Yesterday was a blur.
In retrospect, last week was an exaggerated smudge and the last 10 weeks a transitory, but distinct, wrinkle in my Peace Corps life.
Friday marked the end of pre-service training. We capped it off with the Principals Conference and Swear-In Ceremony. That same day, many of us loaded our bags into our principals’ cars and drove home with them to our permanent sites; the places we will all call home for the next two years.
My friends waived goodbye. All of us knew it would be until October before we see each other again. Their faces said it all: “we miss you, be safe, we know you will do great things, see you soon!” And then I was on my own.
Ibu Wiwik’s robust greeting is the first string of words to grace my eardrums everyday as I walk out my bedroom door. The jury is still out on whether she is hard of hearing or if she’s always this psyched. To be fair, mornings are pretty special in this house.
I amble over to the kamar kecil, towel in hand. In the kitchen I pass Ibu Titin, spoon in hand, frying up something saucy. After my mandi I dress and proceed to answer both ibus’ repeated calls to breakfast. Today’s my lucky day: rice with pecel and fresh raw milk from grandma’s imported Australian cows.
You could say I’ve adjusted to home life here. I walk around in sweat pants, my hair in its usual state of disarray. But stepping out that font door there’s no forgetting I’m in Indonesia, not just Indonesia, but the only town called Oro-Oro Ombo!