Family ties that bind.

I’m alive!! Happy New Year!! The swirling vortex of family sucked me in without warning and spat me out gasping for air from its protective, yet good intentioned arms–in the most wonderful way. I’m completely overwhelmed by the amount of care, love, and attention I’ve received in Indonesia. It makes me want to laugh with joy and crawl into a hole seeking solitude all at the same time. From the moment I stepped off the plane to now, being alone was simply not an option. (A 26 year old, single woman traveling in a foreign country– gasp!) Now I’m in Soekarno-Hatta Airport in Jakarta, making my way to Bali, and reflecting on the last 24 days spent traveling with family, getting to know them, catching up on years that’ve passed, hearing their stories, and meeting many new faces. I’m trying to absorb everything. I can’t even begin to express the last 24 days.

Relatives, some I’ve never even meet before, extend their hands and resources to making my stay here as comfortable as possible. They open up their homes (and pantries) to my tired soul and empty tummy. Sometimes they travel from afar to meet me, bringing photo albums of pictures they’ve collected from my paternal grandfather, who diligently wrote lengthy letters and scribbled notes on the back of every photo he mailed to Indonesia. My grandfather’s name was Tan Tjee Lie. He died in 2006.

“After Tan Tjee Lie passed away, we stopped receiving news from America,” my grandfather’s nephew said as him and his wife showed me photos of a previous family vacation, probably circa 1994. My mismatched clothes and short haircut made me look a boy. I laughed at my awkwardness. Behind the photo, my grandfather wrote in Indonesian “We are about 200 km from New York.” We were in the Poconos.

My grandfather encouraged family members in Indonesia to emigrate to the US, but they didn’t want to let go of the assets they’ve already built to start anew in a foreign country with foreign people and a foreign language. In the end, my grandfather, his wife (my grandma), and his children (my dad and his siblings) were the only ones who emigrated. Yet, my grandfather kept up with correspondence, compulsively sending pages of letters and gifts from the US every month. Even now as an adult, my second cousin once removed still keeps the US stamp collection he started for her when she was a child.

The biggest surprise on my trip thus far is realizing how many family members I still have in Indonesia. Throughout my trip, I kept thinking how I would like for my own future children to meet them and see the place where their mother came from. This morning, my dad’s cousin and his wife sent me off with four different types of medicine for four different types of illnesses (for feeling under the weather), an umbrella and plastic bag (just in case it rains and a bag to put the wet umbrella in), and a whole lot of loving for the next couple of months in Indonesia. I feel loved, accepted, and secure.

First week in Indonesia.

I come from a very poor, chaotic country. City and rural Indonesians alike have weathered down, tired faces beaten from the sun. Sometimes their eyes are bloodshot and yellow. As much as I try to shake off my American accent, it comes through the second I open my mouth to speak. They ask me where I’m from and give me a thumbs up when I say the US. Americans are well liked in Indonesia, and in Indonesia I’m instantly classified as an American. I speak differently, wear different clothes and traveling through with US dollars. With US dollars, everything here is cheap and plentiful. You can buy a meal for a full grown adult with a dollar. In the US, a dollar will get you half a liter of drinking water.

Traffic laws seem to be laxly enforced in cities and mopeds rule the streets. Since arriving to Indonesia, my stay has been in Semarang, the city of my birth, but I’ve made day trips to Solo, Salatiga, and Mount Merapi, an active volcano that I camped at and climbed this past weekend. Solo is popular for batik and Salatiga is known for being the cleanest city in Central Java. These places are all in Central Java.

My first week was definitely an adjustment period and I underestimated how much social and cultural learning I need to do. I quickly realized my family is upper class and it has taken me time to get used to living with maids and drivers. My family is taking really good care of me and I find myself close to my extended family in Indo. Every hour is filled with “Are you hungry?” and “What do you want to do? Where you want to go?” They find it hard to believe that all I want to do is spend time with them and see family instead of going to Borobudor, an ancient Hindu temple popular with tourists.

Yesterday, my Uncle Didie and grandmother, my mom’s brother and mother, took me around Semarang to visit my grandparent’s siblings. They last saw me when I was three years old and all said I look just like my mother when she was a young woman. Most were financially well, owning garment factories, warehouses, and supermarkets. One owned a convenience store. The most common question I get asked is, “Sudah nicka?,” which means “Married yet?” A 26 year old single woman is rare in Indonesia and it’s more culturally appropriate to say “Not yet” instead of a flat out “No.”

I thought about my mother and uncle Didie a lot yesterday while visiting relatives. If my mother had stayed in Indo instead of emigrating to the US, the relatives I visited yesterday would be the family she would depend on. They are sweet, good natured people. My uncle also drove down Jalan Layur, the street where my mother and father met and their courtship began. My father was raised by his grandparents, my great grandparents. My grandparents’ house caught on fire when my dad was little and my grandmother had to leave two out of her six children with her parents. My dad was one of them and the other child was my Aunt Angely, who lives in Semarang and I stayed with for a few nights. As a result of growing up with his sister, my dad is very close to her. His old home in Jalan Layur is actually his grandfather’s old home. Nowadays, Jalan Layur is a dusty, littered, hectic road filled with small convenience stores and run down houses.

Yesterday was truly a special day for me and I’m grateful for the opportunity. I still need some time to process and feel like everything is happening quickly. I’m on the train to Pemalang right now, a small city about two hours west of Semarang. This time, I will meet extended family on my father’s side. I’m only in Pemalang for two nights and then return back to Semarang to spend time with my Aunt Angely before I depart to Jakarta to meet more relatives on Monday, the 24th.

And oh yea, I have photos of climbing Mount Merapi this weekend! 2,930 meters above sea level! Things to check off my bucket list: Climbing an active volcanic mountain. Here are some photos of my week.

The view of Semarang, Indonesia from above.

The coy fish pond in my aunt’s home.

My first day in Indonesia!
Right from left: Me, my Aunt Angely, Tante Elsie (Uncle Didie’s wife), Uncle Didie, and my cousin Gwen

Batik being made in Solo. Meticulously handcrafted.

At the summit of Mount Merapi!

Me and my climbing partners at the summit.

A view of Mount Murbabu from Mount Merapi. We lucked out with clear skies!

Final days in Singapore.

Mr. WT Wong sat across from me sipping his teh Tarik. Mine was on the table getting cold. We were in a 24 hour food joint along East Coast Park on a Monday night chatting about theosophy, an esoteric philosophical movement with origins in the late 19th century, of all things. In a coincidental meeting in Singapore’s Little India just hours before, Mr. Wong and his tennis partner Eddie sat next to me and my friend Veena, a Singaporean of Malay descent, in an eatery. Veena and I met in the hostel, where she’s staying while she waits for her public housing forms to go through. She’s a 30 year old single mother with three children and a cherubic face. Her children are staying with her ex mother in law in Malaysia for December. Venna works as a security guard, but took the day off to show me around Little India on my forth day in Singapore. By the time we met Mr. Wong and Eddie, we had walked for hours through winding roads filled with electronic and clothing shops and were absolutely beat when we reached the eatery.

Mr. Wong and Eddie were retired business men who met 10 years ago in an Anglican Church in Singapore and became tennis partners. Both were born and raised in Singapore, though well traveled and worldly. Four years ago in 2008, Mr. Wong denounced religion and joined the Theosophical Society. He invited me out for tea after dinner to talk more about it, undoubtedly because he’s usually the odd one out among his Christian friends and family and sought a sympathetic ear. Since my Krishna Murti days, I’ve been naturally curious about this esoteric sect. I wanted to know how active it is in Singapore, so I took him up on his invite.

It turns out the Theosophical Society is quite busy in Singapore with about 200 members and hosts weekly discussions. Mr. Wong presents often and right now they’re doing a four-series talk on “The Study of Consciousness.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t attend since my stay in Singapore is short lived, but he offered to give me a tour of the society’s library and offices when I come back in April before I depart back to the US. More significantly, he sent me off with terrific advice for my trip. He said, “Remember, you have exactly everything you need in the present moment.” I gave him a smile, knowing well in my heart how true that is.

On my fifth and last day in Singapore, the cycling guys and I had dinner at the food court. They parted cycling gloves and an old iPod filled with Malay songs to me. I’m listening to the songs right now while on flight to Semarang, Indonesia, the city of my birth and the 8th largest city in Indonesia. Jokingly, they said maybe I’ll learn and sing back a Malay song to them when I return in April. I hope so! Singapore has been quite an adventure. I came not knowing anyone, but I’m leaving having made new friends and memories.

My next journey will take me to my homeland. I will be in Semarang from the 12th to the 24th. On the 24th, I head to Jakarta by train. Then on January 6th, I fly to Denpasar, Bali!

To Changi Village and back.

I clocked 77 kilometers on the road bike’s speedometer today. My arms and legs are mildly sunburned and I have a perpetual smile on my jet lagged face. So far, traveling has been a real eye opening experience. I spend time by myself, but I’ve also made new friends and discovered some really cool things. Yesterday morning, I woke up at 6:30am because of jet lag and didn’t know what to do with myself so I went for a long sweaty run in the neighborhood. I explored the decadent public parks of Singapore’s Mandarine Gardens area and found myself in the likes of “get-it-in” Singaporeans. A huge outdoor culture exists here. Monkey bars and dip bars adorn almost every square mile of Singapore it seems. Everywhere I turn I find myself tempted to stop and hang on a bar (unfortunately, I’ve developed new blisters on my hands in the process!). One long bike path with access to skate parks, piers, food courts, water sports, and bike rentals outline the edge of this small country. Singapore is a true haven for the urban outdoor junkie and I honestly couldn’t have picked a better place to unwind.

After my run yesterday, I packed up my slackline, took out the renter bike from the basement of the hostel, and headed to East Coast Park for a meal at the food courts and some time to myself walking the line. Everything was going according to plan when I was stopped on my bike by a group of grungy-looking Singaporean cyclists taking a coffee break at the food courts about my back tire needing more air. By “grungy,” I mean they were chain smoking Marlboros, drinking endless cups of coffee in their skin-tight cycling wear and funny shoes that clicked, and sporting road bikes that probably cost well over $6,000 each. They fixed up my back tire, we chatted, and they invited me out to go cycling with them today. You bet I went!

I was ready to cycle by 5:30am this morning and they picked me up at 6am. One of the cyclists had a bike that fit me so he lowered the seat and we were good to go. We picked up coffee at the local food court, hopped on the East Coast Park bike path and proceeded to cycle eastward towards Changi Village, a modern village in the north-eastern end of Singapore…all before the break of dawn. It was incredible biking 30 kilometers/hour in the morning mist and watching the sun’s rays break through night time clouds in persimmon hues. Locals camped out in tents by the shore were just starting to wake up and early fishermen busily prepared bait for the day. We stopped at a few places for bathroom breaks, and for me to take photos and chat.

We arrived in Changi Village around 8am. By then, the town center of Changi Village, which is only four blocks long, was starting to thrive with cyclists coming from various regions of Singapore for coffee breaks and morning meals. Cyclists of all types, road and mountain biking fanatics, and all ages and ethnicities, congregated in food courts sipping their Milo drinks and other hot, caffeinated beverages and smoking cigarette after cigarette. Our group had breakfast together and I discovered “teh Tarik,” a delightful drink made with black tea and condensed milk.

We stopped at a durian stand on the way back to Mandarine Gardens and had some while perched on a rock isle by the ocean shore. I didn’t get home until 5pm and now writing this post tired, sunburned, and half-asleep. I have quite a few scrapes and bruises on my ankles, and very sore muscles. Tomorrow, they will be reminders of today.

Here are some photos!

On the boardwalk of Bedok Jetty.

Dismounted my road bike to walk the bridge.

The local cycling group.

…and their favorite food stall!

Durian delight. As my uncle says, “Smells like hell, tastes like heaven.”

Singapore shoreline.

Fishing seems to be the unofficial national pastime.

Overnight campers in East Coast Park.

In-transit flight.

I’m writing this post on flight to Shanghai, where I have a four and a half hour layover before my connecting flight to Singapore. I will be in Singapore from the 7th to the 12th to accustom myself to Asian culture and to mentally and emotionally prepare for what’s to come. I thought Singapore would be the perfect place to do that. Singapore is a modern city, like NYC, yet it’ll allow me to get used to being in Asia. I’m staying in a hostel on the East Coast neighborhood of Singapore and a 10 minute walk to East Coast Park, a 185 hectare beach front land and a bike path that stretches 15 kilometers long. Free bike rentals from the hostel sealed the deal for me. I’ll carry my slackline in my knapsack, get my very own bike, break a sweat exploring the beach, and eventually find trees to perch on and practice my slacklining. I’ll take a day or two in the five days I’m in Singapore to venture into Little India, Chinatown and the orchid gardens. On the 12th, I fly to Semarang, Indonesia, the town I was born in and where my aunt, uncle and grandparents currently live.

My world has turned upside down these last few days. After closing my apartment and moving my belongings to Westchester, I headed back into NYC Sunday evening and spent the remaining days with close friends. Folks at the Indonesian church I did my Masters research threw a gathering last week in Queens. The gathering coincided with a member’s birthday and another couple also going away for long term travel. They gave me valuable travel tips, emotional guidance, and wished for my safety. The following day, Monday, was my last field day with my editor before I departed. We traveled through the five boroughs of the city roughly tracing our steps, including the first district in Staten Island we reported in together. We have close working and personal relations and he has become more of a friend and mentor to me in the three years we’ve known each other. After the field day, I slept over my friend Sean’s house, a dear friend of 12 years, and Sarah’s house the following night, another very close friend. My editor picked me up in Manhattan to drive me to the airport this morning.

Even without a home to go to of my own, I feel that my life is rich with beautiful and supportive people as I make my way to this next step of my journey. If not for the love and kindness of family, friends and strangers, I would not be where and who I am today.

At the airport as I waited in line for the security checkpoint, I witnessed a Chinese family leaning over the metal gate that divided the checkpoint line and everyone else. It was clear they were sending someone off for a flight because they kept talking to the individual even as the person moved forward with the line. The family moved forward with the person too, except on the other side of the metal gate. I couldn’t understand what was being said because they spoke Chinese, but they laughed, cried together, and reached out their hands for one last touch. Undoubtedly, they were saying goodbye. That’s when it dawned on me that emigrating, both coming and going, is full of heartbreaks. Yes, it’s also full of possibilities, but only after your heart gets broken from leaving loved ones and starting anew. I can’t help but think of my parents and the heartbreaks they endured emigrating to the US. I was too young to understand as a child, but now as an adult, I have a greater sensitivity for such yearnings.

As I watched the Chinese family part ways, my heart was both saddened and relieved. Saddened because of their suffering (and all sufferings of immigrants present and past), but also relieved that I found the courage in my heart to issue forth from my own yearnings.

Breakfast sibling love.

The days leading up to my departure are filled with sentimentality and nostalgia. I packed up my belongings on Friday, loaded my mom’s car, and we drove up to Westchester to her house, where I’ll store up my things while I’m gone. I’m in Westchester right now, about an hour away from the NYC, and hanging out with Jonathan, my youngest brother, and his very fluffy cat. We’re both pretty obsessed with the cat and can’t go for more than an hour without petting her. She encourages the attention by following us where ever we go. Both of us were eating breakfast this morning when she plopped herself down on the dining table belly up with her striped furry tail inches away from a plate full of scrambled eggs, but neither of us cared. We just enjoy her company.

My brother is the male version of me: stubborn, persistent, a wise-ass, independent, too smart for his own good, and has a very large guarded heart. We’re ten years apart. At times, the age gap prevents us from understanding each other and thus butting heads. I usually won’t back down from an argument, and neither does he. I have the need to be an over protective sister and he feels like I treat him like he’s five (which in my heart he will always be that age). I guess it might seem kind of strange to him because he’s nearly a foot taller and a much better driver than I. Since our last verbal tiff, I’ve been trying to be a better listener, more supportive, and give him his space. It seems like it’s working. We haven’t had one fight or argument since I moved my stuff into the house on Friday.

He decided to join the national guard and will sign a 6-year contract when he turns 17 in May. He already has a recruiter he’s in touch with and seems pretty excited for basic training next summer. It’s a great fit for someone like him who’s naturally athletic, ambitious, disciplined, and craves adventure and newness. Boot camp will take him away for 10 weeks. I told him I’ll gladly take care of his cat while he’s away.

We talk about my upcoming trip to Indonesia, a place he has no desire to visit. He claims he has too much national pride. I’m not sure what national pride means for a 16 year old, but I should find out. My two younger brothers were born in the US and don’t have as much of a connection to Indonesia as I do. My middle brother turns 20 and in college. They hear stories of Indonesia from my parents, but the stories only live in their imaginations. While I can’t remember what Indonesia was like at all, I have baby photos of myself playing on the beach, visiting the zoo, seeing relatives, and hanging out with childhood friends. I often wonder what my life would have been like if my parents never emigrated to the US.

As for my brother, I told him I’m proud of him for making a big decision such as enlisting in the army. The national guard is a reserve military force so it’s highly unlikely he’ll go to war. But honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he extends his contract after it’s up in 6-years. He genuinely likes this stuff.

Towards the end of breakfast, we talk about our mom and that one day we’ll have to take care of her in old age. Our mother is in her mid-40s (she had children young) so we have a long way to go, but my brother and I acknowledged that that time will come in the future–our future. It was a sweet moment between us. Jonathan looked at me and said, “I would be happy to take care of mom and it wouldn’t be a burden at all.” I reminded him that he has two other siblings that would love to help.

Moving sucks.

Today is my last full day in my apartment. I’m sitting on the hard wood floor leaning against the wall as I write this. Boxes, bags, clothes, books, and a million and one pairs of socks surround me. I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of things. It’s not until you move when you realize how much stuff you actually own. I tried downsizing by giving away clothes I haven’t worn in over a year and books I haven’t cracked open in ages, but it seems like I still have a lot of things. I just hope it will all fit in my mom’s tiny Honda Civic tomorrow when we load it in her car.

Eventually, I’ll store it in the attic of our house in Westchester. I’ll spend the night upstate tomorrow, then head back down into the city and staying at my friend Maria’s house Saturday and Sunday night. Anyway, here’s what my apartment currently looks like. It’s a grainy photo I took with my phone.

What I’m having a difficult time with isn’t so much putting things in boxes and bags, but deciding what I’d like to bring with me. I’m packing for the five additional days I’m still in the cold city staying with friends, and packing for four months where I’ll be in the tropics…but in a conservative Muslim society, which means no short skirts, halter tops, etc. Also, space and weight are concerns, as I don’t have much space in my bags and I’d hate to carry my heavy luggage around with me everywhere for the next four months. I’ve decided to go with pants I can convert into shorts, knee-length travel dresses, button down work shirts and quick-drying fabric clothes…not the most stylish, but I’ll deal.

On another note, as of today, I received my last rounds of travel vaccines and I’m as healthy as a puppy with a wet nose. Hurray!

Post-Thanksgiving buzz.

Hello hello! This newfound pep in my step is really working out for me. T-min 9 days, baby. These days, I find myself more giving of my time and resources, more easily expressing love to those important in my life, more caring and gentle, and more passionate about what life has to offer. My explorer hat is on and ready, but also underneath it is my gratitude hat. I feel lucky. So lucky.

My trip is a dream I’ve had for over 10 years and one that I’ve carried with me in notable phases of my life. My dream sustained me through my parent’s messy divorce, when I had to move out on my own as a teenager. It encouraged me to pursue further education, focusing my graduate research on Indonesians. My dream supported my work ethics and discipline when it came to building my craft as a journalist, filling it with continuous effort and sacrifice. And lastly, it helped cultivate my sense of love and family. To know that my family in Indonesia is excited to spend time with me as I am with them is priceless.

My great-aunt in Jakarta (my grandpa’s brother is her husband) messages me almost every week on Facebook. Her latest message reads: “Mel, when will you come to Indonesia and live in my house? Let me know.” I haven’t seen her, or even spoken to her on the phone, since I was 3 years old. It’s endearing as much as it is exciting. It’s exciting for me to know that I belong to a vast network of people in Indonesia, by default. My uncle, mom’s brother, the other day asked if I wanted him to make any arrangements while I was there. I told him that I just wanted to spend time with him and his family. I have a rough itinerary, but I’m also very flexible on my activities. (Of course, there’s a must-do list for my 4-months in that side of the world that includes visiting Borobudur, cruising around the Gili Islands, getting my diving certification, surfing lessons, snorkeling, and volunteering at Roslin Orphanage in Kupang.)

The majority of my extended family are here in the U.S., yet I’m not very close to them and I don’t feel as close to them as to my family in Indonesia. My family in Indonesia would randomly chat with me on Facebook, or call me names like “sayang, which means “love” in bahasa Indonesia. There’s a softness to our relationship that expresses forever-kin. My uncle’s daughter, Gwen, turns 4 today (Happy birthday, Gwen!) and I can’t wait to show her my slackline when I see her. There will be plenty of hugs and kisses to go around. In fact, hugs and kisses make the world go round.

On another note, I hope you all had a lovely Thanksgiving holiday! Mine was filled with lots of food and laughter.

Change is in the air.

As the season changes from autumn to winter in New York City, the sun starts setting at 4:30pm and the temperature drops to 40 degrees. Leaves go from green to yellow to red and brown and eventually cluttering park roads and sprinkling city streets. I dig out my thermals and long underwear, all the while daydreaming of what my days will be like in less than three weeks. I look forward to a time when the biggest decision I have to make in my day is which mountain to climb, or who do I want to hang out with, or what kind of satay (Indonesian BBQ) would I like for dinner. For now, I oscillate from daydreaming to stillness, an attempt to savor the beauty of change happening around me.

I move out of my apartment 11 days from now and depart the country 5 days later. I haven’t begun to pack up my belongings. My friend Sarah renewed the lease for my apartment so I’m leaving my bed, dresser, bookshelves, and kitchen appliances for her. All I have to pack really are my clothes, linens, books, files, and travel gear–all of which I’m hauling up to my mom’s house to store in her attic while I’m away. I’m staying with friends in the city leading up to the day I fly out. These next couple of weeks will be exciting and eventful as life gains momentum.

As for work, my editor wants to spend a day with me visiting religious sites we embarked on during the first months of us working together. Our time working together is an important chapter in both our lives and I’m blessed to have a terrific relationship with him. I do have an assignment to finish with work, perhaps my last one before I leave, and I hope to finish before Thanksgiving this week.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, I’ll be at my mom’s house in Westchester, about an hour north from NYC. I’m training it up Wednesday evening. My middle brother is driving down from Massachusetts (where he attends college) and we’ll spend time together as a family. I have another younger brother who’s in high school. I’m the oldest child out of three and only girl. I’ve spoken to my brothers a little bit about my trip and how much it means to me, but I’m not sure they understand or see it the way I do. My brothers were both born in the US so their connections with our heritage differs from mine. But, that doesn’t mean we can’t give thanks together for our presence in each others lives. This Thanksgiving in particular will be sweet and bountiful.

When research becomes personal.

My assignment for work this week is to convert my 63-page Masters thesis into a 1,800-word article for A Journey through NYC religions. I’ve been lolly-gagging on this assignment for months now, primarily because I can’t make up my mind on my lead. Furthermore, I fear that my article might be too personal and not objective enough. My research is based on a case study of food practices in an Indonesian church in Elmhurst, a multi-cultural enclave in Queens, New York City. In my opinion, it’s an interesting topic (food studies is relatively young) and one that has never been written about or studied, to my knowledge. My 6-month long fieldwork led me to interact with new Indonesian immigrants in NYC and talk to them about food and faith. Who would have thunk that the two topics would have significant correlations? Without getting too much into my research details, the fieldwork I conducted was life changing for me as an Indonesian immigrant who came to the US at the young age of 3.

As a result, my bahasa Indonesia improved (language skills). More significantly, I learned how to define myself within a community of Indonesians. Prior to my fieldwork, I had zero Indonesian friends and barely any knowledge of its culture and heritage. You bet I stumbled along the way in my first interviews and interactions with Indonesians, especially the older generation who are more conservative. With the younger generation in their 20s and 30s, they asked about my story and where my family is from. I learned to say: “Culturally, I’m Javanese. Ethnically, I’m Chinese. Nationally, I’m an Indonesian born in Semarang. But…I grew up in New York City.”

It’s a mouthful, but it sums everything up. Over time, the participants of my study became my friends. They marveled at my English-speaking skills and teased me of my broken bahasa Indonesian. They laughed at my lame jokes, shared their food with me, opened up their homes, and called me up from time to time to check in on me. They never expected anything back. I learned patience, modesty, and friendship from them.

As I mentally and emotionally prepare myself to visit Indonesia, I think of them and how much their friendship means to me. I will be visiting their home (well, our home) in less than a month. I imagine what it would be like to snack on satay from a food vendor with them, or eat nasi goreng on the side of the road. I feel more prepared for this next step of my journey because of them, and I couldn’t be more grateful for their presence and impact in my life.

Here we are having Indonesian food after church service. I’m in the back left!