cali

I can't believe I'm back here in California. I can't believe I'm back here in my apartment, listening to my neighbor upstairs playing guitar in the middle of the night (something that I quickly avenged by Skype-ing loudly with a friend). I can't believe school is starting tomorrow.

To be perfectly honest, I'm here for the dance. But don't tell my mom.

If I'm not too lazy (I still have the jet lag to blame), I'll be posting the pros and cons of being here, of pursuing a chunk of my dreams far away from home, far away from the comfort, safety, and certainty of a city I call home.

However, I have to admit that when I boarded the BART train from SFO to Rockridge a few nights ago, I didn't feel like a stranger.

Perhaps it was the ultimate surrender. Or, the jet lag.

Yeah, I think it was the jet lag.

so far, so far...

I am so sorry for my absence (not that anyone cares). I've been so caught up in adapting my life to school and dance and everything else that even my Pinkcoinbelt has not been updated for quite a long time - I promise to update it today!

I'm entering the third week now and I've met some interesting characters (the professors and students). Some problems that I'm encountering include reading a soaring amount of books (I finished Jane Austen's Persuasion in twelve hours), challenging assignments (I just wrapped up creating a map of area in the first four stories of William Faulkner's Go Down, Moses). Yet the biggest problem that hinders me is the necessity of having active participation in class, ie discussions.

I blame my Asian upbringing (how comfortable!). I always get the jitters when I'm addressing people in the class, no matter how big or small the audience is. I mean, everybody seems to have his/her own unbent opinion on something, and sometimes I don't even have anything remotely intelligent to add to the forum. I always try not to say something that will make me sound like a complete idiot, asshole, or both.

Still, I'm enjoying the classes and as much as I love doing the homework during weekends, I'm going to take this by the day.

Whenever class ends on Thursday, there's a prize for my perseverance that awaits: the class at FatChanceBellyDance studio!

So there you have it: the maps and images that I drew that I think corresponds to the first four stories of Faulkner's in his Go Down, Moses: Was, Fire and the Hearth, Pantaloon in Black, and The Old People.

I was trying to make it look like the map in Lords of the Rings or the Warriors series... I guess it doesn't look like that, huh?

house hunting

I kind of understand why it's hard for ghosts to let go off a house they're haunting. If you found a perfectly good home, why would you want to leave?

My being admitted to St. Mary's is, without a doubt, very exciting. It's one of my dream schools and I believe that St. Mary's MFA program in fictional creative writing can really ameliorate my writing skills. I need the discipline and catalyst to write. Furthermore, I need to find my true voice without sounding as if I'm trying too hard.

Nevertheless, that excitement comes with a price: I have to find an apartment. I'll be commuting to several areas: Moraga (where St. Mary's is), Alameda (FCBD East Bay class), and San Francisco (FCBD regular class & Dance Conditioning). I once visited North Berkeley to see a nice little cottage and was immediately smitten with the serene atmosphere. It was Friday evening yet it was so peaceful and quiet.

I told my parents that I didn't want to live in the in-campus housing because I'd be lazier than ever. I need to commute, to go people-watching and sight-seeing, to gather inspiration along the way, to eavesdrop on conversations between lovers, among friends, among frenemies, to see same-sex couples holding hands when strolling down the road and have my brain struck with ideas. In other words, I need a little Viagra for my writing, and being confined to a beautiful hill won't do any good to my shaft of inspiration.

Yet, it is so difficult to get a decent apartment in a safe environment with just enough leverage for a first-time international applicant with barely there credit record (I don't normally use credit cards) and references (I suppose I can get references from my current Residential Advisors at the hostel). Additionally, time is running out. I'm going back to Indonesia on June 18 and returning to the USA on August 10. I really hope to resolve this matter before I leave. All those listings, including Craigslist, barely show apartments or studios that are available in August. I won't be in the USA for the whole month of July 2011. It would be an utter waste of money to pay a month's rent without actually staying in it.

On Mr. Stephen's suggestion, I have also included Orinda and Lafayette in my search, thus broadening my range of possibilities.

There are certain things I look for, though: the house must be in a quiet and safe neighborhood with quiet neighbors, preferably furnished with wi-fi and comfortable bathroom, lots of natural lights, and close to BART station. And under USD 1500 per month. And, contrary to popular belief, I do not require the presence of a naked butler.

Anyone willing to help?

stupid people

I feel like I have to get this out of my chest.

In addition to being a xenophobe, I'm also an enochlophobe: I'm afraid of large groups of people.

Now here I am, away from home, in a foreign land, in a hostel filled with international people. I'm the only Indonesian. Apparently, there are many people from French-speaking countries and Spanish-speaking countries that they bunch up together in dining areas or in the kitchen, OR DOWN THE CORRIDOR WHERE THEY TALK AND LAUGH AND CURSE LOUDLY.

I just don't get people who talk and scream in front of other people's room doors. It's just so obnoxious. And then there are people who just can't hold the door and have to bang it in order to shut it. SERIOUSLY??

Just the other day, I heard laughter and loud footsteps - people were laughing while climbing the stairs running and stomping their feet. Lydia, one of our RAs, had to go out of her room and told them to be quiet. I smiled with pure satisfaction. One of these days, if I can't take it anymore, I'll do the evil eye.

Where was I... Oh yeah, getting something out of my chest. Man, that reminds me so much of chestburster from Alien.

Well, I assume those French-speakers or Spanish-speakers are filthy rich. They just bunch up with their friends and talk in whatever language they speak BUT English. And when they do speak English, well... Sounds a lot like gibberish with heavy accent. And some arrived in San Francisco the same time I did.

I assume those guys are rich because, hey, you've obviously spent a lot of money to get here and the cost of living here is just so damn high (OMG, a weekly trip to WholeFoods costs me a monthly grocery shopping at Carrefour in Jakarta).

Get out of your comfort zone, ditch your friends and walk alone, speak English! Isn't that why you're here?

But then again, it's not my problem. I only wish they'd stop hanging around in the kitchen when they're done cooking so I can cook.

and so...

So I've been lagging behind my writing for the blog. But I have my reasons!

Don't believe me? Check out my dance blog, the pinkcoinbelt chronicles.

I'll blog more soon. Trust me.

Oh, and here's a piece of advice: when walking in any street in San Francisco, avoid eye contact with strangers, avoid talking to strangers, avoid strangers who approach you (especially those with dowdy clothes; except those with maps - they might be tourists).

The reason I'm telling you this was because some guy just approached me, asked me what date it was, I told him the date, and he kept asking, "What did you say? What did you say? What did you say?" and I knew he wasn't deaf.

Bone-chilling.

strangers on the streets

I don't know in which part of San Francisco Mom and my brother stayed when they went for a visit in 2004. Mom said that the city was beautiful.

A lot of things could've happened in 6 years. Or Mom and my brother simply stayed in a better part of San Francisco. Either way, I don't think San Francisco is as beautiful as everyone has said. True, there's the glamorous Union Square and there's an area called the Geary Boulevard that's just so tranquil and serene and gorgeous.

And then there's Tenderloin and Mission with scattered used condoms and dog (I hope) poo on the pavement, the homeless and the crazy, and various other gritty stuff. Whenever I walk in the Mission district, I always encounter crazy people shouting about. When I was walking back to the 16th / Mission BART station, I saw two policemen searching an alleged drug dealer. One time, I saw a man kneeling and handcuffed in front of an adult store.

However, there are also homeless people in the most beautiful and upscale areas in San Francisco, such as the Fisherman's Wharf. Sitting in a cheap, Chinese-run "authentic Italian pizza" joint generically called "Pizza Zone" offers me a great view of the world. I'll be doing my homework while munching on my USD 5 slice of vegetarian pizza, looking out at birds (robins, pigeons, seagulls) and homeless people rummaging the dumpster across the road.

Looking (and videotaping) homeless people is evidently a lot different than interacting with them. One time as I was walking down Fisherman's Wharf, I walked pass a woman who suddenly stopped and called me. She said, "You! Your aura tells me that you've been broken-hearted twice, haven't you? Come here. Let me give you a reading."

Obviously, I was tempted. But I got a hold of myself and told her, "No... I was broken-hearted three times," which is obviously not true... Or half true. Or two-third true. I mean, I don't even have enough money to pay her to read me. And how on earth did she pick that number?

And then, as I was waiting for the bus on Van Ness Street this afternoon, a tall, dark stranger approached me. No, it's not as romantic as you think. In fact, it's rather disgusting. He was noisome and cross-eyed. He began with a little talk about what I was reading (I was reading the Word Smart book) and then he said my zipper was undone (my damn zipper of this particular pair of jeans always becomes halfway done though I've pulled it all the way up) and he asked my name (WHICH I NAIVELY GAVE AWAY - note to self: NEVER USE REAL NAME). And what started as quite an innocent conversation turned out to be weird: he asked for money. Luckily my bus came and I boarded it as fast as my dainty feet could carry me.

Now I'm becoming paranoid because this is where I usually wait for my bus to go to school every morning. Oh, well... I can always walk to school. OR NOT.

God, I'm such a weird-people magnet.

down with sickness

I always get sick whenever I embark on long trips. When I was in Bournemoth, I was so feverish one night that I went from being extremely cold to extremely hot. And then there was the long-awaited London excursion and I almost got hit by one of those black taxis. The fact that everyone hated me (yes, including those from Indonesia) didn't help. I was alone the entire time.

The experience traumatized me a lot. Even my mom admits that I don't make friends easily, but when I do, I'll keep them close to my heart.

Right now, I'm trying hard not to get sick. My sleeping pattern has gone down the drain and so has my eating habit. I'm trying hard to eat on time but everytime I want to cook something (usually at 8 PM or 9 PM), the kitchen is always full. People seem to hang around there. In the storage room, even. I was trying to get some bananas the other night and there were two girls just chatting there in front of my storage cube. Blah.

And then there are those who just won't bother with cleaning up the frying pans and those who leave muck in the sink. Icky, greasy muck.

And don't get me started on the Frenchies.

I'm not the only one who complains about the French people. They're loud and all over the place. It's a funny thing, really, because when I was in France, it was always the Americans who were loud and obnoxious... And all over the place.

Are they having a citizen exchange or something? By God.

But then again, maybe I'm just xenophobic.

I just finished my Chinese pancake with egg dinner. I had that for lunch and it was too much so I kept it for dinner. Neat, huh? In about 15 minutes, I'll have my daily dose of Vitamin C and probably take a cold pill or something. I'm not feeling too well.

learning to cook

Not many people know that I love cooking. Well, I LIKE cooking. I don't really like the cleaning-up afterwards.

Currently, I'm living in a hostel. That means there's the communal kitchen, refrigerator, dish-washer sink, everything in it. During busy hours (breakfast / lunch / dinner), the kitchen gets... busy. So we sometimes have to wait to use the stove or the frying pan or the pot.

That's why I decided to go down at 3 AM to make some Penne and mushroom. The recipe (or lack, thereof) is courtesy of my boyfriend.

He still cooks and is ambitious about it (I love that about him... I love eating, and he is an excellent cook). I need to get back on being serious about cooking once again.

Hell, there was even a time when I would bake a cake each night for months! Of course the cake usually failed. Ha!

But this morning, I made a breakthrough. I cooked! And it didn't fail (too much). So, yeah... I think I'm pretty proud of myself.

Later, guys!

the internet and antisocial behavior

Years ago, when I was with EF in Nice, France, I had... quite one of the best times of my life. I lived with a host mom (and grandma) with a bunch of other kids. I was the oldest in that bunch. At one time, there were five of us: an American girl, a Russian girl, a Swedish girl, a Dutch boy, and an Indonesian ... teenager (it was in 2003... I won't tell you how old I was).

Since it was in an apartment, there was no internet connection. There were internet cafes (I used a nearby cafe one time) and of course, the school. So I checked e-mails and chatted with my friends mostly at school.

It was more than 7 years ago and things have greatly changed since then. I'd say that almost all cafes along La Promenade des Anglais (the main beachfront road in Nice) will have had a wireless internet connection by now and I could sip on a cafe and eat a croissant while looking at those Arab playboys seducing blonde girls and just scoff.

Without the internet, we, that weird bunch of melange, bonded.

Only the American girl brought a laptop along with her. The others didn't.

And now, I live in a hostel where there's wireless internet connection in the lobby, on the mezzanine floor, I can eat while surfing the net if I bring my laptop or my Android phone, and to make matters worse... since I moved down to the third floor (I was on the fourth), I've been getting an internet connection inside my room. How cool is that?

Now I don't have to go down to get internet.

It's a single room, which means I don't have a roommate, and I'm totally alone, and I love being alone and having my own pace.

When I had a roommate, if I woke up in the middle of the night (or at 2 AM like right now), I'd so carefully get my laptop and books (of course bumped into something here and there... I'm so clumsy, I can't help it, and the wooden floors always creak) and just go down to the mezzanine floor to do my homework.

When everything was done, like at 4 or 5 AM, I'd creep back upstairs and into bed.

I am nocturnal. I love that about myself. I've been developing this habit because I appreciate the stillness and quietness of my home in Jakarta where I live with my family and nobody is nocturnal.

And besides, people here (mostly Europeans) don't appreciate the quiet time in the hostel. Just a few hours ago, I woke up to the sound of an annoying laughter (consecutively, for about an hour, no kidding) of a girl. My new room is so great because it's near the stairs but the entrance is so private so I don't hear people going by. So that must mean... They weren't in a room, but in the hallway, doing something that ellicited a noise.

Why they were in the hallway in the first place baffled me. Some people are just so crazy and rude and crazily rude.

Anyway, we did the GMAT exercise again today, the Critical Reasoning one (I so hate this one), and I got... da da da... one answer right! That was an improvement since the last time I did that, I got all the answers wrong!

Well, GMAT's not my thing. I won't be taking it for sure, but it's really fun to learn new things, right?

I'm putting up the picture of Spongebob and Mrs. Puff because Spongebob reminds me of myself (saying "hi" to everyone) and Mrs. Puff reminds me of a teacher I greatly admire in the school.

Oh, and that's my new room and the view from my room.

children and homework

I hate children. I really do.

Okay, so I used the exact same opening a while ago for an entry.

Well, sometimes there are children that are cute and just nice. These children, I can easily play along with. They remind me how joyful it was when time was on my side.

In class today (and yesterday), we read about aggression. Mr. Stephens told us a story about the day when he was out grocery shopping, there was an African-American woman with a little child. The child could walk, obviously, and the woman wandered off minding her own business. She didn't even notice that she was going far away from her child. When she finally noticed, though, she said, "Hey! Get your black ass over here!"

Wow. That really made me glad I wasn't raised in a hostile family. Strict, but never hostile.

When I boarded the 47 bus back to the hostel yesterday, it was a nice ride. I didn't get lost. The only time I got worried was when this Afro-American man (around 50 years old, big) boarded the bus and went straight to the back seats, sat there, and talked gibberish. I was so worried that he would take out a gun and start shooting everyone.

I always had the feeling that if ever, God forbid, I got caught in a hostage situation, I'd be the first one to be killed. Either by accident or on purpose.

But nothing happened, at least until I got off the bus. I walked back to the hostel safe and sound.

Today, it was almost another different case all around. I boarded the 47 bus in hopes to yet again have a nice, quiet ride so I could finally finish reading my TIME Magazine with Aung San Suu Kyi on the cover.

It was raining, but I didn't have to wait long. The bus came and it was relatively empty. After a few stops, the nightmare began.

School kids went on board. And I am certain that nobody paid the fare. They just boarded through the back entrance. I sat myself in the back, next to the back entrance. Bad choice. One girl was standing directly in front of me and she was eating something and passed it along to her friend who was standing on the doorway right next to me. She was passing whatever she ate right on top of my head.

In Indonesia, that would be considered really rude and I would most probably do something about it. But they were too numerous (they just stood there blocking the door and telling people 'no space' and the driver obviously didn't do anything to stop it) and kids could be dangerous. And... I was carrying loads of books, as usual.

When I felt like my stop was getting near, I finally looked up and saw that they were taking out rulers and pens and... tearing off the PSA posters from the walls of the bus right above my head. That was just... what's the word... VANDALOUS. It was such an ANARCHY that I was so glad I got off the bus right then and there.

On a lighter note, I had a really nice lunch today. Well, a big one. I had cheese ravioli and a tall glass of hot chocolate (well, I had to. It was raining again today althought not as cold as two days ago). When my ravioli came, I looked at it and almost complained. But after everything was downed, I felt that the portion was just perfect, if not a little too much. Well, it'd better be. It was USD 22 including tax and tip.

I felt sleepy in the GRE English class because of that big lunch.

And I'm telling you, it's hard to get sleepy in the GRE English class. At least for now. I can say that I don't need it to get into the universities of my choice, but I will keep doing it because I'm learning so much.

The students in the class are around my age, and I feel it's just where I belong. The class is very engaging and challenging at the same time. Although I have to say, the words are... kind of otherworldly. Did you know there are 500,000+ words in English? Yeah, Mr. Stephens told us that. We were given a book that specifically deals with words and the roots of those words. It's like a mini dictionary of hard words.

I can't say that I enjoy it for the time being (wait, am I being paradoxical here? No, I guess that's the "challenging" part).

Tonight, I'll have to finish rewriting the statement of purpose so I can speed up the process of the University of San Francisco application and look into the St. Mary's College one.

Wish me luck!

the day of going from a to z

Okay. Probably not "z", but if you pronounce "xenophobia", the "x" sounds like a "z".

The "a" stands for "art".

Today was the first time I took the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit). I went from Civic Center/7th Street to 16th Street/Mission, located just one station away. The round-trip costs USD 3.50. I went to FCBD studio first, and took my chances going to ODC Common's studio. I'll post up pictures and some reviews regarding the two places in the original pinkcoinbelt chronicles.

That's the art part.

Now, I'm going to share something about my share of xenophobia. I hate travelling that makes me have to leave my comfort zone. And by comfort zone, I mean business-class flight, five-star hotel, limousine transfers and pick-ups and drop-offs, and nonstop private access to the internet. I was talking with my boyfriend just then and he asked me if I was feeling at home yet and I told him that as long as I had internet, I'd be fine.

This place is not that. I have no guide, I'm used to walking alone, but this isn't like the places I've been to before. This is... The United States of America. The place where "tolerance" has no place in the law especially if you're an alien. And yes, they use the word "alien" to describe non-residents. Somehow I find that term derogatory.

I've been having problems the first time I set foot on this "land of opportunities". I mean, this is not even the Big Apple where people are more paranoid. This is San Franciso, the place with so many Asians, many of them work as garbage collectors, check-out clerks, bag boys and girls, taxi and bus drivers, and immigration officers.

And when I say immigration officers, I don't mean so people can look at them and feel at home, but more like because these people can speak Chinese (the very reason why they place Hispanic-American to speak Spanish to the non-residents). I believe there are so many reasons why the US is really protective of their citizens. After all, they can't let the foreigners rule the economy, one that is dwindling. On one hand, they need us, the foreigners, the tourists, those who will spend much and therefore make their country grow and prosper, but they have to make sure we don't stay.

After giving our money, we have to go home. Back to our respective countries.

And then there's the issue about terrorism.

You might have heard about my country. When I was still in primary school, we were raised to believe that our country was very prosperous: a jade on the face of the earth. It was green and surrounded by magical blue water. But after awhile, my generation experienced the coup d'etat and things changed.

We began the tumultuos times. And some people have taken advantage of this by doing extrawork in their agenda. That's right: terrorism. The big names of terrorism that's linked to the big ones are (or were) actually Malaysians. But Indonesia is such a stupid warm and receiving country that we'd harbor a bomb-assembling terrorist without knowing it. And we took the blame. Not some other country.

We become synonymous with Taliban, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and other countries of bomb-blowers and jihadis.

And that very reason is why the government of Indonesia and the USA made a deal that Indonesians who enter the USA must check into the immigration office to have another registration (nothing much, just finger print and photo). But it was enough to keep me waiting for 45 minutes. Not to mention I made a fool of myself and was jokingly (?) warned to be deported on that very moment. I mean, I passed the immigration to take my suitcase without any visa stamp. Ha! That was like trespassing on US property.

But that was over. I put the Angry Birds here for some reason that makes me cringe and then laugh. I hope I'll get over it soon.

And then today... As I got into BART from 16th Street/Mission to go back to my hostel, again, being someone who walks rather fast and tends to not see the details (oh yes, I admit that), I got into trouble with the security because I walked into the train station using the exit gate. HA!

You know, sometimes having very recognizable Asian face makes me feel bad whenever I do something wrong here. I'm just worried that they'll have even more negative thoughts about us Asians.

But that's probably just my xenophobia talking.

Yet, in overall, I am very happy. I've witnessed and been to FCBD studio. The home of ATS. The place where ATS was born and nourished and nurtured.

And I'll be writing about it over at my blog.