My name is Feng Weiji, aka Cath. I am Chinese. I mean Chinese Chinese, not Chinese Indonesian. That’s what I’ve been telling to everyone. Indonesia is kind of an accident in my life – the thing that you don’t know, you don’t plan, you don’t dream. I still remember when I first arrived and everyone kept asking me what my impression was about Indonesia before I came. I honestly didn’t know what to say. Impression? I didn’t have any impression about Indonesia. That was how I was when I started my MC term in Indonesia. Blank.
I’ve been living in Jakarta, the capital city of Indonesia, and it’s been summer, and summer, and summer. If I tell you Jakarta is all that gorgeous and beautiful and exciting I’d be lying. Jakarta is so vast that it is all too easy to get lost, in traffic, and in translation. It’s easy to make me wonder why I am here in the first place. But Jakarta has what it takes to grab your heart – all that heat, all that traffic, all that people, all that vastness. As I sit in this cafe in Kuala Lumpur I miss it.
Indonesian people are more soft, patient, and religious than my people. I have come to appreciate Indonesia because of its people. Even in a language that you do not understand you find the people lovely. Well AIESECers even better. No doubt about that.
I have a house to stay in Indonesia. And we usually call it “home”, in context like “there is no egg and butter at home”. But I have realized that it is becoming a home to me – in the sense of “home”. Today I have come from my real home, waiting to get permission to enter Indonesia. It’s been a very difficult day, because I almost didn’t get it. Sheer frustration. As I was complaining to Masaru I said “I only wanna go home”. Then he said, “which home?”. Which home? I could feel the tears in my eyes.