As brand new parents, we were so lucky have have such a calm and content baby. He always had the biggest smile on his face and was just so easy to please. In fact the first year was so easy that we decided to try for a second baby when he turned one. So our boys were born within 20 months of each other.
Our eldest has always been the more serious, shy and reserved of our two boys. Don't get me wrong, he is still a monkey, but you will probably not see it straight away like you would with our younger boy. He is a water baby. And from the age of 18 months, he was able to tread water and maneuver his way around a pool. This has always been important for Veronica and I, considering we are not confident swimmers ourselves. Our eldest has always been such a great brother. There was no jealousy that you would normally expect with siblings. A few weeks ago Veronica and I looked back on some videos of our boys when our youngest was around 6 months old. Our oldest was being silly just to get him to laugh, over and over again. To this day, he continues to do the same thing, and as I mentioned in my previous post, our youngest's laugh is infectious. He is getting to be a big boy, and has started to act 'cool' around school when he sees us. No longer does he run up to give us a hug. But at home he is still our sweet and loving boy.
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’So where are you from?’
This is a question that I am always asked. Often my response is, ‘Where do you think I am from?’ I’ve had a whole range of answers, from the US, New Zealand and England. To Hong Kong, Singapore and China. One time at Hard Rock Cafe in Bali, I was told I look like a Chinese-Indonesian from Surabaya, now that’s specific. The truth is I’m Aussie, born and raised. But even in Australia I'm questioned, ‘No, where are you really from?’ What they really want to know is, 'So why do you look like you are from somewhere in Asia?' The answer is, although I was born in Australia, my mum is from the Philippines and my dad, England, from Irish parents. This made for an interesting upbringing. Each Christmas we would have a roast spread, accompanied by a banquet of Filipino delicacies. We would go to Filipino school, to learn the language and tradition, on the weekends and always end up at an Auntie’s house afterwards (everyone is an Auntie if you are Filipino). Growing up my brother and I were, for the most part, the only kids with Asian backgrounds at school. And although there was more to our backgrounds, the Asian part was what defined us because it was what people saw. However, what made our upbringing different from many stories you hear from people who don’t fit the mold, is that we were not only accepted in our community but our difference was celebrated. We would take our fried rice and fish or sandwich with an unrecognisable meat (usually lichon or ‘pig on a spit’) to school, and other kids would want to swap lunches with us. I much preferred jam sandwiches anyway! We would always have friends dropping by our place after school to have some of my grandma’s noodles. And we were always chosen to star in the schools promotional material (highlighting multiculturalism- even though we were the only non-Anglo students at the school!) Sure we had the odd comment here and there, but what was special was the fact that these comments were quickly cut short by our friends. Our littlest monkey.
There is nothing that this kid loves to do more than make other people laugh. His infectious nature knows no boundaries. He instantly makes friends anywhere and from the moment he walks into the school gates he has kids from all year levels calling his name. He is our little dancer, and from the moment he could walk he has always expressed himself through body movement. Probably the reason he took so long to start talking. Put on any tune and he will come up with movements to accompany it. He just loves capoeira, the Brazilian Martial Artform, which incorporate music, movement and defence. He has also recently started Hip Hop lessons and has picked up the movements and attitude so easily. The pictures above display his personality so well. When my wife took these photos, she only had a minute or so- there is no way he would sit in one place for longer than that. He has a smile that can, and often does, get him out of any trouble that he finds himself in. He is very cheeky and will always find ways of playing jokes with people. And when all else fails he’ll let out a laugh that will inevitably make everyone else laugh. I’m probably a little bias, but he is a pretty cool kid. Walking into the house gave me flash backs to when I was 8 and visiting the Philippines for the first time.
Graduation portraits on the walls, highlighting the achievements of the elderly owner's children. Achievements not possible had it not been for the tough decisions their parents had made. Wedding photos, bride and groom dressed in traditional costume, with the biggest smiles on their faces. Frames containing photos of their grandchildren, babies looking into the camera laughing. In the middle of the front room, a haphazardly placed mattress on the floor was an unusual addition to a simple, yet neat and clean living area. Pak Joko, a man much shorter than me, tired with age, showed me to my room. He smiled with pride as he presented a mattress on the floor, clean sheets, a couple of pillows. Over the next day and a half that I stayed with Pak Joko and his wife, Ibu Sri, I learnt that this house had been in her family since before she was born. When they married they moved away from Nglanggeran, to find work, as there were no other options. As time passed, they dreamed of returning home, but that was only an option a couple a years ago, after they retired from working as a maid and driver. Times had changed. A young entrepreneur in the area decided to organise the village for tourism. He saw potential in building the area as a magnet for backpackers and those looking for a cultural hit. Since then some of the villagers, just like Park Joko and Ibu Sri, who once thought that their only option was to find work in Jakarta or another big city in Indonesia, have begun returning home. This home stay opportunity provided me with an insight into the lives of everyday people. Their welcoming nature, and willingness to share their home and stories with complete strangers is something that I really appreciate. To make this experience even better, I was able to share it with my class. All together the students were able to connect with 4 different families in the area. And they all had similar stories to tell. Leaving the village, many of the students wished that we were staying just a little bit longer. The lure of a hotel for the next couple of nights seemed dull, in comparison to learning about the people we visited. There was a knock on the door, which wasn't unusual. Every morning the boys come up stairs to our room, usually as I am stepping out of the shower. But today it was different.
Their excitement when they walked in the room, is one of the reasons I love being a dad. 'Daddy!', they both exclaimed, before running over to give me a huge hug. They didn't bother slowing down as they approached me and nearly sent me flying backwards. 'I missed you so much', Oliver, our eldest explained. The sincerity in his voice evident. 'Me too', our younger boy, Spencer, agreed. Even though we had been skyping each morning and evening, it clearly wasn't the same as having Daddy at home. School camp is a fantastic experience. Not only for the students, but also for the teachers. This week I was able to get to know my students in ways not possible in the classroom. They also developed strong bonds with each other, clearly evident in the comradely by the fourth day. Not to mention the learning experiences they engaged in- staying in the home of a Jogjakartan villager, visiting the palace of the Sultan, viewing the paintings of one of the most influential artists of Indonesia and visiting one of the greatest Buddhist monuments in the world. But on the other hand, what school camp also means is that I am away from my family. And when you are as close as we are, it means a lot. But more about this in a future post. Frustration is the language barrier. Talking to a blank face. Trying to find the right word, forgotten or not yet learnt?
Frustration is being given that plastic bag for one chocolate bar. A straw with your drink. Plastic plates, spoons and forks. Frustration is a river full of garbage. Jalan Sudirman after a car free day. The person in the car in front of you throwing their garbage out the window. Frustration is being stuck in one place. Moving at a snail’s pace. Way too many cars on the road. And don’t get me started on the motor bikes! Frustration is people pushing in front of you in line. Or no line at all. The person behind you kicking your heels and breathing down your neck- literally. Frustration is saying, ‘It wouldn’t be like this at home.’ It’s knowing that there is little you can do to change it. Frustration is taking yourself out of your comfort zone. Frustration is accepting differences. Frustration is learning. Frustration is finding new ways of doing, thinking, knowing. Frustration helps me grow. |
Wayne MartinHusband, Dad, Son. ArchivesCategories |