A balmy Ramadan night in Jakarta, Indonesia, the city flickers with dimly lit warungs, or eateries, staying open until late. Two friends and I loiter at a warung and take turns poking at the small cut-up pieces of toasted chocolate bread – sure, not my classic cheesy pizza extravaganza, but still decent. They were friends from high school, we had spent a year apart, a year of many firsts, things had changed, but we still were teasing Lars about the taxi driver that swindled him into paying an extra Rp. 100,000 (approx. 6 USD).
Growing up all my life in Jakarta, but originally from Argentina, my experiences were very unique to me. Naturally, however, when you are 15,217 kilometers from the rest of your family in a different country, an innate desire to build a likeminded community around you stems within you in order to find comfort in the unfamiliar. To the average Indonesian I was the “bule” (a Javanese word for albino), or when questioned further I then was, “Maradona,” and later, “Messi.” I normalized feeling absolutely foreign and out of place because at the same time I could feel at home hanging out with friends who felt the same way. This is how I felt like I belonged. Graduation, college, new lives, new people, and new experiences: it’s time to get ready for the “best four years of your life” (Rachelle, BedBath&Beyond ™ Sales Associate, 2017). But what happens when you leave all that you’ve known, and yet it’s still not home? Your friends and their families move back to other countries for good, your close group of friends are scattered in universities in different time zones. In Indonesia you still need a visa, in Argentina you are called the Indonesian, and in an American college who knows what you are. The high school group chat struggles to stay afloat in your “Most Recent” and drowns under a list of new names, maintaining your streaks becomes a futile side hustle, but a photo on your camera roll from senior year spring break still tugs at your heart, flips your stomach, and floods you with nostalgia. I’ve struggled with my understanding of home for a while now. Many students, international students alike, have a home or place of origin where they can travel back to see their friends, family, and feel like they belong. When I came to Pomona I grieved, and still do, at the fact that I did not have a physical home. I have a strong affinity to Indonesia and Argentina, but I will never feel like I truly belong in either. I desperately clung onto my dear group of high school friends, because apart from my family, they gave me my sense of home and belonging – but it’s difficult to hinge your sense of home on a person, especially when they too are in a state of change and transition. I will never have a physical home, but all I can do is feel at home with the feelings that I’ve once associated a sense of belonging with. Home is laughing with a friend to the point that you start wheezing, humidity and pollution tangling my hair on the back of an ojek, cold papaya cut into cubes, reciting TechN9ne’s “Dysfunctional,” pappardelle on Sundays, the sound of torrential tropical rain, Bless Rp. 50,000 smoothies, an alarm waking me up at 5:15am, and listening to “Sunset Lover.” Home was also right then – crouched around a bench in a roti bakar street eatery with two friends laughing over the same things and hearing the same blaring noise of traffic echo into the night. - Marina Peñéñory '21
5 Comments
Kristan Julius
10/8/2018 01:43:37 am
Loved reading this, Marina, and can SO relate... home has become more about people than places for me. Looking forward to reading more of your posts! xx
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Marina Penenory
10/9/2018 12:47:35 am
Thank you, Ms. Julius! It's really comforting to hear that you can relate to this <3 xx
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Marcelo Amorelli
10/8/2018 02:04:01 am
Well written and it really hit home (or whatever 'home' is), thanks for sharing !!
Reply
Marina Penenory
10/9/2018 12:48:17 am
Marcelo!! Thank you so much! Hope everything is going well!
Reply
Adriana Achinelli
10/9/2018 05:26:55 am
wonderfully put into words! Love you, girl
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