Old East Indies Map

For Our Heritage

This is a "pre-announcement". In the next month you will be notified of some very exciting news regarding my people.

A documentary project is underway as we speak. This film will chronicle the Indo's (Dutch-Indonesians/Eurasians) historical journey from their birth in Indonesia to their adopted countries, spanning over 350 years. It is an untold story in North America and our intention is to share this magnificent legacy. One of my partners appropriately calls it a "historical cold case". A case we will revive with this narrative film and other initiatives on the agenda. Hang on to your seats. More information will be posted as the project develops.

Until then, enjoy the holiday season !!!

A Grandson's Tribute

This is from my new friend Calvin who lives in Jakarta, Indonesia on the island of Java. A loving tribute to his late grandmother (Oma) who inspired him to research his Dutch-Indonesian-Chinese heritage.

Calvin Michel Sie-de Wilde: Je Bent Niet Alleen (You Are Not Alone) ~A Daughter's Memory

"Je bent niet alleen" my oma said once to my mother during her last moments. This is just a memory of my Oma shared by mother, few days before she passed away. I wrote this so I won't forget.

Mom was a single fighter in her family. A second generation Dutch-Chinese. She is a career woman, working to her fullest to pay the house bill, expenses and our college fee. It was in 2005. My sister and I were living far from house. I lived in Bandung while my sister lived in Jakarta. As result, the house was pretty much deserted. My Oma, my father, and my Opa (who's having dementia) were the only residents of the house.

Mom never went home below 11 pm. It was consequence of living in Tangerang, it took approximately 2 hours of driving to reach house after the end of day not to mention.

Oma usually waited for her. Indeed, my mother was my the youngest of the siblings. My Oma had been staying with us for 10 years, she was closest to my mother and has been the most beloved figure of my entire family. I remembered she often spoke random Dutch to my mother and sister. She usually called me "schat", which means "dear". She was the person that taught me of Dutch-Indonesian identity.

Even after living in Chinese culture, she still fluent in Dutch (and she said she was forced to speak japanese during occupation) and proud of her Eurasian heritage. She kept her family name, de Wilde and never changed her name even after Indonesian government forced Chinese to pick indonesian-sounding names.

Oma was probably best portrayed as the ever-loving grandmother that you could find in children books. She cooked a lot of Dutch-style meal for us, she's probably the reason our family (except my father who's Hokkien Chinese) loved cheese more than anything else. I think she almost used cheese for all her cooks. Viva cholesterol.

I remembered my mom shared about her last moments during random conversation in her car.

Mom said, Oma probably aware already she would not stay with us any longer. Several nights, she waited my mom coming home from work. It was probably 11 pm or more. All of sudden, she said to my mom:

"Je bent niet alleen"

it means "you are not alone" in Dutch. She usually spoke Dutch to show affection and need to talk in secret.

Mom was puzzled. Oma also said that she wanted to buy a little dog for my mother so she won't be alone after arrived at home, just like her eldest sister who also has little dogs at her house. But mom said it was impossible because there was no more space for little dog in the small house, it might become source of annoyance. She still unaware Oma's time was running out.

Few days later, oma was no longer with us. She died because of sudden heart attack at 25 february 2005. three days before my sis' birthday and six days before my birthday. Never again we will celebrate our birthday with our Oma.

I think everyone still sad when remembering her. But it's okay. Everything has reason. If she had been living longer, she might get worse diseases and living painfully in deathbad. She left us when she was still herself, unlike my Opa who had been suffering dementia due result of malpracticism.

Sometimes we forget she was no longer around. There was very awkward conversation about who will prepare dinner in house and mom forgot Oma actually passed away already (mom couldnt' cook).

Mom: Let's just eat dinner at the house
Father: What? Who will cook the dinner?
Mom: Well oma will cook of course! (silence)
Father: Did you forget she has passed away?

Mom said, maybe people really could know when their time was running out. Oma had shown the behaviour, she talked about the "ifs". She talking what would have happened if she was no longer around. She wanted my mother kept a little dog as her replacement, because oma no longer could wait her daughter came home.

It was sweet and bitter memory with her. "Je bent niet alleen". It was Oma's last word to my mother. It was also some last moment I saw her role as mother to daughter.

Thank you for being with us, Oma. Thanks for teaching us that Goodness, Kindness, and Unconditional Love do exist in the world. It's probably too late, but I will not let her memory vanish. It's because of you I started investigating the family tree. It's the least I could do because I forget to say "Ik hou van je, Oma"

My Adventures in Indonesia (1988)

Okay, it's now 2009 and I'm finally writing this down for all the world to see. Indonesia in 1988 was quite different as it was in 1955. But it is still the wondrous tropical motherland from where we originate.

A window of opportunity came and I snatched it up. With some careful planning, I began with teaching English in Tokyo for just under a year, went to Hong Kong and on to Jakarta and the adventure began. This was before computers and travel blogs and Hi-fi cafes. So the only information we had were our little guidebooks with some phrases and whatever information other travelers shared with us. One of my best friends (a seasoned traveler) met me in Jakarta and we proceeded onward. In a way it's kind of nice not to know a lot. That way it justifies our outrageous Western behavior to the natives. Like climbing over a chain link fence to catch our train at 4:30 in the morning. Not only that, but my friend was wearing a dress and the hem got caught on the top of the fence but the rest of her body was already on the ground so all the world got to see what was underneath the dress. We were laughing so hard of course. I'm sure the locals thought we were off our rocker (they get up early). Oh well.

Most people write about the temples, rice paddies, flora and fauna, etc. So I'll just zip ahead and write about our perspective as two single women traveling amongst a traditional society such as Indonesia. I'm pretty sure I confused everyone. If not that, then it was curiosity. I don't exactly look American but I wore American clothes and walked and talked the jive. On the other hand, I don't look completely Indonesian but clearly there's a hint of it particularly as my skin got darker and darker by the day. In the process of haggling or negotiating a price I definitely noticed I kind of had an "edge". Thanks to my genes. Okay, enough of that.

On to "Johnny"... This young Javanese guy became our shadow initially showing us the local sites and then continued following us even by train as we headed to Bandung. He showed up a couple days later and popped up out of nowhere. We learned quickly if you showed any hint of interest, they're on you like flies. On to Bali, Lovina Beach... what a riot ! The guidebooks never warned us that there would be Balinese gigolos pumping iron on the beach scoping out the western chicks. We were whisked away to a makeshift "nightclub" which had a rotating disco mirror light ball and blasting music. We danced all night stumbling back to our little losmen and plopped down in our beds as the sound of ocean waves lulled us to sleep.

What I loved about traveling this way is the unpredictability of everything. I ended up traveling up to Sumatra with my new "friend-Francois-from-France". He was great, more like a brother than anything. It was completely different traveling with a male. I did not feel as much on edge and there was an instant sense of order and protection. He became like a brother to me and we had a great time exploring Lake Toba territory, home of the Batak people. He accused me of brushing my teeth too much. It was time to part.

This was all back when I had good feet, a backpack and little sense. It was a turning point and my orientation started to point more towards my heritage and where it all began - this wondrous rich island nation.

Honoring the Women (Part II)

As I look through the old photos of my family, I started to notice a certain trend.  I don't know if it's just my own family (mother's side) or if it was part of the culture of their day, but I saw more photos of women together than couples.  For instance this photo, it is my mother at around age 19 with her mother.  There were other siblings and I believe her father had passed away around that time.  It looks like a formal portrait.  Isn't it kind of interesting ?   Can you imagine nowadays going to a portrait studio only with your mother and posing for a picture together ?  I saw other photos of two sisters or a two female cousins.  Now that I think of it, the females in my family are all strong.  My eldest tante (aunt) is 97 years old.  A year ago, she still flew to the USA for her annual visit from The Netherlands.  On her return to Schiphol airport in Amsterdam her pickup party was not there due to some miscommunication.  So here is this elderly lady stranded after an 11-hour international flight.  After waiting a while she hailed a cab and ended up using all the birthday money she got at her party in the USA.  We all admire her.   After my mother died (her younger sister) with a forlorn look on her face, she said there was no one left from her youth.  

Mom had another sister who was the eldest.  I think their age difference was almost 12 years, so she was kind of like a second mom to her.  Her name was Tante Ellie.  Apparently when Mom was about 15 years old, an Arab sheik spotted her at the local pasar (market).  Later, when they returned home someone knocked on the door.  Tante Ellie answered the door and a man representing this sheik said my mom was chosen to be his master's next wife and asked for her hand in marriage.  Tante Ellie was shocked !   Immediately she wanted to shield and protect her little sister.  She told the guy to wait on the veranda.  She went out through the back, ran to the pasar to buy a cheap ring, came back, put the ring on my mom's finger, went through the front door to the veranda dragging my mom behind her, pulled out my mom's hand clearly showing the ring and said she was already spoken for.   The sheik's rep honored this, bowed and left.  I love this story !

Memories

There are some things I just cannot part with.  This is one of them.  It is one of the original suitcases my parents brought with them to the USA when we emigrated from Holland in 1962. It still has a piece of the US Customs inspection sticker on it.  Sitting on top is the leather briefcase in which my dad carried all our important immigration papers, documents, etc.  He was very good about record-keeping.  I am not positive but I believe these two items also came from Indonesia back in 1950 because even in 1962 they looked very old and worn.    As I touched the suitcase and briefcase tears swelled up and rolled down my face.  So much history and energy is connected to these items.  Their lives were are stake as they fled Indonesia.  Papa was on the Indonesian Revolutionists's hit list as a Dutch sympathizer and collaborator.   He worked with very sensitive information as an undercover reporter for the Dutch military.  Since he was dark (Ambonese origins) and he had extensive knowledge of all the dialects, he served the Dutch well.  Mom said they had to flee and were the first of our extended family to leave.  With a 2-yr-old under one arm and a 4-yr-old under the other arm, she said they walked up the gangplank of the huge oceanliner never to see their homeland again.   They were the only family.  She said the rest of the passengers were young Ambonese men heading to Holland for work.

It was only in their old age that my parents really started to reflect and share these kinds of stories.   It's almost like the gravity of a lifetime had settled in and their minds can now review all that they've experienced.  Also, maybe it was because I had more one-on-one time with them.  The story about walking on the gangplank occurred in the car.  After an appointment I drove mom to a scenic waterfront near our home.   Living in the Pacific Northwest we are surrounded by scenic water and mountains and never tire of it all.  We stayed in the car looking at the beautiful water and it must have evoked a memory in her as she proceeded to share this story.  She had a very far away look on her face and we sat in silence together.   That's the kind of energy I feel when I handle this old suitcase and briefcase.  

May parents lived through tremendous losses and upheavals, but never did I see them complain or feel sorry for themselves.  Both parents are gone now.  I cherish and honor their memory with all my heart and soul.  I still miss them very much.  Thank you Mom and Pap for everything !   God bless you.

Family Ties

2009-Aug-26:  Summer is coming to an end.   Time for reflection as the air begins its transformation to another season.  I can hear it by the way the wind moves between the leaves on the trees.  I love this in-between time.  

My sister just left with her kids to go home to France.  This is their annual sojourn to America. Each visit marks the many changes in our family over the years.  What struck me the most this time is how the little ones are not little any more.  I see in their features traces of their grandparents and hints of a mixed heritage.  My 16-year-old French niece is asking questions and wants to know about her mother's side of the family.

We reconnected with cousins, nieces, nephews and various relations.  I also realize that now I am my parent.  The generation before us is no longer at family gatherings.  Onse lieve oudjes (our loving elderly) have left this earth and now we are stepping up the generation ladder.  This makes me more compelled to tell our story.  We have a very special legacy to share and pass down.  We are the in-betweens.  Perhaps that is why I like this time of year as the season transitions to the next.