I am Indonesian

Taken in Brisbane, during a multi-cultural event. I was wearing Kebaya.

Wearing Balinese traditional dresses.

I’m taking my part in supporting #indonesiaunite. For those who still don’t know what #indonesiaunite is, please do yourself a big favor and Google it!

This is a little different than what you usually read about #indonesiaunite, cause being the self-absorbed Princess that I am. This post is actually about me. Me. And me ;)

So few weeks ago when I had lunch with the girls, they asked me, “hey what’s your Chinese name?”

It’s true that I have a Chinese heritage, but I don’t have a Chinese name. So I answered, “I don’t have one!”

Little did I know that the girls were actually having a bet with Amel. If I told them what my Chinese name was, Amel would tell us hers. Well… You should’ve warned me about that, girls! (Come to think again, I think Amel knew that I didn’t have a Chinese name, so it was win-win solution for her anyway. Sneaky girl!).

Regardless the bet, the girls were totally surprised that I don’t have a Chinese name.

“You seriously don’t have a Chinese name? Why??!??”

“I dunno… Because I’m an Indonesian? None of my brothers do. My parents didn’t find it necessary for us kids to have Chinese names.”

There is no doubt in my heart that I am Indonesian.

I’ve never called China my home, hell I’ve only been in China for less than 12 hours in my whole life. I was born here and will always call Indonesia home. When people ask, “where are you from?” I’ve always answered, “Indonesia!”

Sans the 2 ½ years I was away for college, I’ve always been living in Indonesia. I studied in Indonesian schools. I learned about Indonesian history and culture. I sang Indonesian folk, patriotic and children’s songs. Bahasa Indonesia is my first language.

I don’t speak Mandarin whatsoever. Only my Dad’s side of family does, and he never bothered to pass it on to the kids. Whenever we have family reunion, I will sit quietly in the corner. Lost in translation.

I may not speak it, but I understand Javanese more than I understand Mandarin, thanks to my Mom, who speaks Javanese 24/7.

My family doesn’t celebrate Chinese New Year. I didn’t even know what Chinese New Year or angpau were until it became legal and celebrated here in Indonesia. If I’m not mistaken, it was around my grade 9. My classmates were bragging about how much money they got, and I was sitting shyly and quietly on my desk because I didn’t get any. I remembered asking my Dad about it, “we’re Chinese, how come we don’t celebrate Chinese New Year?” “We’re Catholics, we don’t celebrate Chinese New Year,” was his reply. Which I didn’t get it at the time, but now that I’m older and wiser, I know that we don’t celebrate Chinese New Year because we don’t celebrate the culture. Chinese New Year was more than just fireworks, angpau, the Chinese lions & dragons, and family dinner. There are series of tradition behind it… More like a religion if I may say it. And my family is Catholics, so we don’t celebrate Chinese New Year.

Those of you who know me in daily basis know that I’m the Miss Carbo, more specifically Miss Steamed Rice. I eat steamed rice like any next-door kuli (laborer), and steamed rice is one of the essential food in our culture. One of things that I dread the most from global warming is if there will be no more rice in this entire world, just because the farmers can’t predict the weather and the crop fails to grow in time.

And don’t get me started on the scrumptious taste of Indonesia foods.

My skin may be fairer than most of fellow Indonesians (I can’t claim that my eyes were small, because they’re big) but it doesn’t lessen my love for this country.

I may complain and ramble a lot about Indonesia, but I don’t ever want to see it hurt, I want to see it flourishes, going further than glory.

I am Indonesian, proud to be Indonesian and will always be Indonesian.