gotong royong

The new building from my apartment window

STS has been in the process of building a new education center, and the big day is finally here. This Saturday is the opening celebration for the building. I'm grateful for this for a variety of reasons, but mostly so I can sleep at night and have a limited amount of dust to clean up in my apartment.

Somehow, I'm not quite sure how, the building is almost ready. It's a huge building, including an auditorium, two floors of classrooms, a sports court, a two-floor library, and a whole floor of apartments to my knowledge.

Gotong Royong is a Malaysian concept, roughly translated into "mutual assistance." More directly, it often refers to the idea of "many hands make light work." These last two days have been a big gotong royong for the new building, so all the students, faculty, and staff have been cleaning.

Malaysians are thorough cleaners. I don't quite know how else to put it. We cleaned anything and everything. I've swept out parking garages, wiped down auditorium chairs, scraped cement off window frames, dug out sewers, and, my personal favorite, washed out the parking ramp. I felt pretty Malaysian yesterday with my face mask on and a towel draped over my head-- a look I hope to pull off when I clean in the States. Though I don't think I'll ever be so adjusted that I also wear long sleeves, pants, and socks to avoid the sun.

Through it all, the concept of gotong royong shown true. I've been loving every minute of community as we cleaned, and the laid back personalities led to lots of singing and practical jokes.

The rest of this week is filled with late-night choir rehearsals and cleaning my own apartment as we gear up for this weekend. Maybe I can convince everyone to do a gotong royong for me!

what's in a name

“When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). John 19: 14-16

Names are a powerful thing. This is evident in John, when Mary does not recognize Jesus until he calls her by name. This has always struck me—the power that is held in our name, and the identity it tightly carries.

Before coming to Malaysia I was introduced to a wonderful poem. One line really struck me--

Continue to call each other by the names I've given you, to help remember who you are.
You will get where you are going by remembering who you are.

Why would I need to keep hearing my name, to have people call me by my name?
How could I forget who I am?

We heard a lot in orientation about losing our identities within the culture. For example, we needed to be prepared that everything we had done in our lives up to this point may have no meaning in our new country. Try telling this to 50 recent college grads who have been building up their resumes for four years or more. Nevertheless, I tried to mentally prepare myself to shed the identities that had defined who I was.

When we first got to Malaysia, it seemed instead as if we were given an overarching identity to keep all of us orangputih straight. Hi, please meet Jacob, the only boy and trumpet player, this is Erika, the basketball player, this is Ellen, the ballet dancer. My whole life was boiled down to one talent that people could remember me by upon first meeting. Luckily, these identities eventually faded (and people forgot I could perform) as we got to know people and created our own communities.

Not much later on in my time here, I had another frustrating identity experience through a dinner conversation. The man sitting next to me wanted to know what my hobbies were, what I did for exercise.
“Do you jog?” he asked.
“No, I’m not really a runner,” I replied.
“Well, then you don’t exercise?”
“No, I do,” I assured him.
Knowing that I didn’t want to explain my occasional routine of Pilates or an elliptical machine back in the States, I just stated that I used to dance.
“Oh, so you’re not active,” he concluded.
We circled around in conversation as he continued to state that I did nothing, and I kept trying to describe that yes, I did many things. The problem was in the translation. Everything I had ever done (dance, theater, choir) didn’t have a meaningful translation here, and at the end of the meal, I had resigned to this man thinking I was lazy because I wasn’t a runner and didn’t play ping pong.

At orientation we also had made a list of everything we were, how we defined ourselves. On my note card I began to list-- daughter, sister, friend, problem solver, advice giver… and so on. This activity came to my mind again the other day as I thought of my new identity.

Like water seeping through the cracks in the pavement, I have slowly formed an identity here. I still remember the first day someone approached me for an English related task and the excitement I felt— I finally had a purpose, something I did, something someone saw me as! Over time, I have become an English teacher, a support system, a friend to sit next to, a listener here.

I think roles that give us an identity and a sense of purpose are an innate need. And while I'm eager to discuss my duties here, or my new-found hobbies, I’m still drawn to the identity that lies within my name.

Jesus called Mary by name. Before that point, she did not recognize him.

Being called by name is so personal. Just one word is filled with a breadth of emotions—in requests, excitement, sadness, anger, gratitude.

I remember back to my student teaching, it took me forever to not only answer to Miss Hilger, but to take it on as my own identity.

In Malaysia, my name is Teacher. Miss Ellen. Sama Ellen. Miss. Sayama. Laoshi. Chikgu. Jiejie.

The funny thing about names is they are rarely given to us by ourselves. Other people, through time, create the identity within us.

I realized today that I am afraid to lose these names. Afraid that after this year, I will never hear a subdued voice, inquiring, “Sama Ellen? Teacher?"

the funny nuances

After having been in Malaysia a while, I've gotten used to the things that seemed a bit peculiar at first-- things like wiping off all your silverware at a restaurant, drinking certain drinks for the perfect cure, or putting anything and everything in a small plastic bag (my favorite is when you order a fountain drink and it comes in a plastic bag). Though this week, I was surprised once again (though I really shouldn't have been), and wanted to jot it down.

In family group on Tuesdays, we always have fellowship and eat snacks at the end. This time somebody brought Mamee, which are noodles in a little packet, like Ramen. We weren't having noodles to eat though-- instead everyone just crunched up the noodles in the packet, added the seasoning, and ate them like chips. I still laugh when I think about it. Luckily, they were BBQ flavoured!

And another anecdote from my night class...

Today we were reviewing the present perfect tense, eliciting sentencing about a pilot. I had given each student a key word, and they were to use the word correctly in the tense to talk about the pilot. For example, "The pilot has worked for the airport since 2008," or "The pilot has flown to over 20 countries." And so on.

It's one student's turn, and he writes, "I have not yet written my thesis."

The class gives a collective, "huh? it's supposed to be about the pilot!"

"Ohhh, the subject is the pilot?"

He then proceeds to change his writing to read, "The pilot has not yet written his thesis."

At this point, we all were crying with laughter, because we didn't want to ride in that plane!

a record number of posts this week

Sometimes, it rains in Malaysia.

And on better times, there's a double rainbow.

I wish I had a sweet panoramic camera, because it literally filled the entire sky.

You can even see Mt. K in the background.

My backyard (just imagine the rainbow arching over it).

ketawa

I think it’s a really big deal when you are able to joke around in another culture. I’ve been able to before, but today was just too much. Here’s why I feel fairly Malaysian (and proud of myself).

Exhibit A:

A student was presenting on tourism within the villages in Malaysia. She asked the class for ideas on different ways to promote tourism besides home stays. Different ideas were being thrown around, such as white water rafting or handicraft shops. Then one student suggested paddy (rice). He was instantly reprimanded by the class. The conversation went something like this.

“It’s talking about tourism. Why would paddies attract tourists?!”

“To eat!”

“No, tourists don’t eat rice! They eat bread!”

“Noo, Miss Ellen eats rice!”

“Yes, but Miss Ellen lives in Sabah, the tourists from Europe eat bread!”

I feel like grinning from ear to ear. Then to make it even better…

Exhibit B:

We somehow got on the topic of native English speaker colloquialisms. My students were throwing out everything they knew—dunno, wanna, gonna, y’all, ain’t, ‘em, etc. and wanted to know when people used them and what was appropriate. I started by explaining different accents in various areas, and how one area might use y’all and another area uses ‘dem. It was clear to the class that these were only spoken phrases, and not written, but the class wanted a comparison.

"Ohh, so it's like Indonesian-Malay."

Me: "Ehh, not really. It's not a mixture of more than one language."

"Oh, so it's like slang!"

"Well, kind of. It happens more when people are being lazy or talking really fast."

"Ohhhh, so like Bahasa Pasar!"

"Exactly!"

At this point, the class froze in a moment of disbelief—“YOU know bahasa pasar?!” (market place malay vs. formal malay)

I just wanted to reply, well, yeah, you speak it all the time. I then proceeded to impress them more by giving them an example.

“It’s like when you say Kamu tau, instead of kamu tahu. Or mau instead of mahu. Tak instead of Tidak.”

Light bulbs were going on all over the room as we listed various examples of how they shorten their own speech.

“Yes, it makes it difficult for me to learn!” I reply. We continued on, referring to “English pasar” as we finished discussing its use.

“But Miss, what is ‘English pasar’ in English?”

“Well… slang.” :)

the one with the story of how I came to malaysia

My country coordinator, Laura, is on her way to the US right now for an event called DIP (discernment, interview, placement) to interview next year's volunteers. I bring this up for a variety of reasons. First and foremost? Nostalgia. I can't help but remember where I was just a year ago, what I was feeling, how this whole process began. Which happened to remind me that I've never actually shared the story of how I got to Malaysia, and most of you probably don't know all of it. Now is as better time as any to do so... bear with me on the length, I hope you'll enjoy it.

My journey began long before the DIP event last year. It actually began in the spring of my sophomore year. I had an open credit in my schedule (that was originally reserved for a choir trip), and had decided to travel for my May term class. That open credit sat before me like a map; I only needed to choose where I was going to study. My roommate and I discussed the many possibilities at great lengths, and in the end, I was hemming between two trips-- a trip to Alaska to work at a home for people with disabilities (and then possibly work there for the summer) or a trip to Tanzania to work with the Lutheran church and learn about the AIDS pandemic. I met with a fellow classmate of mine who had previously been to Tanzania to get a feel for the trip, ease my worries of safety and health, and to come up with a convincing argument to present to my mother to let me go. After talking to Chellie for a few fabulous hours, I felt that it wasn't even a choice. I knew I was going to go to Africa.

After petitioning to have the class added so we could travel to Africa the next May (it usually runs only once every two years, but we had a class' worth of interested people), I was blessed to be off on this adventure with a few of my closest friends and a wonderful group. Of course, I can't even begin to describe my time in Tanzania. While it was short, it was one of the best experiences of my life. I learned much-- about real joy, a quiet pace of life, true reliant hope, and simplicity. It wasn't an experience I could easily shake.

After returning to the States, with these feelings still quite fresh in my spirit, I headed off to my first summer at a wonderful camp. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to counsel the best program of the summer (in my humble, biased opinion), a two week leadership program for high school students. That summer we had a seminarian as part of our team to be available for the campers when they had really difficult questions. One day, as he was leading a Bible study on calling and future purpose, he shared this quote with the group. "The kind of work God usually calls you to is a) the kind of work that you need to do and b) that the world most needs to have done. The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet."

I feel a little bit ridiculous saying that I went all the way to Malaysia because of a quote. But denying that fact as part of the story would be false. That fall I started my senior year at Wartburg, completing my student teaching experience. Student teaching was difficult for me most days; I felt trapped by aspects of the work and I was anxious about the future. My thoughts just kept wandering... back to Africa, camp, and other work. The words of Frederick Buechner were still floating in my head as I started researching other options. What was my passion? What were the world's needs? There was a volunteer fair coming up at Wartburg, and even though I couldn't attend because of teaching, I asked a friend to grab me some pamphlets. At the end of the day, I was paging through the options, when the smiling face of a familiar couple caught my eye. It was the pastor whom I had worked with in Africa, on the front of the brochure highlighting the mission options available through the ELCA.

Maybe by this point, you can see where this is going. But, unfortunately for my anxiety, I still had no idea. I slowly began to think about the program, drawn to the one-year commitment through YAGM. My experience in Africa had given me the confidence and excitement to try something new. Over Christmas, I had a few important conversations with friends, toying with the possibility of "what if." I spent the next few months unsure and worried. I applied to YAGM, applied back to camp. Browsed through teaching jobs, but nothing seemed quite right.

Once your application is initially accepted to YAGM, you are given a questionnaire where you rate your country preferences. YAGM has programs in countries all over the world, and I was really interested in Slovakia/Hungary or South Africa. To be honest, I marked Malaysia on whim, while I wondered, where IS Malaysia?

The rest is just particulars: I was accepted to DIP to interview for the UK and Malaysia. As the weeks went by leading up to DIP, I researched more about Malaysia and was excited at the prospect of going there, beginning sentences with "if I go to Malaysia..." Even so, throughout the entire discernment weekend, I still hadn't stated out loud that this commitment was what I was going to do with the next year of my life. I was still unsure if I would accept the position that was offered, and then waited until the last day possible to finally accept, when really, I had known for a long time that this was what I wanted to do. The decision doubly solidified for me when I discovered my placement could be in education.

So, here I am writing, sweating buckets, learning, and enjoying life. I can't tell you why yet, I can only tell you how. As I think of the next group of YAGM that are preparing, worrying, and uselessly predicting, I hope for our replacements. That they are prepared to come to Malaysia, that someone is qualified to take my position, so that the work I started isn't left incomplete.

With all the work gearing up for next year, and my work inopportunely beginning to dwindle down, I am starting to think of home. Probably much more than I should. One trouble with being a volunteer position is that my class is usually the first thing that gets moved when there needs to be a change in the schedule. This is frustrating for me, as I am used to needing to use every second of my class time to teach. Also, my English class is a little bit equivalent to Oral Comm. freshman year of college; I'm not the top priority on my students' schedule. Some days these facts make it difficult for me to be motivated, along with the thought that maybe their learning won't be continued next year. How long will they retain what I taught them without future classes-- a month? a year?

Finally, I'm a planner. It's really hard for me not to try and plan my future or think about what awaits my arrival home, both in excitement and uncertainty. I need to be mentally here in Malaysia, focused on the time I have. Though it's easier said than done. Don't worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself.

Chapter two coming soon-- I bet you can't predict what will happen next :)

happy easter

It's about full immersion, about falling into something elemental and wet. Most of what we do in worldly life is geared toward our staying dry, looking good, not going under. But in baptism, in lakes and rains and tanks and fonts, you agree to do something that's a little sloppy because at the same time it's also holy, and absurd. It's about surrender, giving in to all those things we can't control; it's a willingness to let go of balance and decorum and get drenched... the hope, the belief, is that a new day is upon you now. (Anne Lamott)

The sea is falling from the sky today in Malaysia, that's the only way I can explain it.

Earlier today, as I was heading out in my Easter attire, I thought to myself, "I have to remember this weather, this is probably the warmest, sunniest Easter I'll ever have."

And now my backyard is a rain forest, the rain is deafening, my house is cold, and the power is flickering, haha.

I found myself missing Easter at home today. I didn't realize how much I loved the hymns, the trumpets, the lilies, and even the black jelly beans (sick) until they were missing. And, for the first time that I can remember, I didn't have any holiday plans.

On Thursday, we had a prayer/fast day at STS and went through the stations of the cross. This was neat for me, because it took a story I was familiar with, but I was hearing everything for the first time-- in Malay. My favorite memory of the day is a funny one; we were acting out the story of Jesus' betrayal, and one of my students had the role of cutting off the guard's ear. He proceeded to lung forward with all his might, and attack the "guard" with a pencil. And then ran away. It might not sound so funny, but it was hilarious.

Tonight we're going to cook a nice dinner for a few students and maybe dye eggs! And of course, get ready for school tomorrow...