A private Jakarta school - TLC 70

Monday at 6:45 a.m. is formal education tyranny time.

Players call it Stormy Monday. Tuesday is just as bad. Wednesday is kind of rough and Thursday’s oh so sad. The eagle flies on Friday. Saturday I go out to play. On Sunday I go to church get down on my knees and pray. They call it Stormy Monday.

Lucky stood in front of an open rusty iron green gate wearing a pressed green shirt made of palm fronds. He waved an iridescent peacock feather wrapped in a Native American leather braid decorated with rainbow beads welcoming students at a private school.

Parents rule fool. 

Martial Catholic music blared from tinny church loudspeakers at the nearby church of the Immaculate Misconception. Religion was under permanent construction. Empty false hope the greatest evil based on blind faith filled towering grey artificial plastic golden arches with compressed dust.

Air conditioning ducts lay scattered in the vestibule. Purple priest garments hung by a broken thread in a chastity of lotus blossoms. Heaven’s holy light played along a contorted floor jangling cracked tolling bells.

The incomplete church thrived underground. Shadows and illusions named shame, guilt, sin, jealousy, regret, sloth, and lies had enough parking spaces for a choir of angelic forms in the rising Indonesian middle class.

Humans invented religion in their free time. We need meaning and intention sang priests, poets and philosophers. We is educated. Order poor uneducated slaves to get back to work, said a king of dubious origin waving a jeweled mind-sword.

Black tinted SUVs arrived at the gateless gate. Sleepy-eyed kids extricated themselves from air-conditioned nightmares. A green uniformed whistle-blowing male slave directed traffic. Blue clad office boys unloaded suitcases of textbooks, water bottles, lunch baskets, severed cultural connections, identity theories and universal mind maps.

Sleep deprived children waited for a maid, a driver, a mom, a dad, or a perfect stranger to hand them a suitcase handle, a plastic get a life grip. 

Children said good morning to Lucky before dragging cumbersome baggage along slick mopped tile floors down a hall-like crypt. They manipulated life luggage around corners before hoisting it onto little shoulders killing back muscles or pulled it clattering up two flights of stairs. Click-clack-click-clack music echoed through corridors absorbing childhood.

After leaving her vehicle Amanda a 4th grade genius waited in tropical sun. Her right hand was empty. It held everything.

Exhaust from idling cars, vans and flaming plastic bags filled the air. Everyone choked. Feeling exasperated she was angry tired and bored. She opened and closed her empty right hand suffering a desperate spasmodic fever.

She stared straight ahead. Her brown eyes focused beyond green gates. Retinas explored tropical subterranean rain forests. Wild purple orchid aromas permeated shade near a flowing river. Blue-green waterfalls crashing into jungles gave her a cool essential meditation in her heart-mind.

“Give it to me. Give it to me,” shouted her grasping hand. Someone handed her a plastic suitcase handle. She dragged educational baggage into a cave. It would take eight more tedious years to exterminate her innate childhood curiosity and sense of humor.

The Language Company

A Little Letter

(Editor's note: A version of this recently went out to friends and strangers.)

I've shifted into a new peaceful space after sharing another house with a very sad young teacher, a father of a young girl who lives with her mother in Mongolia. His favorite expression was, "Let's Eat!"

I mentioned choices and consequences but he didn't hear or listen. I've seen this reality before, mind you. He must have figured it was worth the emotional cost to come here. As someone along the rocky road whispered, "Any fool can have a kid. It takes courage to raise them." You gotta pay your dues someplace.

I've been planting amazing flowers, including thirty from the old space, trees, shrubs, a delicious herb garden and multiple seeds; cleaning and refocusing my healing energies.  

I am west of Jakarta, about an hour plus toll trolls by taxi depending on the traffic, which can be a real nightmare due to poor urban highway planning ten years ago. The city pollution is real killer. You can feel it in your throat and eyes. Ghastly. All east-west traffic must pass through the city center. No ring roads. Duh.

The air quality out here is very good and the area, while consisting of 20-30 flower named walled clusters with guards at the entrance, has plenty of trees and tropical flora. Beautiful butterflies, song birds, cockroaches, big brown beady eyed rats, contemplative speckled frogs and many little humans. It's all about evolution, adjusting and adaptation.

Some homes are McMansions with Greek and Roman columns featuring Ironic, Corinthian fax paux decorations screaming "Yes, look at my huge monster home! I made it." I imagine many palatial rooms are empty, collecting dust, but hey, like in China, it's all about external appearances. Goes to show ya. Others are more tastefully done in the one-two story cookie-cutter style. 

Everyone has a maid from somewhere in Java, some being barely old enough to take care of spoiled pampered offspring. They wash two cars, sweep and water stone passages, cook, wash clothes, clean and feed the kids while both parents are out busy making money. It's a job. 

It's an opportunity to make money to support their families in a village memory. Most, if not all, returned home for a brief holiday. Some may return, others will take their place. It's the never ending human supply system on one of 17,000 islands with 220 million people.

It's interesting to see moms and dads washing cars doing laundry and preparing meals these days. Learn by doing.

Food is cheap here. Medicine and education is expensive. Favorite sports are: 

1) driving huge 4x4s where gas costs $2.40 a gallon, sitting in endless long traffic jams, paying parking fees to para-military type uniformed men blowing stainless steel whistles...  

2) wandering around enormous numerous (say it fast three times) shopping centers. Like a huge playground for young and old kids. Where out-of-control rascals can expend their pent-up energy. Where families can enjoy the A/C and stuff behind glass. Museum quality of life. Diversionary influences.

3) whining. My students know and understand this behavior is boring and useless.

The private school has 1,800 students from kindergarden through high school. It's existed since 1993 and was started by a Catholic priest from Bandung who joined with community leaders to promote education. We have native English teachers in K-12 to complement the friendly local teachers. They've seen us folks come and go after completing a two-year contract. The school administration is very professional in all aspects. 

My supervisor, the Director of English, is a anthropologist from New Hamster. She was formerly a tenured professor at a stateside east coast university and threw it all off (the job, big house, marriage, mortgage, cars and airplanes) for the overseas life. She has extensive international teaching experience and focuses on curriculum development. I've learned a great deal from her in a short time. We are kindred spirits. 

I'm teaching 4th grade (where I act like a big nine) and really enjoying the opportunity to make a positive contribution. My kids are amazing and we have fun in/out of class. There is more prep-time and lesson planning here compared to the Wall Street Institute system (0 prep = loads of free time) but it's a fine exchange, all things considered.

I have three classes of 30 kids and see each class four times a week for 70 minutes each class. This allows us to fully explore Socratic academic text-based material, (speaking, listening, reading comprehension and writing) personal creative journal writing, art, and teamwork projects. 

We focus on developing character, sharing, good manners, soft eyes, relaxation, meditation, making mind maps, accepting personal responsibility and exploring the learning process. I assist them in developing critical thinking skills and thinking out of the box. 

I tell them, "I am here to help you make mistakes." Shock reality therapy.

I accompany each class to the fine library once a week. They are improving their research skills. To get to the paper library we meander through the eco-library where we also spend a lot of time exploring, discovering and finding cool things. 

I'm also mentoring an English club of 18 students culled from 4th-6th grade for their speaking ability. They practice improving their public speaking skills and having fun. I'm also assisting the editor of a biweekly "Flash" newsletter which goes out to parents. Performing copy and proofreading stuff.

I use a Cosmic mountain bike and it's all flat land. I do miss the rolling wild nature near the Chinese university and quality of bike life there. Still, it's fun and necessary. I play tennis at the sports center 2-3 times a week in a drop-in doubles format with local businessmen and swim in the beautiful Olympic size pool which is often deserted. 

Next door is a Balinese Spa where I enjoy a 1.5 hour traditional full body massage weekly for $12. I alternate between the traditional - relaxation, aroma therapy - and the hot rock massage which is a strange deep tissue feeling after warm oil coats you and then the oval volcanic rocks blend into your epidermis. After a week of teaching, riding, tennis and laughing the massage is a welcome therapeutic relaxation zone. Bliss. 

Metta.