On being kept at arms’ length

I suppose there’s a reason I started this blog here, in Indonesia, rather than when I lived in the UK or the Netherlands. I found out this week it’s likely because this is the first place that I’ve truly felt like a foreigner.

I can’t say that this realization came to me organically . It was the hypothesis of an Argentinian guy I spoke with recently. He’s lived here for seven years and said that, of all the places he’s lived, this was where he could never truly feel a part of the Indonesian society, let alone Balinese. And in my more limited experience, I have to agree with him.

Of the expats I know that have lived here for many years, even those who are married to or work with Indonesians and speak the language fluently, all still run in expat social circles. This is not to say integrated foreigner don’t exist, I have stories of a couple and perhaps I have too small a sample size to declare this definitively, but the integration of foreigners or immigrants into Indonesian society is relatively minimal.

Part of this, I think, has to do with the extremely rich cultural heritage of Indonesia and, again, Bali in particular. Unless one converts to Balinese Hinduism and joins a Banjar, one is seen as an outsider. This has more to do with the strength of society than of any social barriers that are constructed

Another factor that influences this is the strong nationalism that runs through Indonesia. This is not a nationalism that was fueled by an immigrant narrative like the US (current Presidential candidates notwithstanding) or a kind of secular civic nationalism like in France, but a vibrant post-colonial nationalism that places the Archipelago’s fight for independence against European colonialism at its center.

This is not to say that I’ve had negative experiences or see this a social defect. Indonesians are culturally the most welcoming and friendly people I’ve come across, almost to the point of over politeness. But there is a distance, possibly even a society-wide wariness, that is hard to ignore.

And in some ways this is reflected in government policy. I’ve complained about the immigration process before, but it goes even further. Foreign citizens are not allowed to own real estate in Indonesia (with a minor and recent exclusion of high-rise apartments in Jakarta) and must have an Indonesian business partner to own a company (I think that’s how it works, at least). Both of these are disincentives for expats to make a permanent life here. Naturally many still want to and find ways around the regulation (for example 99 year leases), but the point remains.

But I don’t think Indonesia is alone in this. Any country with a strong ethnic base (I could go in depth here into why I called Indonesian nationalism post-colonial and not ethnic but I’ll save you the IR talk and just point you to the Types of Nationalism Wikipedia page) would have some incarnation of it.

And for what it’s worth, it makes for some entertaining and controversially worded conversations at expat bars.

In case you were wondering (an exercise in continued self-indulgence)

So far in Semawang Stories, I’ve described what life is specifically like in Bali and some peculiarities therein. This week I thought I’d give a little insight into what I actually do all day, you know, for, like, money and stuff.

First of all, Semawang Stories does not make any money and likely won’t in the foreseeable future. Unless one makes it big, being a mostly full-time writer isn’t exactly a lucrative business so I’m not exactly planning on making it rain anytime soon (plus there aren’t any (legal) strip clubs in Bali).

The best part of this ‘job’ is that I make my own hours and work is almost entirely on my own schedule. I say almost because deadlines from editors are a thing but fortunately I haven’t had too many as of yet. With the exception of my Vice Sports article on the #muzzaswell, which was somewhat time-sensitive because it was essentially on a weather system, my pieces haven’t needed to be rushed out.

The real reason I chose this subject is that the past 48 hours have been a pretty rapid series of highs and lows. On Friday, I wrote a piece about a local jazz festival I attended last weekend which should be published next week. And frankly, I kicked its ass. It’s the same feeling you get when you drop 20 in a game of basketball. The piece will be on a site called Bali Coconuts that I’m just establishing a relationship with having written this article for them about an art festival here in Sanur. On top of writing what you know is a good piece, submitting two articles within two weeks and getting paid for both (albeit underpaid) is damn gratifying.

Then, I woke up Saturday morning to find that a piece I’ve been working on for almost two months, one that will be my first in print, will likely be delayed until the next issue. The Editor-in-Chief wants it re-worked and some more urgency put into what I find to be an already engaging narrative. But as my editor put it, this is a big boy magazine and the Editor knows what the hell he’s talking about. More to the point, I’m incredibly proud of this story and this is absolutely the right magazine so I’m content to let this play out.

And yet, in the very same batch of emails (since I’m +12 hours from the East Coast, I get a whole day’s worth of email first thing in the morning), came a positive reply from an outlet I’ve been trying to pitch for months about a story I’ve been trying to pitch for months. This is no guarantee that I’ll be published, but it’s a big breakthrough and could very well lead to more consistent work in the coming months.

And this is basically what I spend most of my time doing, finding stories anywhere I can, putting together pitches that will grab an editor’s attention and then waiting. The waiting mainly consists of finding more stories and, in this age of constant media, keeping up with what’s going on in the world (i.e. surfing the web and reading content. Also, pro-tip, if you want to improve your writing, start reading more, find an author you like, and copy their style until you find your own.).

On the whole, I really can’t complain. I love doing this and, while I may not be making much money at the moment, I know that I can write as well if not better than many others (present post possibly excluded) who are doing it for a living so I know I can be a success if I put in the time. And I don’t mind doing that. As with many jobs, success depends as much on whom you’re connected with as how good you are at your job.

I’ll end this spiel here with the promise to return to a non-insect and more Bali-related topic next week. Thanks for tuning in and make sure to check out this week’s Frying Pan Podcast. It’s our best yet.

The Post That Isn’t

I’m late in writing this blog post. I had planned to write it either last night or this morning but my dad wanted to skype last night and I was too tired after, then this morning I “Google Hungout” (is that what it’s called? Maybe just “G-Chatted” but then that doesn’t include the whole vidoe calling) with my sister who then encouraged (read: coerced) me to watch a four-part, 40-minute interview with Kendrick Lamar, in which he decodes his “capacious new record” To Pimp a Butterfly (Interscope, 2015). She’s currently researching a paper that compares Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Lamar’s new album. Or the rapper’s entire ouevre, I’m not sure she’s come to a hypothesis yet. And she wants my help, which I can’t in good conscious refuse since I was the one who suggested the topic in the first place. All I’ve read from FD is The Gambler and half of The Double, but I figured that there must be some parallel between 19th century Russian lit. and modern, if not avant garde, hip-hop. Then it was lunch, then I had to go to the airport, then I had futsal with the Bali Pugs, then I had a very tasty if contentious dinner and now I’m here, a few hours late and with no discernible topic to write about. Which is in itself relevant, because I had a skype with my mom yesterday morning (I’m not sure the last time I spoke to them all within a 24 hour period) and I really had nothing to talk to her about at the time either, which was a little awkward until she prompted me into a basic Indonesian history lesson that more or less covered Nusanatara. Read about it, it’s basically the Indonesian version of Manifest Destiny but without the overt racism.

The point is that I hadn’t gotten the chance to write this post until just literally right now and, again, without anything to really talk about and without any time for my normal in-depth research and mental, physical, and psychic preparation, you’re left with this. Which isn’t much, but I hope you’ll take five to ten minutes out of what is sure to be an unproductive Friday (because, let’s face it, it’s early May and it’s going to be nice out and you’re still in disbelief that it’s acutally, finally getting warm out) to read a 400+ word blog from some schmuck who’s living in fucking Bali of all places. So there you go, I’m at about 420 words or so and I think, if anything, I’ve made Larry David and Jerry Seinfeld proud because this has been a post about absolutely fucking nothing. But I wrote it and you just read it and that’s all that really matters.

Speaking of 19th century Russian lit., did you know the original title for War and Peace was War, What is it Good For?

 

Athletes Anonymous

Hi my name is Rowan and I’m addicted to playing sports. I first got hooked probably around the age of eight or so and have been pretty consistently playing some sport or another since. When I don’t play sports regularly I get grumpy and depressed.[i] I don’t mean to make light of actual addictions but I’m pretty sure this is one of mine so when I moved to Jakarta in January, I pretty quickly looked up, hunted down[ii], and joined a pick-up basketball game on Mondays and Thursdays in Hall C of the Gelora Bung Karno[iii] Sports Complex in the Senayan neighborhood of Jakarta.

The GBKSC – apart from a number of basketball, badminton, and tennis courts, a swimming complex, minor football pitches and a plethora of other facilities and stadiums- houses the Stadion Utama Gelora Bung Karno (Gelora Bung Karno Main Stadium), the home of the Merah-Putih.[iv] The complex was built for the 1962 Asian Games with a generous grant from the Soviet Union and from the look of Hall C, hasn’t been funded much since.

The gym was hot and tight and the floor was something hard that I’d never seen a gym-floor made of before (and I’ve seen a few gym-floors in my time) but the competition was decent[v] with some impressively skilled players- some of whom took full advantage of their home-court rims, and I met a few good guys including a couple Americans that were working in JakTown. I was just getting into a rhythm and getting some good runs in when we[vi] decamped to Bali, leaving both our little three-room apartment in Kalibata City and Hall C behind until the next time I’m in Jakarta on a Monday or Thursday.

Fortunately, upon arriving in Bali I walked right into the Bali Pugs Football Club (est. 2009). Our trial visit to Bali happened to coincide with the playing of Super Bowl XVIX and I watch that glorious occasion with a fellow from Seattle who has lived in Indonesia since 1999 but during that time has kept up impressively with the North American sporting landscape. He also co-founded the Pugs six years ago and has been co-captain ever since.

I’ve played futsal[vii] with the Pugs for the past two months and, while we had a beach soccer (which is a stupid sport and one of the few I really don’t enjoy) tournament last month and a few challenge matches over that time, tonight (Friday, the 24^th of April, Year of our Lord 2015) is our first competitive tournament, so I’ve written this to kill the time until I need to put on the sacred Orange and White and head to Sanur Futsal for our 1900h kickoff. So there you go, first post. And, omitting footnotes, under 500 words. PFL.

 

Update: Champions

[i] Quick anecdote: After Nadia and I moved to Bali we were heading back to Java for a weekend and I tried desperately to time it right so I could go. I forget exactly why but I ended up not being able to and was grumpy for much of the trip because of it. I think the sign of a true addiction is when it starts affecting those around you so, ya. I think we’re there.

[ii] Quite literally had to hunt down… The first time I went looking for the GBKSC, Google sent me to another Bung Karno Sports Complex about a kilometer away (which, in Jakarta’s traffic, can take an hour if you’re unlucky) and I had to take another taxi and a then walk 15 minutes to find the right spot.

[iii] Bung Karno is the nickname of Indonesia’s first president Sukarno.

[iv] The Red and White, Indoesia’s national colors and the nickname of their national football side.

[v] High enough for me who hadn’t played very much at all in the previous eighteen months…

[vi] Myself and my partner-in-crime Nadia who I’m sure will be featured heavily in Sem Stories

[vii] This is really all that Indonesians play for lack of better facilities. It’s five-a-side including a keeper and played on a pitch the size of a basketball court that’s made of the rubber-pellet turf stuff that leaves you with little black spots all over even after you shower.

Hello, I’ve caved and started a blog.

I’ve partially convinced myself that this is a good idea or at the very least a sort of necessity. Somewhere between taking my writing more seriously – as in getting paid for it – and my on-going failures in self-discipline, the thought of a regularly updated blog (a word I’m still struggling with) settled itself as some sort of thing that should be done. So here it goes: Semawang Stories.

First, the name. It’s pretty simple. Bali (which is in Indonesia), where I’m currently living, is divided into neighborhoods that are called Banjars that have varying levels of significance[i] and the one I’m living in is called Semawang. I had a few other ideas for names and some of those may pop up as titles of future post or they may just fall into The Abyss. Semawang Stories is vague enough and more or less captures the theme of this blog.

If you’ve followed me before you’ll know about The Volterra which will soon be coming off of its unplanned hiatus, not coincidentally through updates to Semawang Stories. A link to each Sem. Story will be posted to The Volterra and I/we will start accepting contributions again as of, well, now.

I’ve given myself an arbitrary 500-word limit for Sem. Stories that will probably be broken regularly but who gives a shit. It’s my site. Expect regular updates of varying lengths and on varying topics as well as links to other stuff I’ll write about the often absurd and increasingly enchanting country that is Indonesia.

Merdeka atau mati.

 

[i] For example: religion, politics, geography, social activities all find a home in the Banjar. I’m still learning about this so I’m not going to commit myself to a deeper explanation than that for the moment.