Mau Ke Mana?
By Nikaio “Niko” Thomashow ‘19, Gadjah Mada University (2019-2020)
“Nikaio, mau ke mana?” This is the most common question I receive in Indonesia. “Where do you want to go?” I never fully register the question. Sometimes I try to imagine how my face looks while I’m staring off into the distance trying to find the answer, probably distracted by my own thoughts that are as distant from Indonesia as my farmhouse in the Adirondacks. My memory casts back to younger days, when the same question led to hours on a country road, where I first learned the value of letting the world present new unplanned experiences and possibilities. Adulthood, and its many responsibilities, can really drive that out of you. As I bring myself back to the present, I hope it’s the face of someone who's about to touch the hearts and minds of many throughout the world, but my gut tells me it’s the face of someone who needs another cup of kopi tarik.
During my first two months in Indonesia, while I was taking language classes at Alam Bahasa, my gurus would ask me each day after class: “Mau ke mana?” Every day, I’d mutter a variant of langsung pulang aja, “just home.” Back at my homestay, I would be greeted by the Esmu family and their assistant Mbak Yulie, a young woman from a town several hours from where we find ourselves in Jogja. They too would ask me… Niko, mau ke mana hari ini? I rarely had plans — never having thought past that day’s classes. After a while they stopped asking. Looking back, I’m not sure if I didn’t offer more because I didn’t know enough Bahasa, karena saya malu (I’m shy), or because I genuinely didn’t know where I should be going.
On February 24th, the Esmu family took Yulie and I out for the day. They told us we were going fishing, which really meant eating lunch at a restaurant where we could also fish. I asked if I could have my dinner an hour early. Yulie’s face lit up, mau ke mana? Via social media I had made friends with a choreographer in Solo. He was curating an evening of contemporary dance with the non-profit called Paradancer, that night at 19.45. Yulie and I hadn’t done much together at this point, but she announced she was coming with me.
We went to the show, rushed because our estimated time of arrival was well after 20.00, but in typical Indonesian fashion the performances were fashionably late, and didn’t start until around 20.30. We were greeted by the choreographer from Solo, who asked if his friend could interview me. I said yes, unsure of what I how I would answer before I even knew the questions. You see, words just aren’t my thing, which is why dance has become such a major component of my life. Dance has allowed me to articulate strings of thought in ways words have never allowed me to. Through dance, I've been able to listen and learn from people all over the world, without using any words. Dance is truly an international language.
Yulie asked where I wanted to go after the interview, ke Malioborro? ke Alun Alun Kidul? I didn’t know what these places were, so I said besok besok (not now, not tomorrow, but soon). We went the following weekend. We started at Malioboro and in the evening wound up at the light up cars, but the middle was serendipity. We bonded over McFlurries and lamented about the occasional feelings of isolation that come with long distance relationships. We ended up in places we never expected to be, I probably couldn’t find the places now if I went back and tried to retrace our steps.
Going out with the Esmu’s became a common occurence — we’d pile into their car and end up at an organic farm, a Javanese church choir, or some other location only frequented by locals that I wouldn’t have found on my own. The two months at Alam Bahasa ended, and it was time to move out of the homestay, leaving Yulie and the Esmu family. Leaving meant finding a new family, and I did so through the one medium that has always helped me make new connections — dance. I reached out to Freakingz, a local hip hop crew, and heard back from one of the members, Safina. Auditions for that year had just happened a few weeks ago, so she invited me to join a rehearsal to see if I was a good fit.
Nikaio trying to catch a fish. Ultimately, the fish was given to a little boy to kill because Nikaio was too panicked.
Yulie and Nikaio at Alun Alun Kidul.
At the end of all rehearsals with Freakingz, we sit in a circle to do briefings (at the time, it was updates about our upcoming performance) and pray together. The first night, I assumed I would just ride a Gojek home, but hadn’t really planned that far ahead. I was distracted by this during the briefing, worrying about the limited motor bikes and potential price hikes. I also couldn’t understand a word they were saying, so the briefings felt inconsequential. Safina pulled me from my pensive thoughts: “Niko mau ke mana?” Home, I guess? Widya offered to drive me home. The following rehearsal, Puchi insisted she’d do it, even though our apartments are on opposite sides of the city. Puchi, who spoke little to no English, told me she wanted to be my best friend. She has since moved away, but in our brief time together we became inseparable.
At the third rehearsal, Safina asked if I wanted to become a full time member of the crew. They asked me questions about what my experience with hip hop and Freakingz had been like so far. I said crews have always been my family, and that even though I couldn’t understand half the time, Freakingz itu masih seperti keluargaku. They laughed at this, but then blushed. Even by that point, I’d managed to carve out a very special niche for myself in the family unit. I had a reputation for being very quick at picking up choreography, but very clueless when it came to following directions. Whenever I was lost or desperately trying to interpret what I should be doing by watching the body language of others, I was (and still am) compared to this image of a very confused but happy dog. I’ve included it below.
(Left) Nikaio in Freakingz rehearsals. No clue what’s going on, probably doing the wrong thing, just happy to be there.
(Center) Nikaio and Puchi at a Freakingz photoshoot. (Right) Nikaio at Puchi’s graduation.
Soon rehearsals and navigating Jogja as a whole became less intimidating. My short, shy answers were in time replaced with dramatic arm gestures and outlandish sound effects in an effort to communicate. These eventually morphed into real, coherent Bahasa (the national language). I continued to not make plans and say yes to any adventure I was offered. I went to a wedding in the mountains of Central Java, I got on a bus one morning with my crew and ended up at a freestyle battle in Semarang, I saw so much art and connected with incredibly creative people from all over Indonesia. Soon it was the end of the semester, and for the first time, I had a concrete answer to that ever dreaded question: mau ke mana?
My friends, my instructors, the other lecturers at the university, my students… they all wanted to know where I was going for break. I told them confidently that I was going to meet my family. They live only a few islands from Java, in a town called Naga in the Philippines. I’d never been to the Philippines, neither had my partner, who had received a Shansi In-Asia Grant to study traditional music in the Philippines and Borneo. My mother hadn’t been back in 40 years and would also join us for 3 weeks. We would all go together to see our homeland.
Nikaio and their family in Naga, Philippines.
I’ve since realized that the reason people always ask where I want to go, is because they are used to Americans always having an agenda. “I want to go here.. I have to do this thing at this time.. This is my 10 year plan.” And they’re taken aback when they learn that when Asians move to the U.S., it doesn’t mean they abandon their philosophy of life completely in order to join in on the ‘American way.’ They take their culture with them. Sometimes, I think people in Southeast Asia envision America like it’s portrayed in the movies: Lots of tall stunning white folks, not many trees, fancy cars, and big parties. My cousin once saw a show about food trucks in the U.S., and got it stuck in her head that the streets in America are not only paved with gold, but also lined with trucks selling gourmet and abstract fusion food. No restaurants any more, just tin venders.
We were getting off a tout boat in Palawan, accompanied by two Puerto Rican-American tourists, a mother and son. The mother asked me, “how does it feel to be back?” I wanted to tell her it feels like I never left, but those weren’t the words I meant to use. It just felt so natural to be there. Though I’m American, I still feel deeply connected to my roots in the Philippines. My mom raised me like a Filipina mother should. With lots of rice, no shoes in the house, and patience. My step-dad held the same mentality and stressed the same need for letting the road takes you where it takes you. From taking care of family members with dengue fever (long story) to getting caught in monsoons at jazz festivals. From trying instruments you’ve never heard of to trying durian for the first time… you have to be open and adaptable. In Southeast Asia, you never know what life is going to throw at you. Sometimes, the best game plan is to embrace the serendipity. And when a friend asks you where you want to go, say anywhere, and let them choose your destination for you.