Childhood

1958 Rotterdam, Netherlands - [back row] unknown Dutch neighbor girl, Mary, Roy [front row] Bianca, Donald, David

What good is a heritage project without some childhood photos ?  This was taken in our old neighborhood in Rotterdam, Netherlands.  We were always playing in the streets as there were no yards.  The neighborhood was inner city with apartment buildings.  Donald and I used to pick old chewed up gum off the sidewalks and put it in our mouths and chew it.  I remember some of the gum even had shoe tread marks from people stepping on it - yummy.  I was always very healthy throughout my life and I attributed it to this wonderfully disgusting habit - it made my immune system strong !

In this photo it looks like we wore our Sunday best because I'm holding my little purse.  It was probably taken after church Sunday school or something.  The boys shorts and sweater combo, typical for that time, and the girls' dresses all indicate dress-up time - hence Sunday.  I remember this little purse because it made me feel very grown up.  In the purse I kept a little hanky and a fake plastic lipstick tube.

This was after the war.  The two eldest, Mary and Roy, were born in Surabaya, Indonesia.  They were toddlers when our parents stepped onto the gangplank of the big boat which took them far away from Southeast Asia to Europe.  The front row kids were all born in Rotterdam, The Netherlands (at home).

So whenever I see this photo I think about the little purse and the chewing gum with tread marks.

Another WWII story - American Airmen and Headhunters of Borneo

This is a remarkable story of a group of airmen who parachuted down into the jungle.  Their plane was shot down by the Japanese as they were flying on a mission over the island of Borneo.  They encountered an unlikely ally in the deep jungle as they were bonded by a common enemy - the Japanese military.

Watch the full episode. 

Honoring Thirza

The little girl with the skinny legs holding a little white purse is my cousin Thirza. The event was my parents' wedding Oct 2, 1947 in Soerabaja, Oost Java (Surabaya, East Java) Indonesia. She must have been around 9 years old at the time. It was right after WWII and material things were scarce. My mother made her own wedding dress and made the hat and veil to match my dad's military cap. She always liked to be different and add a new twist to something otherwise traditional. The way Thirza is holding this little purse, I would imagine it to be a priceless treasure amongst the left over rubbles of war as they rebuilt their lives.

Thirza just passed away on Nov 8, 2010 at 4:30 in the morning - it was sudden. She leaves behind her soulmate, Dick, and two adult children Cyndi and Donny and grandchildren. She is known to Americans as Jeanette though the family always called her Thirza.

There are few people in this world one can say you have truly known all your life. Sure there are obscure and distant relatives, acquaintances, and the marginal family friend. But to honestly say you truly know them is rare. Well, Thirza I know. Why ? She was always there in times of need. In her quiet soft-spoken way she was always available to lend a hand. I experienced several deaths in our family and each time Thirza and Dick came over to comfort and assist with whatever needed to be done. Nothing was too great.

My fondest and most impressionable memory was their wedding in 1961 in Holland. I was 6 years old at the time. When I saw Thirza in her wedding dress and veil and Dick in his official Navy uniform I thought I was in a fairy tale and they were a real princess and prince. It was so pure and so elegant I was enchanted the entire time. You can imagine a little girl completely mesmerized. And so the following 46 years of marriage brought them all the challenges life can offer including a missionary stint in New Guinea where Thirza was like a fish out of water, but she complied and believed in their mission and supported Dick in his assignment.

We've lost an angel on this earth. She's gone back home to heaven. Her mission is accomplished.

We miss you and love you Thirza. Please give a big hug to my mom, dad, brothers David and Roy for me....

Sense of Belonging

This blog was started in 2005 because I wanted to get in touch with my roots from the former Dutch East Indies. I always have to say "former" or "now Indonesia" because it no longer exists as our parents knew it to be. Clearly, the sense of identity and belonging is innate as I meet more like-minded people who also revere and want to preserve the legacy of the Dutch East Indies - Tempoe Doeloe (the good ol' days). This personal blog may be neglected for the greater picture which is the creation of The Indo Project. However, I still find it to be a time of solace and reflection as I write on this blog.

It is thrilling to know that the younger generations are interested in the stories of their grandparents and the land where they are from. It is my deepest hope that we can leave a legacy for them which reminds them of where they came from. Don't we all want to know that ? It's hard to move forward unless you know where you came from. It makes one complete. The collective memory of the stories keeps the history alive of the Dutch East Indies, both the good and the bad.

I am proud to be part of this history and I am glad to belong to this incredible community.

Tamara Fielding as Indo Profile

The Indo Project

Tamara Fielding is a "Dalang" -a shadow master who performs all over the world. She explains her background in the first ten minutes paying homage to her heritage. See The Indo Project blog for more detail.

Connecting The Dots Through Modern Technology

Facebook, fax, email,mobile phone, IM, etc; all these modern methods are making the world smaller, particularly the Indo (Indo-European) world. The 2nd, 3rd and even 4th generations are now able to reconnect to their roots as information becomes more readily available. On YouTube one is able to retrieve archival footage of the Dutch East Indies, also referred to as The Netherlands East Indies.

The lack of access to information about one's culture can lead to its final demise, fortunately the reverse is happening. We are finding each other again. There are so many stories to share. My parents are gone now, but their spirits live on and their memory is honored through this blog. It is only natural.

It's been a long journey, but we are connecting the dots now. Visit www.theindoproject.org for a more comprehensive view.

Latest Book: End The Silence by Dorothy Read

Local author Dorothy Read (from Whidbey Island, WA) has written a book about a WWII survivor who is Dutch-Indonesian "Indo", Ilse Veere Smit during the Japanese occupation of the Dutch East Indies and the ensuing revolution. She did a remarkable job on the Idaho Public Television station on Dialogue in an interview explaining the premise of the book.

We need people like Dorothy to help us tell our story of survival and resilience. She is a champion for all those survivors of the Japanese POW camps during WWII.

Please write on Dorothy's blog and share your story. Click on above title (hyperlink) to get to her blog.

Honoring the Women (Part III)

I have to show this picture for its imperfection and quirky story behind it which led to her eventual life mate. This is my mother at the age of 17 in Indonesia (1935). She had many suitors in her day and each one proved to be to her dissatisfaction. Originally, this picture had another person in it, her beau at the time. I believe he was standing to her left (our right). Well, she decided she did not like him any more because he was too bossy, snoopy and too tall and he hovered over her constantly. She broke up with him. In the meantime, the picture was already developed. So when she received the final picture, she took her scissors and cut out his image (pre-photoshop).

Why is this honor worthy ? Because she was true to herself. Despite her flaws, she was always genuinely herself. You got what you saw. I hope I am like that. You cannot pretend to be someone you are not because at some point the truth will come out. She came from a pseudo-aristocratic colonial background and married my father late in life. He was Indonesian. He was a champion boxer in his day. He was a tough KNIL (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army) soldier. He was a former POW. In a colonial social hierarchy the color of one's skin determines the treatment one receives. He was dark brown. She was light-skinned. He stole her heart and for whatever reason, out of all the suitors he fit the bill. They faced many challenges which are beyond comprehension today and even divorced from each other, two times. As teenagers, we attended their second wedding ceremony. However, they remained committed to their children and to each other as parents. There was so much history between them that it functioned as the glue. In the twilight of their years, they lived only 5 American freeway minutes apart.

She was true to herself.

Postal History of Dutch East Indies

The handwriting on this postcard reminds me of my parents', especially my mom's. There was a certain artistic flair to it and I always recognized her handwriting immediately above all others. My father's was more structured and controlled and looked like a piece of art. This particular postcard is from 1903 from Sumatra to Holland "Greetings out of Sumatra".

Kopi Luwak - World's Most Expensive Coffee

At $160 per pound, what makes this coffee so expensive ? Apparently, the cherry beans of the coffee plant are eaten by a nocturnal animal called a Luwak. Oh..this gets better. The entire bean does not get digested, just the outer layer. So it basically passes through the animal's digestive tract and is excreted..yes..pooped out. It gets washed, and then sun dried. Locals believe that the "animal stage" provides some kind of enzyme which ferments leading to the exquisite flavor it yields. It is described as a rich flavor with hints of caramel or chocolate. In short, Indonesia produces the world's most expensive coffee because of this unique processing.

Descendants of Shipwrecked Survivors

This subject has always fascinated me. During the massive maritime trade routes of the 16th century many ships were destroyed and ended up at the bottom of the ocean. Along with the shipwrecks were a handful of survivors who made it to shore. Statistics were hard to obtain for obvious reasons, but it was known that they were missing.

My colleague and friend Mike Hillis has met an incredibly unusual man named Goyo. He is believed to be a descendant of some European sailor/adventurer type several generations back having mixed with the local women. His features clearly are not pure Indonesian because he is tall and has big feet and hands and has some kind of non-Asian features. Here are Mike's words:

"This man is an Indo from the jungle of the Spice Islands. His name is Goyo and he was born and lives in the jungle. I met him in April, 2009 in a small coastal village on a remote island. Most Indos learned how to eat with cutlery a long time ago. Goyo does not own shoes, eats off banana leaves and hunts wild jungle boar. He is known as the Raja Hutan (King of the Jungle)...."

I also recently read about a DNA study that was done in Australia to determine how much Dutch DNA is mixed with the Aboriginals in a particular area where there were shipwrecks. The study is being done by the VOC Historical Society in Perth.

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 !!!

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 WiFi 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.

My Travels

 

The pins are where I've traveled so far.  

Looks like I need to go to Africa and Australia.

• Create your own travel map or travel blog
• TripAdvisor has airfare search

Me and My Little Angklung

What can I say ?    I love the sound.   Even this little one has that soft muted sound bamboo makes.  My dream is to see an entire orchestra performing on the big versions.

Honoring the Women

Orchids.  This is one of my favorite flowers.  My wedding bouquet consisted of orchids.  Our wedding cake was designed line a staircase with the layers detached and orchids were draped over each layer cascading down.  Orchids are not only beautiful but very resilient.  I had one sitting over the winter time totally neglected.  I thought it was a goner, but kept it because it was a gift.  Then in the spring I got that wanting-to-plant feeling and decided to nurse it back. Well, it didn't take much.  Just some watering and plant food and sunlight.  Now it is absolutely glorious sitting in my little laundry room window which gets a lot of sunlight.

Why am I going on about orchids ?  They remind me of the women in my family.  My mother, my sisters, my aunts (tantes), my grandmother and greatgrandmother, and all the women in the extended family.  They were beautiful on the outside and made of steel on the inside.  Instead of "steel magnolias" they were "steel orchids" (the Asian version).   When the men were taken away during the war, the women had to fend for themselves.  My mother said they knitted socks for the Japanese soldiers to make extra money.  She said they had one light bulb and used an oatmeal box (Quaker's ?) to cover the light bulb as a shade because all lights had to be out at night.   So they knitted socks under that one light bulb.  She told me her older sister had a knack for making peanut brittle which they sold to bring in money to the household. Oma was a short little squat mother hen who would do anything to protect her brood.   Her husband (my Opa) was a very tall man who held her in the highest esteem unfortunately died early, but fortunately for him before the war when all hell broke loose.  

Another "steel orchid" is Oma on my father's side.  She also was a little spitfire, 4 ft 11 ft who raised 16 children (long story).   Japanese soldiers stormed into their house, but Oma had prepared her children well, particularly her daughters.   The daughters took their places on the couches and beds throwing up red vomit into pails and buckets.  Oma knew the Japanese had a deep fear of diseases.  She knew plants very well and was known for her herbalist skills.  Her daughters were instructed to chew on a plant which when mixed with saliva turned red.   This mimicked spitting up blood which gave the appearance of a very serious disease.  The Japanese soldiers fled and Oma saved her daughters.

These are but a few of the many untold stories of the women's role during this tumultuous time of history.  I will disperse more of such in the coming posts.  As orchids, these women are beautiful and resilient.

Solute to our precious "Steel Orchids".....