in the luxury of an ambulance, and I hoofed it home on the subway. She was attended to and called "the marathoner" for two days by doctors and nurses, and I was home alone in my apartment watching the latest High School Musical. She got an IV to make her feel whole again, and I was on my couch eating donuts (OK, we'll call it even on that one).

Anyway, I was upset because after one go, I felt she had the full marathon experience. I had failed. I might have had a medal and sore legs, but where was my hospital wristband to prove my worth?

So, when it came to Peace Corps, I didn't want to mess around. I wanted to do it right, and I am here to tell you, "We did it!" I got a tropical disease!

Here it is - the full PC experience of getting hospitalized with dengue.

The Schedule of Events
Days 1-2: High fever, body aches, lower back pain, piercing headache behind the eyes.

It started on a Tuesday with flu-like symptoms and a 104-degree fever**. In class, I asked one of my 90-pound students in Indonesian if she would be able to carry me if I fainted. The aghast look on her face let me know her extracurricular PMR (Red Cross) training had in no way prepared her for anything like this. 

By Wednesday, the Peace Corps medical director advised I needed get some lab work done, so I took a bus with my counterpart to the next city. I had no idea what the results meant, so we showed them to my host brother-in-law who is a nurse.

"Maybe her body is different because she's foreign," he said, implying I should have been prostrate, lifeless on a bed somewhere instead of hand washing my laundry in a tub beside the house in preparation for my undetermined detention in Surabaya (or as my mom likes to call it - "Sarajevo").

So, with some freshly-washed underwear and a car loaded with snacks, we set out on the 5-hour journey from my village to Surabaya, home of the PC Indonesia headquarters, on doctor's orders.

My medical evacuation posse - Ms Olif and Mr Said.

With my lab results on the way to Surabaya. I tried to teach Ms Olif the wonders of car games. I am pretty sure she was just humoring me as she thought there was a slim possibility I might die. Still - good times.

Days 3-4: High fever, body aches, weak, inability to walk the two blocks from the hotel to the PC office, desire only to lie on couches and beds.

By Thursday, I experienced a feeling which can only be likened to the painful transformation Bella silently bore as she became a vampire in Breaking Dawn (sadly, it was not accompanied by talking werewolves). I spent a good part of the morning internally moaning on my Country Director's couch as I awaited another lab visit.

A couple of naps, one trip to a local convenient store to stock up on provisions (chocolate milk and apples), and a positive dengue result later, I was on my way to the hospital and to the bliss that only an IV can bring in moments of complete dehydration. 

I got to lie down instead of sitting in the waiting room. Bule (foreigner) connections. And I began my journey into the world of Indonesian medical terminology! 

My gurney ride to my hospital room. 
Special thanks to Dr. Leonard for obliging my request to photograph the experience. 

Fun fact: I am larger than your average Indonesian. Instead of being able to push the swinging doors open with the edge of the bed, the Peace Corps doctor had to walk ahead of us and manually push the doors as my giant hose beast legs protruded too far over the edge.

My first meal

Beji Bro Jay traveled on a bus through the night to surprise me in the hospital with a McDonald's sundae*** - only to turn right back around and do the trip all over again in order to make it in time for a PC appointment that never actually happened. 

I think he felt his few hours spent viewing the Disney channel were well worth it, though.

Scott also brought me a delicious muffin as seen below!

These random Christian women came to pray over me as Scott and Jay looked on with enjoyment. They were dazzled by our Indonesian language ability. Oddly, I took an abrupt turn for the worse the next day.

Days 5-6: High fever, nausea, occasional collapsing in bathroom.

Taylor and Ms Olif paying a visit.

Tim and Angela bringing me a hamburger and enjoying McDonald's together. 

Days 7-10: Itchy, red rash on torso, legs, and feet. 

I am happy to report that suffering from a terrible rash brought on by a tropical disease is no match for a killer combination of:

• Nickelodeon's Victorious,
• new episodes of 30 Rock and Downton Abbey,
• a couple of live Yankee games 
• as well as fast food delivered by friends. 

Take that, Indo skeeters! 

Out of the hospital and off to celebrate Angela's last night in Indonesia!

Afterword
Having since written this entry, there have been some fun developments in my dengue experience.

1. At the beginning of June, about a month after I left the hospital, the bottoms of my feet began to peel. With alabaster skin like mine, I've had my fair share of sunburns and subsequent peeling, but never on my feet. Sadly, I have no pictures to illustrate, but fellow PCVs can attest to the scene of me scraping the bottoms of my feet into piles of dead flesh before them.

The good news: this made the bottoms of my feet as soft as a baby's bottom. Nature's free pedicure. 

2. The hair shedding started at the beginning of July, so another month out. At press time, it is still going and hasn't shown signs of stopping.

The good news: should I contract alopecia and lose all of my hair, two fellow PCVs have gone on record saying they will shave their heads in solidarity. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. 

*Trish, this is in no way helping our ambiguously gay duo image. We both like boys, people, contrary to what Facebook may have you believe.

**Special thanks to Brianna for saving my life when I didn't have any pulsa to notify anyone of my death spiral...and for keeping me abreast of the daily developments in Josh Hutcherson's life. 

***There is something immediately healing about a McDonald's hot fudge sundae. It's timeless...like gold...like old friends...like that Eddie Rabbitt song "I Love a Rainy Night"...or boy bands.