First Impressions

We sit around a table in the Hong Kong airport and share a bowl of steaming noodles. Tman uses his chopsticks like spears, jabbing at the noodles. Leasie twists the noodles around her chopsticks the same way she twists her hair around her finger. We all agree it is the yummiest breakfast. Beyond the airport, the sun rises over of the emerald mountains.

My first view of Jakarta from the plane's window is of rows of orange-tiled roofs amidst clusters of swaying palm trees.

Red flowers on a tree. Petals the size of my hand.

A man walks in socks carrying buckets of wet cement.

Dinner is delivered by our sponsor (aka our angel). The chocolate chip cookies are still warm. I shed a few grateful tears and eat three.

Mopeds swarm the streets like insects, buzzing, passing, dodging, suicidal. I actually scream on the way from the airport to the apartment because I am sure we are going to hit one of them. (The driver does not appreciate my vocal concern).

I listen to my husband converse in Indonesian, and I am humbled by the work he has done to allow our family to come here.

Grocery store - nothing is in English. Nothing is familiar. I search through foreign looking fruits and veggies to find something as simple as carrots and apples. "Overwhelmed" doesn't even come close. (Perhaps we should have waited a couple days to brave the grocery store instead of going two hours after we'd arrived in Jakarta! You think?)

The dichotomy: Elegant fountains on one side of the road, and on the other, a canal with garbage extending five feet from its bank. Palatial apartment buildings with marble floors next to shacks pieced together with sheets of tin. A man with only one arm and one leg begs in the middle of the road during evening rush hour. He teeters on a crude, handmade crutch while collecting change. Minutes later we are walking through a mall passing high-end stores like Gucci and Prada. The dichotomy is unsettling and tugs and my heart until I want to cry. I don't know how to reconcile the polarity in my conscience.

The first night, we stand as a family at our window on the 27th floor and look at the city lights. Somewhere someone shoots off fireworks. We look down, instead of up, to see them. CJ thinks they are just for us - welcoming us here.

We are so very grateful for this experience.