The main hall itself was decorated with janur – some sort of a huge leaf decoration usually used in Indonesia for weddings and special occasions. I approached them. They consisted of two middle-aged men and a woman in the middle. For a while, I observed what they were working on, and apparently they were working on some sort of traditional artwork. I brought myself to talk.
Me: “Excuse me, (are you) Indonesians?”
Man 1: “Yes, are you also Indonesian?”
Me: “Yes, yes, apa kabar?”
And thus began my conversation. I hoped I didn't disturb their artwork progress. The woman and the other men seemed to be enthusiastic when they discovered that I was Indonesian. Good thing I bumped into them.
I spent about a couple of minutes engaging in a warm conversation with them. We basically shared basic topics ranging from “Where are you from in Indonesia?”, “Where do you live in the US?”, “What's the purpose of museum visit?”, etc. The female artist plastered a smile on her face and joined in the conversation.
Apparently they were native Balinese artists. Such an encounter was surely rare since when else would you bump into traditional native Indonesian people who wear traditional clothes and spoke with thick Balinese accent?
Dude, I feel like I'm at home at the moment
I felt so...overwhelmed when I met these guys.
Fuck the fact that I felt like an American earlier.
I noticed that the first man I talked to left for a bit before returning. Then I told them I would basically hang around for a bit in the exhibition hall. As I wandered off, I happened to pass the gallery doors again. By the time I passed it, the door was suddenly opened, revealing the same security I met earlier.
Security: “You want to come in?”
Me: “I don't have the exhibition ticket.”
Security: “That's alright. Just come in.”
Me: “Ooookay, thank you.”
I walked pass him and enter the first exhibition gallery, much to my surprise. It was pretty weird though. He wouldn't allow me to enter in the first place but when I passed the door again (without any intention to visit the Bali exhibition since I gave it up), he let me in.
There were some assumptions lingering in my mind:
- The Indonesian man who left probably went to the security guy and told him to let me in
- The security guy probably saw me talking to these Indonesian artists and went like “Holy shit, this girl is Indonesian. I felt so guilty for not letting in to the exhibition of her own country.”
The exhibition itself was not really packed with people. But at least there were some visitors taking their own tour inside. All the exhibits of course, seemed familiar to me. But the whole exhibition was set up in such a different way than the ones I saw back in Indonesian museums.
Somehow the exhibits here were well-kept, neat, and were provided with clean info panels. It was much on the contrary to Indonesian museums, where exhibits were mostly dusty, dirty, and even the museum atmosphere itself felt so stuffy.
I felt a bit crept out when I found myself in a quiet zone where there were no visitors, but the place was filled with traditional masks as exhibits. Well, you get the idea.
At the end of the exhibition tour, I bumped into a small theatre room, quite packed with people, which was playing a documentary video about Ngaben – Balinese cremation ritual. Pride went over me as I didn't feel the need of reading the subtitles as I could understand what those people were saying in the video.
After the video was done, I exited the theatre, which led me to the main hall again. This time, I noticed that the stage was surrounded by quite a few people. As a courtesy, I was intending to bid farewell to the Balinese artists because I was about to leave the museum. Apparently we chatted again despite the fact that the Balinese artists' demonstration was being watched by the visitors. It was as if the artists themselves didn't really care and kept talking to me. After all, the visitors didn't interact with the artists.
The dialogue was conducted in Bahasa.
Man 2: “What do you think of the exhibition?”
Me: “It was impressive, really. I really want to go here again but next time, with my friends.”
Man 2: “Do come again next time with your friends. Spread the word. We'll stick around here till September (don't remember the date)”
Me: “Okay, I'll be sure to pay you a visit sir.”
Man: “If you come on Sunday, you'll get a free entrance ticket to the museum, which is even better.”
Me: “Sure things, sir.”
At that moment, I'm pretty sure the viewers were observing the conversation that went on between me and the artists. I even spotted that one of the viewers was actually the participant of the field trip I just joined, aka my classmate. She was like looking at me in confusion. If only the history professor was there to witness my conversation. I wondered if I could get an extra credit point for making a conversation with these native Indonesian people.
Alas, it was hard for me to part with the artists and step out of the building. It came to my realization that Indonesian people possessed great tolerance and intention to connect with fellow Indonesians outside the mother country.
That is why, no matter there's a bunch of Indonesian people in my campus, at least we know each other. We don't have to be really close but at least we know who's who. Like my case, I felt great to be able to connect with these native Indonesian people. We were part of each other and that was what drove us to create those connections within.
I headed to the exit just when I met another field trip participant. She clearly wasn't my classmate. She came from a different section of history class. Apparently we were both heading to the same direction which was the Muni and Bart station. We walked together to the station and made friends. But at the station, we had to part since she had to take a Bart to the north and I had to take Muni back to Caltrain station.
I arrived at Caltrain station a bit earlier than expected. The upcoming train wouldn't show up until an hour (2 pm). I spent some time shopping around in Safeway and bought some snacks.
The train arrived in Sunnyvale Caltrain station at 3. I took a bus straight to my campus to catch up with my friends. It was Friday and practicing badminton every Friday at 3.30 pm became my routine. We had a good dinner after the practice later in the evening.
What a way to end such an exhausting yet impressive day!
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