That familiar feeling... of being displaced

Kodya, Yogyakarta - With the whirlwind of places to go, people to see, things to hand in, I haven't had the time to write down my thoughts of coming back to Jogja after being in Petungkriyono for some 4 plus weeks or so. Some have asked is it over? I'm at a loss to say "sadly no" or "happily no". After having lived amongst friends and the family that I am lodged with for the past month, deep in a mountainous region, the sensation of coming back to a city is very odd indeed. A sensation that is akin to non-belonging. Of being displaced, once again. On the descent, already I could feel the body struggling to adapt to the hot and humid weather in the lower altitudes, sweating copious amounts. Once back in the room, even the soft bed felt alien and mildly uncomfortable after having made the bench my personal space to rest my tired body each night. And perhaps most importantly, its quite an acute sense of loneliness here. Most of my friends are either on the Social Action Internship Program somewhere, or back in their hometowns for the holidays. After being constantly surrounded by my sub-unit teammates and also the family members that I am lodged with, being alone again in my room was, though something usual in the past, was now quite a foreign feeling. I know now why B had said he missed the place and thought of going back the whole time he was on leave rotation. Perhaps there is a certain allure to living up there, insulated from the outside world. A natural paradise (though certainly not to everyone) buried away deep in the mountains.

A fishy tale

Rowo, Petungkriyono - I had to turn down a very generous serving of fish (which was rare, with the norm being a largely non-meat diet. I avoid using the word vegetarian as some might argue consumption of eggs would disqualify one as vegetarian) at the dinner table yesterday night, not because of how it was cooked, nor was it because of what sort of fish it was, but rather the tale of its tail-end (lame joke!) of its life.

And so it was on that fateful morning that we were involved in an medical emergency, not involving a human, but of a particularly large fish that was kept in the pond at the back of the house. Near-dead, we had attempted to resuscitate it with a variety of means, some of which bordered a little on ludicrous. By now you can probably guess that our efforts couldn't bring the dead back to life. And so it came to dinner time, when our host nonchalantly said that the fish on the plate was the same one from the morning. *gulp*. Somehow after seeing it alive (or was it already dead...) and trying to save it, then subsequently eating it is... well, something I could not stomach. It sounds a little silly, but that's just me. Heh.