Some of the girls, from left to right: Cynthia, Novie, Marta, Chi Chi, and Wangi

Giving Thanks

The days here are generously supplemented by prayer and song. In the mornings, I often wake to singing, the prelude to praying itself; before and after meals, we all bow our heads in thanks; at night, someone is chosen to read from the bible and lead everyone in song and more prayer. Twice a week, the older Christian girls meet with members of the church and rehearse the song which they sing on Sunday. In this small corner of Bali, we are constantly giving thanks.

Unfortunately, I have never been a particularly religious person. Spiritual maybe, but never religious. Basically the only time I have ever gone to church has been for funerals or, when I was little, after spending the night at a friends house. Although I think I went once with my Grandma, and I remember I became so hungry during the service that I went up and received the host because at the time, I thought it was just a cracker. Oops. So all of this praying is kind of a new thing for me. But I like it.

I like taking time to think about what I am thankful for, because there is so much to be thankful for. So while everyone thanks the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I just send out a wave of thankfulness. I’ve told some people that I do not have a religion, right after revealing that my hobbies are cooking, reading, and traveling. Usually, after sharing my godlessness, I am asked to repeat myself, because usually, the girls cannot believe that not only am I not Hindu or Muslim, but that I am not Christian either. But now, I am just starting to say that I am a Christian, but a bad one who has never gone to church or been involved in any youth group. It is much easier, especially because I am worried that I would be asked not to sing in the choir. Yes. I sing in the church choir every Sunday.

And I like it. I like going to church too because everyone has so much love in their hearts and is so passionate about their God. Every Sunday is a beautiful celebration of love. My favorite part is when we all shake hands and ask God to love and forgive each other. It makes me cry (just a little bit), because everyone is so genuine and their words are so heartfelt. They really do want God to love me and forgive me, and I really do want Something to love and forgive them. I wish we would go around everyday to everyone, wishing them love and forgiveness. The world would be a much better place.

Church does get a little tricky though sometimes, especially because the pastor speaks very good English. One day she asked if my parents were Christian, and not wanting to lie, I said no, they were not. She replied that maybe when I returned home I would be able to save them. She went on to say how hard it is now, in the modern world, to stay on the right path without the guidance of Jesus. I think I mumbled something, and then very carefully replied that I think there are many right paths and many right ways to walk along the right paths. She sort of nodded and changed the subject.

I was perfectly serious though. I know a lot of good people who have a religion, and I know a lot of good people who don’t. Both groups are happy, and both groups give much of their heart and energy to helping others and making the world a better place. I figure that both groups have found the same thing, but perhaps they just have different names for their motivation. That’s really what it comes down to, I think: names and definitions. I think that at a core level, people walking along the “right” path have found the same thing, but they just call it differently: enlightenment, Jesus, God, Buddha, and all sorts of other names. But it is all the same because the core of all of those names encourages people to be good people who make the world better for themselves, for their neighbors, and for strangers. Who cares what anyone calls it.

The Mosquito

If I know one insect, I know the mosquito.

My relationship with this pesky bug has existed basically as long as I have. Like any relationship, we’ve had our highs and lows, but mostly lows. I remember a particular hike in Hawaii which ended in me fleeing the coffee bean forest in tears, running straight into the ocean to escape from the bites. I remember counting the bites on my body, usually averaging out at an even 60. Recently though, I thought that the mosquito population in general had lost interest and had moved on to another victim.

I was wrong. The mosquitoes here in Bali love me as they love no other. The first thing I do when I wake up is spray bug repellent all over my exposed skin, but every night when I go to bed, I count more bites. The worst bites are the ones on my fingers and toes; I have a bite on each big toe. Maybe they haven’t had any American blood for a while, maybe they will grow tired of me.

I hope so, because our relationship will suffer as I try to kill more and more of the local mosquito population. However, the important word in that previous sentence is try. Not only do these bugs love me more than any bug in Idaho ever has, but these guys are the fastest and trickiest I’ve ever waged a war against. Unlike their American cousins, the Balinese mosquitoes are light and agile; they do not lumber through the air, instead they flit across the currents, taking advantage of each breath to fly a little farther, a little faster.

The mosquitoes are able to enter my room through the bathroom, which has a permanently opened window, and although I try to keep the door closed, some eventually find their way through the door. This would be ok, except that not only to they find their way into my room, but they also sneak into my netted bed and lie in wait, violating me the moment I fall asleep. Like I said, our relationship is suffering.

Until the day when these stupid bugs get tired of my blood (unlikely) or the entire population is wiped out by a super smart bomb, I have to put up with my own slapping, clapping, itching, picking, scabbing, and swearing.

Thankfully, if I know one cream, I know hydrocortisone.

Interaction

Because I wake up before the sun has fully risen and go to bed relatively late, my days stretch on, making me feel as if I have lived here at the Untal-Untal Orphanage for months instead of days. But in the few days I have been here, I feel that I have discovered how I will stay happy: constant interaction. It may seem that surrounded by 60 other people, that I would never be lonely, however, because I have a room and bathroom to myself, I often find myself alone.

Here, four girls share one room, and the rooms that they share are about haft the size of mine, holding two bunk beds and a wardrobe which they all share. In my room, I have a cabinet, a desk, and a tv with a stand, as well as a mosquito netted, canopy bed. I love sitting in my bed while the resident geckos start chirping because I like to pretend that in this bed I am safe from everything outside, even though the occasional mosquito gets inside.

The second best part of my room is the air conditioning. I was excited to go to Bali and to be warm. I did not fully appreciate that warm in Bali means sweltering. While I like to think that in a month or so I will grow used to the heat, right now, my air conditioner is my best friend.

But with my new commitment to interaction, I doubt that my steady relationship with any air conditioning could stand the pressure of human friendship, which I am slowly finding in each girl. Although I came to Bali thinking that I would be living with girls who have absolutely no family, I’ve learned that most girls are not orphans, but that their families are too poor to pay for an education for them.

These girls go to several different schools: junior high school, senior high school, vocational school, university, and the very little ones still march off to elementary school each morning. Dedicated to their education, most see the value of speaking English, and slowly, shyly they have begun to speak with me. We speak about hobbies, religion (mostly Christianity), American and Indonesian culture, and aspirations. Chi Chi, although studying multimedia, wants nothing more than an iPod; right now she stores music on a flash drive and plays Jay-Z and Lady Gaga on a community laptop while doing homework. Ulan is studying Christianity so she can be a teacher. Betrini wants to be a cook, and if she has enough money, wants to open a restaurant in her home village where her parents still live.

When I talk to the girls here, they open my eyes to what commitment and sacrifice mean. In Indonesia, people often think that girls do not need an education because they will grow up to be housewives; even their school books say so (Cooking is a good hobby, especially for girls who will grow up to be housewives). But these girls live far from their families in order to receive an education and to have the power to be self-sufficient business women, but regardless of educations and aspirations, I hope that regardless of what they learn in school, the 60 or so girls here learn how to stay happy.

At Home in Idaho

In four days, I am going to get on a plane and fly off to an adventure which I have been planning since May. I will go to Bali; I will work in an orphanage; I will learn about myself; I will learn about the world around me. It is quite a simple adventure, with quite simple goals.

But to tell the truth, as I sit here in Idaho, composing this blog, I am absolutely terrified. Whenever I share that I am going to Bali, everyone is always so excited for me. They tell me it will be “awesome” and “amazing” and lots of other really exciting words. Their eyes light up with a bit of a fever as they imagine the beaches, the surfing, the diving, the monkeys. But when I think of Bali, from here in my chair, I think of an orphanage with 73 teenage girls; I think of a language I had been determined to learn before I left until I was advised not to because it is so complicated; I think of a huge city, filled with poverty and filth and millions of people, and yeah, that is exciting, but at that same moment it is terrifying.

Most of my friends are in college right now, and I imagine that they experienced something similar to my fear and excitement, but when they were apprehensive about moving to school and making friends, they didn’t need to be concerned about malaria or salad (I won’t be able to eat raw, unpeeled anything for a long time, if at all) or what the toilet will be like. They knew that when they left for school everyone would speak their language, that there would be programs and classes to help them assimilate into their new world.

From what I understand, I am the first foreigner who has worked for and lived with this orphanage, this foundation, for such a long period of time. What I am doing, is not only new to me, but also new to them. Together we will create a relationship in which we will both help each other. And this relationship is what calms me, because I believe that while the outside of things will be different, (a different language, different customs, different city) the insides are the same. We all share a basic need to be valued and to be accepted. What I am most excited about is not the beach or the diving or even the monkeys, but finding a familiar thread which binds all humans together.

When it comes down to it, the most concrete thing I know about Bali is that right now it is 72 degrees Fahrenheit (although it feels like 78). There is mystery, excitement, and adventure in the air, and I invite anyone to follow me as I discover Bali, its people, its cities, its customs, and myself. It’s quite simple, really.