JakSel.

Keluarga yang kukasihi,

Cockroaches can fly. Did you know that? I didn't, not until my first night in Jakarta Selatan and one the size of my thumb winged it right into my face. You're imagining that I panicked a little, aren't you? And yeah, so maybe I did. But that was then. And now it’s six days later. You can learn a lot in six days.

Like how to kill a cockroach without a second thought, or how to buy gado-gado from the man around the corner, or how you turn on the AC very first thing when you're home for the night if you want to bring the heat down from a constant 30 degrees to a cool 29. And that's only the very tip of the iceberg when it comes to Jakarta.

Because heavens, is it something. There aren't words to describe it, and I might not even try. It's too big, too dirty, too busy, too absolutely crazy-insane. So for this email we'll stick to things a little closer to home. We've got a janji (teaching appointment) in one hour, so it looks like another race against the clock this week, too.

Firstly, SisLily and I are seriously so spoiled. Transfers came in along with Zone Conference this Monday, and it looks like we're going to be together for another two months, if not three, here in Jakarta. Presiden likes to keep us close and our immigration papers might take a bit longer so here we are, living the high life in Tebet along with four other sisters—one American (Sister Christensen) and two Indonesians (Sister Sumarno + Sister Katam). I've maybe mentioned SisLily was heaven-sent before. Well, that was nothing compared to the saving grace she's been to me here—most people mention that mission is hard, but that little word doesn't really convey the entire sense of the word when you're actually living it. Family, mission is Hard. To the point this past week I began living from minute to minute, and then hour to hour, and then morning to afternoon, until maybe today is the first time since arriving on the island that I feel a firmer sense of who I am or what I'm doing and how I'm going to do it. Today I'm living day by day, and it's a beautiful feeling compared to the heartsick panic I survived last week—which is not to say that anyone needs to hop on any planes or ring up Senopati to get me out of here. This was to be expected, this whole trial-and-tribulation bit. But it's one of those things you couldn't possible prepare for once you're thrown into the actual experience. 

Thing is, everyone also says its the best possible thing they've ever done in their lives, and I've seen enough glimpses of that vision these past few days that I'm willing to hold on and figure that out for myself. I love Indonesia, for example. Really and truly one hundred percent, despite the heat, the humidity, the general disrepair and unfathomable poverty. Because above and beyond everything else, they are an incredibly optimistic people. I've touched on this before, I think, as far as language goes—remember belum vs. tidak? And they're always going on about semoga (hopefully), with a heavy dose of insha'Allah (God willing). But maybe one of my favorite examples of Indonesian optimism is in the humble busker. Indonesians, unlike the blessed Polynesian missionaries we so loved at the MTC, are not blessed with beautiful voices.

We naik bis (ride buses) to and from absolutely everywhere, these rotting little metal tins with their numbers painted in acrylic over the front window and sad sashes of decades-dirtied fabric along the top. They hardly make a full stop for their passengers in the first place, but buskers have an even harder time, jumping in and out of any passing bis with a running leap. Once onboard, however, they stand erect at the front, guitar/tambourine/harmonica/keyboard/take your pick held close like a child as they address us as their audience. Occasionally this means a short speech about the hard life of a mortal or the changing views of the modern world, but my favorite are the mini sermons that last a good full minute or so and call everyone to God before he launches into some song or other as varied as folk to rap. Lyrics? Maybe. If you can tell one word from another, or even so much as one note from the next. But they hack at it, oh they do. Wonderfully dedicated to their art and so serious, too. After their musical spiel (which honestly only lasts about two minutes and usually not an entire song) however, comes my most favorite part: the thank yous. Like notes prepared for the Academy Awards, they thank everyone for listening, their families for loving them, the bus driver for supporting them . . . the list goes on as if the great artist was invited to sing in the most grand of concert halls or most popular music venue in all of Jakarta. A quick shake of the money bag and then they're off at the next intersection, minutes before another busker arrives and the entire cycle begins again.

This is a very nearly constant part of my life, and one that saved me last Saturday. I was having a particularly rough time of it when some such busker hopped on the 62 out to Blok M and stood there so significantly, as if centering his soul before the performance. I couldn't help but smile, and by the end of his sincere attempt at song I was nearly laughing for the joy of it. How grand, how full, to take on a job so small with such intensity. In that moment, I could keep going. I could do this. I could do this for a long time yet.

I think that will have to be Part One for Jakarta from here on out, and I'll just fill you in on the quick notes now, because I know you'll need to know:

My companion is Sister Katam, a wee wisp of a girl from Malang. I am entirely convinced she is the reason Disney puts wide-almond eyes on every Princess—she has a stunning small face with the most startling eyes I've ever seen. She's very shy and crazy-quiet; she moves about on cat-paws, I swear, always there and ready to help. A little mother (Amy Dorrit, yes?) and big sister all in one. Whenever I'm sick (which happens a little bit more often than I'd like, but I was warned. Oh well. Nothing serious ever, don't worry) she stays close and takes care of me; she's very aware of life around her and takes care of most everyone, actually. She's the most senior sister here, too—going home in only two months! I like her rather quite a lot, though she refuses to speak the English I know she understands perfectly so sometimes it is frustrating when I desperately need something explained and she only hesitantly describes it in Bahasa Indonesia. 

Luckily, Sister Sumarno (SisLily's companion) was studying to be an English Teach before her mission and takes every opportunity to practice the language. She's incredibly bubbly and lovable, really energetic and pretty much open to anything. The four of us all together have become pretty good friends together; we balance each other out nicely. 

Let's see . . . the Elders. We're all still near Jakarta—Nixon to Jakarta Raya (Central), Greenwell to Bekasi (about 40 minutes from us) and Meek to Bogor (2 hours away). Our parting was actually pretty pathetic—sometimes I feel like we only imagined the strength of our bond in the MTC, but this last week simply proved it was stronger. With Zone Conference this last Monday we all met up in Jakarta for the day and it felt like a reunion of long-lost siblings, the way we went on about it. Then Tuesday, at the beach, we hung out together all day like old times (ha) and everything felt a little more right with the world. We've all had quite a bit of trouble adjusting and our fair share of doubts and desperate moments of homesickness, so it was good to touch base and know we're not alone. Goodness, I love them. Last night we said our official goodbyes for at least six more weeks (until next zone conference). I'm going to miss them.

Still, there are a million more things to be grateful for, something I try to remember every day. Count your many blessings, right? That always gets me back on track when my sanity starts to slip. And you guys are always at the top of my list, first and foremost. Oh, how I love you. How I so overwhelmingly miss you. How infinitely grateful I am to be so sure that my afflictions are only ever a small moment, that in patience and faith all is made gloriful and I not only return to you so soon but get to keep you for always. I love you. Madly.

selalu,

Sister E.