5 things that I hate about Indonesia is a comedic exploration presented with a generous helping of playful exaggeration and a sprinkle of self-deprecating humor. We’re not here to be serious, we’re here to laugh, or at least chuckle nervously, at the quirks and idiosyncrasies that make this incredible country both maddening and utterly lovable.
Alright, buckle up, buttercups, because we’re about to embark on a thrilling, slightly damp, and definitely trash-filled adventure through the land of my (fictional, comedic) gripes with Indonesia. Let’s get this show on the road, or, you know, whenever we actually get around to it.
The Eternal Elastic Clock: A Time Traveler’s Nightmare
Ah, Indonesian time. It’s less a rigid, linear concept and more of a…suggestion. A gentle, whimsical nudge towards some nebulous future. You see, “jam karet” (rubber time) isn’t just a phrase; it’s a national philosophy.
If you’re told an event starts at 7 pm, pack a picnic, bring a deck of cards, and maybe start writing a novel. By 8 pm, you might see a few stragglers ambling in, looking vaguely surprised that anyone expected them to be on time. By 9 pm, the main event might, might, be gearing up.
You’ll hear the sound of microphones being tested, and the faint scent of “nasi goreng” being prepared. This isn’t a flaw, mind you, it’s an art form. It’s a performance piece where everyone is a participant, and the stage is the entire nation.
It’s like living in a perpetual improve show where the prompt is “When will we actually start?” And the punchline? “Who knows! Maybe tomorrow!” I’ve tried to adapt, I really have. I’ve set my watch to “Indonesian time,” which, as far as I can tell, is just a picture of a melting clock.
I’ve even started bringing a hammock to meetings, just in case. It’s less about being late, and more about embracing the beautiful, chaotic symphony of “not quite yet.” It’s a land where punctuality is a myth, and “on time” is a mythical creature, like a unicorn, but with a slightly more relaxed schedule.
The Invisible Hand (That Sometimes Takes Your Wallet): A Comedy of Errors
Let’s talk about corruption, shall we? It’s like a mischievous gremlin that’s infiltrated every level of society, whispering sweet nothings and occasionally snatching your wallet. It’s the reason why that bridge you were promised looks suspiciously like a pile of rocks, and why that road you were told was being built is now a series of potholes disguised as a rally course.
It’s a national game of “find the missing funds,” where everyone’s a contestant, and the prize is…well, who knows? It’s probably already been diverted to a Swiss bank account. You try to pay a fine, and suddenly, you’re haggling over the price of “administrative fees.” You try to get a permit, and you’re met with a series of cryptic smiles and whispers about “facilitation.” It’s like living in a spy movie, except the spies are all wearing batik shirts and asking for “uang rokok” (cigarette money).
I’ve tried to fight it, I really have. I’ve tried to pay exactly the correct amount of money, I’ve tried to ask for receipts, I’ve even tried to pay with Monopoly money, but it’s like trying to fight a ghost with a feather duster.
You can’t see it, you can’t touch it, but you definitely feel it. It’s a national pastime, a hidden tax, a silent partner in every transaction. And honestly? Sometimes, you just have to laugh, or you’ll cry.
When the Sky Cries: A Monsoon Musical
Ah, the rainy season. It’s like Mother Nature decided to throw a three-month-long water balloon fight, and everyone’s invited (whether they like it or not). It’s a time when the sky opens up, and the heavens unleash their watery fury, turning streets into rivers and sidewalks into slip-and-slides.
It’s a symphony of thunder, a ballet of lightning, and a concerto of dripping umbrellas. You learn to embrace the soggy socks, the perpetually damp clothes, and the constant threat of a surprise shower. You develop a sixth sense for impending downpours, a kind of “rain radar” that alerts you to the slightest shift in atmospheric pressure.
You become an expert in navigating flooded streets, mastering the art of the “sidewalk hop” and the “puddle leap.” You learn to appreciate the beauty of a tropical storm, the way the rain transforms the landscape into a shimmering, surreal wonderland. And you learn to accept that your laundry will never, ever, truly dry.
It is a time for indoor activities, for sipping hot tea, reading books, and wondering if your roof will hold.
The Mosquito Mafia: A Bloodsucking Saga
Dengue and malaria. These tiny, winged terrors are like the mafia of the insect world, running a protection racket on your blood. They’re the reason why you wake up in the middle of the night, scratching furiously, wondering if you’ve been turned into a human pin cushion.
They’re the reason why you carry a bottle of mosquito repellent like a badge of honor, and why you sleep under a mosquito net that looks suspiciously like a wedding veil. It’s a constant battle, a never-ending war against an enemy that’s small, silent, and surprisingly persistent.
You learn to identify the telltale buzz of a mosquito, the subtle shift in air pressure that signals its approach. You become a master of the “mosquito swat,” a lightning-fast maneuver that can take down even the most agile of bloodsuckers. It is a constant reminder of the fragility of life, and the importance of a good mosquito net.
Plastic Paradise: A Symphony of Single-Use
And finally, the plastic. Oh, the plastic. It’s everywhere. It’s in the rivers, on the beaches, in the trees. It’s a testament to our love of convenience, and our complete disregard for the environment.
It’s a sea of single-use, a mountain of disposable, a monument to our consumer culture. You see a beautiful beach, and then you notice the plastic bottles, the plastic bags, the plastic straws. You see a pristine river, and then you notice the plastic wrappers, the plastic cups, the plastic…everything.
It’s a sad, but true fact. It is a constant reminder of the effect humans have on the earth. You try to recycle, you really do. You bring your own bags, your own bottles, your own containers. But it’s like trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. It’s a daunting task, a monumental challenge, a never-ending battle against the tide of plastic. But hey, at least we have plenty of material for those impromptu art projects, right?