One Line a Day
By Emily Peterson ‘19, Syiah Kuala University Fellow 2019-2021
For five years, I kept a “One Line a Day” journal. Each day of the year has its own page with space to write a couple sentences about that day over multiple years. I started the journal in 2016, during Winter Term of my first year at Oberlin. 2020 was the final year of the journal. Over the course of the five years are long stretches where I didn’t document anything–it’s hard to be consistent with any habit. The last half of 2020 is completely empty, as it became too excruciating to record what happened during pandemic monotony. But I tried my best to document my days in Indonesia, knowing that I would want to look back on them some day.
It’s easy to forget that the first two and a half months of last year even existed, but my journal helps me remember. In January, I flew from Michigan to Vietnam where I spent two weeks mostly traveling alone. In Hanoi, I took a food tour, walked around night markets, met up with Beijing Fellow Mackenzie, and ate a lot of banh mi. I watched people zoom down narrow streets on their motorbikes, toting small kumquat trees to celebrate Têt, the Lunar New Year. In Da Nang I lazed around on the beach, rented a motorbike and drove to the Marble Mountains, and decided that I preferred traveling with other people. On the flight back to Banda Aceh, I was worried about the small cold I had gotten and wondered if I should be wearing a mask. But I still had another month and a half until everything changed.
I set goals for the upcoming semester–I wanted to find an activity outside of work, and make new friends on my own. As I read back in my journal from February, it seems like a completely packed month although it didn’t feel like it at the time. I took trips to the beach and watched the sky turn increasingly brilliant shades of orange and pink as I floated in warm salt water. I went to so many coffee shops: T36 for a hip atmosphere and a date latte, Solong for language lessons, Seirama for late nights playing endless rounds of cards, Moorden to meet friends in the middle of the day, Redinesh to get work done a couple times. A new canteen opened right near our house and I discovered a new favorite Indonesian breakfast–bubur ayam, rice porridge with chicken and crispy onions. One day the door to the Language Center office was getting fixed and every time someone came in they comically burst through the door, expecting it to be a lot heavier. The whole office laughed every time it happened, I wrote in my journal. I started going to the gym regularly and took Muay Thai classes. At the end of every class, we got in a circle and stretched for ten seconds and I realized how difficult it is to count quickly in another language. I tried surfing. I helped deliver food with my language tutor and other people from her temple. We played Werewolf in conversation club. I went to a poetry night and a night market and made nasi uduk. I think my Indonesian got better.
I want to remember that my Fellowship wasn’t a waste even though my time in-country was cut short. I want to remember the feeling of learning something new every day, of feeling small and insignificant, of conquering a new challenge. I want to mourn the time lost and the adventures that could have been, while honoring the fact that adventures were already had. Teaching online and the uncertainty about my return to Banda Aceh have left me feeling stretched, with one foot here in the US and another across the ocean in the northwest corner of Indonesia. It’s difficult to move from this position, difficult to make decisions about where to go next and how. My journal reminds me of a time when both feet were together, and gently lets me know that they will come together again.