a registered alien
I feel like an alien again.
Visiting planet Earth, feeling different from most everyone around me. Wondering where my home is. Wondering where I belong.
My working visa which I'm carrying in my passport confirms this status in no uncertain terms. This reminded me of the Alien Registration Card which I got when I first arrived in Japan in 2002. When I first arrived and I was given the card by a stern-looking official, I remember smiling at its title. I thought of the movie Alien, and how this card suggested that I, this Australian Chinese Indonesian girl, was some sort of monster, some species that had invaded the land. Now, as a woman, it's suddenly not so funny. Being branded "alien" now sounds cold, clinical, and judgmental. Racism is nothing new. But the world is on fire with hate again. When will the same hatred and contempt that that country clearly has towards other races spill back over to residents with foreign status? Being a foreigner in the land of the "free" and the home of the brave could soon count as a double whammy. What's strike #3?
I withdrew from everyone over the weekend. Made excuses to friends about giving me time to relax, rest and be by myself. I watched some movies and played long hours of games for escapism. I lounged and listened to music. I pondered what would have happened to me had I stayed in Australia. What kind of person I would have become, what kind of people I would have met instead of those I now count as friends, acquaintances, and co-workers. What kind of work I'd be doing. I wondered if the other me would have been happier, more content. It's the kind of thinking that can drive you crazy. Still, it fascinates me to ponder it.
Key events of my past flashed before my eyes... leaving Indonesia, leaving Australia, the probability of spending an eternity in limbo on trains, planes, and automobiles, arriving in Japan, staring with open mouth at the abundance of Japanese food in the supermarket, watching the little cars go by, first day of work, making friends and surrendering to the truth... the images in my mind wouldn't stop. I was suddenly reminded just how much happens on any ordinary day. When we travel, we pay attention to these things. This is why foreign and distant places always seem more exciting than our own comfortable home. Once you stay in a particular spot, you begin to stop noticing things.
While emotion welled up in my throat at some of those memories, I shifted my thoughts to the possibility of doing it all again. Leaving this country as I had left Indonesia and Australia. Would it be easier now that I have matured even more, or that much harder to uproot oneself and kiss all that you know goodbye? I marvel at people who can travel like nomads and never call any one place home. My heart burns to be like that, but I can't. I need a home base, something to call my own. I'm not a big risk taker, for reasons I won't bore you with in this entry. Suffice it to say, I think it would be much harder now to begin a whole new life.
Browsing job ads and getting your hopes up in this economy is a cruel process even in your own backyard. To browse job ads in another country seems doubly demotivating. Your hopes and assumptions can get the best of you. The realist in me knows that the odds of flying elsewhere with a few thousand bucks in my pocket and a dream job lined up aren't exactly in my favor. And that's just the business end of the decision. Breaking day-to-day ties with family and friends would be much harder for me now than when I was younger. Or would it? I don't effing know.
And even if I succeeded with such a plan, what would my life be like? I, too, seek to simplify my life now more than I ever have before. But how simple a life is too simple? How far away is too far? Is the realist in me finally seduced by a dream that cannot be?
Where's my utopia, free of hate and persecution?
Visiting planet Earth, feeling different from most everyone around me. Wondering where my home is. Wondering where I belong.
My working visa which I'm carrying in my passport confirms this status in no uncertain terms. This reminded me of the Alien Registration Card which I got when I first arrived in Japan in 2002. When I first arrived and I was given the card by a stern-looking official, I remember smiling at its title. I thought of the movie Alien, and how this card suggested that I, this Australian Chinese Indonesian girl, was some sort of monster, some species that had invaded the land. Now, as a woman, it's suddenly not so funny. Being branded "alien" now sounds cold, clinical, and judgmental. Racism is nothing new. But the world is on fire with hate again. When will the same hatred and contempt that that country clearly has towards other races spill back over to residents with foreign status? Being a foreigner in the land of the "free" and the home of the brave could soon count as a double whammy. What's strike #3?
I withdrew from everyone over the weekend. Made excuses to friends about giving me time to relax, rest and be by myself. I watched some movies and played long hours of games for escapism. I lounged and listened to music. I pondered what would have happened to me had I stayed in Australia. What kind of person I would have become, what kind of people I would have met instead of those I now count as friends, acquaintances, and co-workers. What kind of work I'd be doing. I wondered if the other me would have been happier, more content. It's the kind of thinking that can drive you crazy. Still, it fascinates me to ponder it.
Key events of my past flashed before my eyes... leaving Indonesia, leaving Australia, the probability of spending an eternity in limbo on trains, planes, and automobiles, arriving in Japan, staring with open mouth at the abundance of Japanese food in the supermarket, watching the little cars go by, first day of work, making friends and surrendering to the truth... the images in my mind wouldn't stop. I was suddenly reminded just how much happens on any ordinary day. When we travel, we pay attention to these things. This is why foreign and distant places always seem more exciting than our own comfortable home. Once you stay in a particular spot, you begin to stop noticing things.
While emotion welled up in my throat at some of those memories, I shifted my thoughts to the possibility of doing it all again. Leaving this country as I had left Indonesia and Australia. Would it be easier now that I have matured even more, or that much harder to uproot oneself and kiss all that you know goodbye? I marvel at people who can travel like nomads and never call any one place home. My heart burns to be like that, but I can't. I need a home base, something to call my own. I'm not a big risk taker, for reasons I won't bore you with in this entry. Suffice it to say, I think it would be much harder now to begin a whole new life.
Browsing job ads and getting your hopes up in this economy is a cruel process even in your own backyard. To browse job ads in another country seems doubly demotivating. Your hopes and assumptions can get the best of you. The realist in me knows that the odds of flying elsewhere with a few thousand bucks in my pocket and a dream job lined up aren't exactly in my favor. And that's just the business end of the decision. Breaking day-to-day ties with family and friends would be much harder for me now than when I was younger. Or would it? I don't effing know.
And even if I succeeded with such a plan, what would my life be like? I, too, seek to simplify my life now more than I ever have before. But how simple a life is too simple? How far away is too far? Is the realist in me finally seduced by a dream that cannot be?
Where's my utopia, free of hate and persecution?
