One is the loneliest number...but not for long

Last night was a perfect example of why it sucks to live (almost) alone with people you can't communicate clearly with. I came home from the Miss Indonesia pageant completely exhausted; I actually fell asleep for several minutes toward the end of the show, which wasn't as exciting as I had anticipated it to be. I was washing up before bed when suddenly the sink in my bathroom decided to detach itself from the wall. In front of me was this wide ceramic basin, supported below by nothing more than a metal pipe. The whole fixture wobbled around in the air like an obese, one-legged man. I held onto it for a while, thinking I could possibly slide the basin back onto the metal prongs in the wall that were initially supporting it. I wasn't too keen on letting go of the sink, fearing it would flap around for a bit and then go crashing onto the bathroom floor.

After a few minutes, I realized that I could either continue holding onto this heavy, pink basin for the rest of the night, or I could catch the maids before they went to bed to help me out. I opted for the latter since I'm prone to break things more than fix them and ran for the kitchen. As I was going, the first thing that popped into my head was, "Shit, how am I going to communicate this to the maids? We barely understand each other as it is." I figured "help" was a pretty universal word, so as soon as I spotted Marci, one of the maids, I whispered "Help!" and vigorously motioned for her to follow me. She and the other maid followed suit to the bathroom to find the sink still wobbling weakly on its metal leg. They managed to fit the sink back into the wall but the pipe dislocated in the process, causing water to leak out of the joints whenever I turned on the water.

Panic attack aside, it was an interesting evening. This morning my uncle assured me that our driver, Safei, would fix the sink and that the shower head in my bathroom would also be replaced. I wish all landlords would be as accommodating. Regardless, I'm glad he pays Safei extra to be not only the driver but the miscellaneous handyman of the house; the man has two kids and a wife to support.

As I briefly mentioned, the pageant was kind of a snooze. It wasn't just that I didn't understand a lot of the dialogue and conversation on stage; it was simply a poorly organized production. All the contestants did was walk around the stage and answer questions; there were 3 rounds of Q&A and nothing else, not even a talent or swimsuit portion. Instead, the producers hired well-known singers (some whom were runners up on Indonesian Idol) to perform between segments. I enjoyed hearing some Indonesian pop music, but after about the 10th song (there were six different singing acts, some of which performed more than once), I was ready for some serious pillow action.

My article, however, was posted to the Web site earlier this afternoon. My co-worker Augustina and I actually left early and missed watching the winner get crowned. Due to some lingering jet lag, I couldn't stay there any longer without passing out. As a result I had to wait for Augustina to get to the office this afternoon in order to finalize much of my article, which relied on her translation of the Q&A and of the biographies of each contestant in the program booklet.

The language barrier still irks me, but I'm trying not to let it become such an obstacle. This weekend I plan on getting an English-Indonesian dictionary and probably an Indonesian-English one as well; Jakarta Post employees get a discount at one of the local bookstores, Granmedia, so Augustina offered to lend me her card on Sunday for the 20% discount. We're going to the Jakarta Fair beforehand to check out some of the local festivities; likely I'll be writing a piece from the foreigner's perspective, which Iwan suggested I do. We'll see how well this foreigner survives the weekend.