Indonesian, despite it all

Name: nissa

IG Handle: cryptic_dreamer_44

Am I Indonesian? The shade of green on my passport says so. It’s the same shade of green in everyone’s hands as we stand in the foreigners’ queue at immigration. The same shade handed to the officer on the counter, asking people their purpose of visit, how long they’ll stay, who their employer is.

Growing up across the sea, these were the things that reminded me of my nationality, apart from the passive racism from others, with questions like why I don’t look like their Indonesian maid or how I could afford to go to school with them. But, I never felt the need to separate myself from my place of birth. I wanted to make peace with it, so I romanticized it.

I longed to return to my homeland, a place that holds so much devotion to music, dance rituals and folklore. I admired the respect we have for arts and cultures, but as soon as I returned, I quickly faced reality.

I felt as stiff as an old tree in the raging wind. I found it so hard to shed my ‘foreign-ness’. I couldn’t see past the flaws of living here and the differences I have with the people. Not only did I feel like an outsider, I felt angry at everything. That’s when I realised that maybe I am Indonesian after all. Maybe it doesn't matter if I don’t get the jokes or agree with some traditions and values. At the end of the day, I share one thing in common with millions here: anger.

I believe anger can only exist where there is love. I think that’s why I feel fiercely protective of this country, and desperately cling on to hope. I think this answers the question. I am Indonesian, despite it all.