Translation:

“Did you ever wonder why there is a stereotype that we, Indonesians, are always the one that supposed to “bow down” to foreigners, especially the English-speaking ones?

Whenever we are coming to their countries for jobs or education, we have to have the mastery on their language; at least, the fluency. However, when THEY are the ones that coming to our country (Indonesia) for work or study, they usually refuse to learn our language and prefer to be treated using English.

There is an effort to bring Indonesian language in a more global stage to be one of the languages used globally across countries. Do you think it can nudge those foreigners to learn about our language as they are coming here?”

A couple of days ago, I had a chat with my husband about the term “expats” and “immigrants.”

“Expat” signifies that you will be staying in the country for, at max, 2 years.

You will live in your bubble along with other expats. You only want to eat your own food on the restaurants serving your country’s food and your choice of food is limited because you don’t know locals’ favorites and you won’t even bother to find out.

Your proficiency in the local language would be, at best, limited to the translation of “hello”, “thank you”, and “sorry”. You are holding director- or C-level positions in the company, despite unlimited local talent available, and you have no idea how the local market works. You grouped the diversity of different countries, tribes, and cultures into one group: “Asian” or “African”. Nasi goreng is your only favorite local food, and you think the dish is the same across Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand. You don’t know how to cross a busy road using your All-Powerful Hand.

You remembered your time “back in the so-and-so country” fondly and always call them as “they, the locals.”

“Immigrant” means you immerse yourself in the nation and the culture.

You speak with your mother tongue at home, but you can as Hell yell, “EH, INI JALAN BAPAK KAU KE?” (“IS THIS YOUR FATHER’S ROAD?”) at ease when someone cutting your lane on the road without giving signals. Your breakfast of choice is the local delicacies, filled with carbs and gravy to the brim, but you won’t missed it for anything in the world.

When you are away in some other far off countries with English-speaking as majority, your ears perked up when you hear the familiar language spoken (“mahalnyeee!” (“so expensive!”)) as you looked around and scooted nearer to the “fellow friends from the country” to ask them if they know any good Asian or Arabic restaurants nearby because goddamnit you are sick of cold cuts and sad sandwiches for yet another lunch and you are on the verge of screaming if you can’t have a cup of warm masala chai for afternoon tea because why are they microwaving the tea. You started to think sambal or whatever spicy concoction bubbling in the kitchen is the best thing in the world.

You are ready to fight to defend that Malaysian’s chicken rice is better than Singaporean’s. You know that ordering “es teh” in Malaysia and Indonesia would yield different drinks. You understand the jokes.

You might live in your bubble, but you also see others eye to eye and understand what it takes to live in the country; it’s not always the beautiful beaches and tropical resorts, you also see the staffs and how they work hard to meet your needs and expectations during your stay. You understand the politics.

You understand the struggle.

You can speak and understand the language — with an accent, of course — but they don’t have to bend backwards and forwards to “accommodate” you. You have your own pride as a person from your country of origin. You know rendang is such a delicate, even geopolitical, topic between Indonesia and Malaysia. Still, at the same time, you are equally offended and ready for World War 3 alongside Malaysians when some ang moh had the audacity to say that rendang should be crispy.

I know, I’m writing such a scathing piece on expatriates, and one can seen it as unfair. That said, the word “immigrant” has always been in such a bad, unfair, or poor light, no? While in reality, those “immigrants” are part of the most important backbones of our country? Also, they are immersed in our country.

You are only staying in the country for 2 years? Fair enough. But don’t ever think your monolingual skill and your limited choice of culinary world are something to be proud of while you are colonizing yoga and “Uluwatu-style” meditation, whatever the Hell is that, out there. We know who and what you are: A fraud.

Have some pride. You are invited to live in a different culture, so be fecking proud of it.

Feel the honor that locals would love to share their plate of nasi kerabu or pani puri with you and they will agree with you that both P-sticker and P-plate drivers should be avoided in Kuala Lumpur streets at all cost (I’m a P-sticker driver too, okay?!)

Make the months and years of you living away from home feel like home. Even among those whom you see as foreign, they are your home, too.

To learn a language means you are learning the culture. Who knows, maybe before you even realized it, your breakfast of cereal and milk got replaced with nasi lemak or thosai.

Also, to answer the Threads post above: Yes. Those bule should understand what we mean when we are calling them “BACOT” (literally means “YOUR MOUTH!”/”watch what you are saying!”) whenever they try to undermine our opinions and thoughts just because we are Indonesian and coming from a “Third World Country” (ugh.)

This post is written as I suddenly remembered of my friend back in Automattic, Aaron, a born-and-bred Australian, as white as bread, and have been living in Bali, Indonesia, when he and I were on the Automattic Grand Meetup 2019 in Florida, USA. We were on the dining hall, a massive tent with hundreds of tables and chairs and an amazing array of buffet of Tex-Mex food, when he glanced at the buffet and remarked, slightly loudly, to me, “NGGAK ADA SAMBEL SAMA TEMPE YA?” And on another occasion, he took a spoonful of American mac n’ cheese, chewed and swallowed it with a slight frown on his face. The next thing I heard was, “nggak enak. Ini bener nggak ada sambel di sini (Disneyland)?”

I had to jab his ribs while shush-ed him. Sometimes that man can be more Indonesian than I am.