Sean took this picture of these adorable puppies the other day. They are somebody's pets. That's right...this is what I tell myself so I can sleep at night. The other day at language school, one of my classmates was sharing a story about seeing a dog get run over by a guy on a motorcycle. He was telling the story (in his limited Indonesian) to one of the sweetest little Indonesian gals that I've met. She's kind and thoughtful and polite and a good teacher. As the story went on, Ibu Tasya was smiling and nodding. We were all waiting for her to exclaim, "Oh, the poor puppy! Was he okay?!" But guess what she said? "Oh, I LOVE dog meat! It's my favorite. I don't like the small dogs, but the big dogs are so tasty!" We all sat there speechless, waiting for her to laugh and say, "Just kidding!" She did not. We went on with class as if she'd just proclaimed that she really enjoys eating a good salmon fillet when she can get one....
I realized over the weekend that I'm busy. I'm not trying to be snarky or even funny. I honestly just realized this. Oh, I know we throw the word "busy" around quite often (and we usually mean it) but I realized that I am BUSY. And I kind of foolishly thought that I wasn't all that busy, for like a split second there. Because honestly, with all this busy-ness, I don't have much to show for it. Well, other than a family that is fed and kids that are somewhat educated. And the thing about my busy-ness is that I'm never really, completely done. It's a never-ending cycle. Cook, clean, teach, cook, clean, enforce the rules, cook, clean, give baths, go to bed, start again. I spend hours and I do mean hours in the kitchen. I cook everything from scratch. I've always enjoyed cooking and baking and I've done my fair share of cooking from scratch. But we have even less available to us here than we did in Latin America. ...
Some days, my Indonesian language skills are woefully inadequate for the conversations I'm having. Okay, most days. Ugh! I wish there was a way to transplant what I actually mean into the brains of the people I'm conversing with...or that I'd wake up with a miraculously improved Indonesian vocabulary that would flow from my mouth freely, elegantly, and perfectly pronounced. That'd work too. As it is, I blubber along, feeling like a huge goofy dork. Because I am. There's really no getting around this. Granted, I am suddenly having deeper conversations on subjects I've never spoken of in Indonesian before. I should be happy that things are going deeper, that I'm being allowed into a deeper level of knowing and connection with my Indonesian friends. But instead, I just feel dorky. They are pouring out their hearts and I'm saying things like "Well, that's hard." or "I don't know." or "What does that mean?" or ...
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