The Wonder of the Yayasan Widya Sari

If you would like to donate, all you need is a simple click here

My dear friend and roommate, Lova, leaves this weekend after we’ve spent an incredible three months together teaching, interacting with the children of the school, and basically becoming Balinese. Because of this, we decided that we wanted to write a joint blog post as we are both avid writers and wanted to leave our impressions of this place out there for others to read and enjoy. So without further ado, our experience at the Yayasan Widya Sari (: Also, make sure to check out the Yayasan Widya Sari’s website for any questions!

Lova and I dressed up in traditional Balinese make up and dress

We were brought to Bali by a simple click on the computer. An impersonal, didn’t-know-what-to-expect, click of our mouses. We took a leap of faith because not knowing what to expect is the guaranteed risk one takes when traveling and volunteering abroad. The website for our organization could have been completely misleading, no matter how reliable it seemed. And it was, it was completely misleading.  

Because after spending 3 months teaching English to Balinese children at  the Yayasan Widya Sari, we’ve experienced so much more than the website could have ever promised us and we’re here to share that with the people we care about back home and anyone else who is willing to listen.

We were brought to the Yayasan Widya Sari by Volunteer Programs Bali, but the Yayasan itself has been a stand alone nonprofit for almost eight years now. Only in recent years have they partnered with VP Bali in order to help recruit more volunteers.

The word “Yayasan” itself means foundation, and “Widya Sari” has a double meaning in Balinese, the first is “essence of education” and the second is “a better life through education.” In our opinion, the school has been rightfully named, but it provides much more than an education. Ketut, the founder of the school, has created a place where learning is only half the story; the Yayasan provides a refuge to the children of the village of Tianyar, a place where they can expand their minds, connect with kids older and younger than them, and overall enjoy themselves.  

The school attracts volunteers from all around the world which creates quite the unique environment. All the volunteers we’ve worked with here have held the children as the highest priority and we’ve seen, and experienced, some incredible bonds form between the children and the volunteers, so much, that tears are shed more often than not when a volunteer walks out of the rusty gate of the school.  

The staff, and the community in general, has welcomed the other volunteers and us with arms wide open. The staff supports us in everything we do, from taking the kids on field trips, organizing fun days and sport days, to exposing us to the fascinating local culture and connecting with us regardless of background. They are a handful of Balinese people that have inspired us in too many ways to count since we’ve been here and we’re eternally grateful to have been able to work alongside such wonderful people halfway across the world.

Three of our wonderful staff members: Leony, Ketut (the founder) and Nyoman.

  Gaby: Teaching at first was nerve wracking, especially because I have two classes of teenagers that are 17 and 18, aka MY AGE. I didn’t know how the kids would react to having an inexperienced teacher so close to them in age, but after just one class I was able to breathe a sigh of relief; they made me feel welcomed and respected me. More than that, they come to class with the ambition to learn, and there is nothing more inspiring to a teacher than seeing his or her students eager to participate. They’ve impressed me time and time again with their wisdom; I’ve thrown philosophical questions at them ranging from ranking money, happiness, love, and freedom in order of importance to describing what makes people unique. We’ve completed projects including research papers comparing and contrasting Balinese Hinduism to Indian Hinduism and analyzing, discussing, and translating the lyrics to the song “Try” by Colbie Caillat, a song that sheds light on inner beauty and the pressures people face from society to maintain a certain standard of outer beauty. We even created a music video with them for it.

One of the most shocking things I’ve experienced while teaching them has occurred while talking about their job ambitions, as the majority of them said a) they would love to go to university but can’t because of financial issues or family dependency and b) because of the former reason, they want to work in the tourism industry, an industry which has manifested itself as “king-servant” like between tourists and balinese people. Because Bali’s economy relies so heavily on tourism, learning proficient English gives these kids an upper hand in the business. The highest goal within the industry is working on a cruise ship because it gives the students the opportunity to travel and to make enough money to provide for their families. A job on a cruise ship for someone from the western world isn’t usually what kids aspire to obtain and that has become a sad realization for me. Even worse? I’ll be attending the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill this fall, and I calculated that, with the amount of money I’ll be spending on four years there, I’d be able to send almost 40 kids to four years of cheap university here. How’s THAT for a culture shock?

My other class, a bunch of rowdy 13-14 year olds, have me ready to pull my hair out on some days, but I love them all. They’re hilarious and entertaining to interact with and are eager to learn, most of the time. They keep me on my toes, as they’re more challenging to teach because of their different levels of English comprehension, but there’s no better feeling than watching their faces light up with a smile when they’ve gotten something correct or have finally understood the exercises. It’s incredible how all my classes have helped me grow during my time here and I can only hope that I’ve helped them grow as well.

Lova: The thought of me standing in front of a class of teenagers and teaching English had never occurred to me, not even in my wildest fantasies. I have always thought of teaching as one of the most challenging professions there are, yet I find myself standing next to a whiteboard in front of these young adults, with a marker in my hand and, what do you know, actually teaching. Teaching my B5 morning class, a group of magnificent 12-15 year old kids thirsting for knowledge, is incredible. I get surprised by my own excitement every time I see their eyes shine when they get the difference between past simple and continuous, or how I spontaneously burst out into a sort of happy-dance when they make a correct -th pronunciation, or how I nearly could cry when they remember all of the “words of the day” for the entire week! And lets not forget the astonishing preschoolers. A big group of energetic kids, who cheer out loud when they hear the game “duck, duck, goose” but then also jump up out of excitement when I am holding worksheet papers in my hands. It does not matter that my energy level is zero, or that my clothes turn into another color after teaching this class, because they are worth all my energy for sure. I might be an emotional teacher, however teaching at Yayasan is actually nothing else but pure happiness. And their gratitude towards the center, all the volunteering teachers and the staff is out of this world.

Not only has teaching been a wonderful experience, but mingling with the rich and unique culture of the Balinese has been an extreme pleasure. The ceremonies, the everyday rituals, their blessings, their greetings, simply the remarkable feeling of everyone doing something together, sharing experiences, gods, spirits and beliefs. It is pure and slightly unreal.

Cultural experiences are a huge part of what makes traveling enjoyable and to have had the opportunity to actually take part in so many traditional and cultural activities is rather rare, but the Balinese people are well known for their hospitality towards foreigners, and they sure live up to their reputation. Attending Ketut’s nephew’s traditional wedding, participating in the Ogoh-Ogoh parade,  going on the yearly boat trip along the coastline on their first day of the new year, dancing to the Tari Pendet with the talented younger girls during their Saturday dancing classes, and fumbling through ceremonies as they guide us through the prayers are just some of the things we’ve been able to experience here. Even though everyone knows that we’re all the volunteers from the Yayasan, they welcome us with bright laughter and eager smiles. Many people have said that Ubud is the cultural hub of Bali, but we beg to differ. The Yayasan has exposed us to so much of what it’s actually like to be Balinese, and we couldn’t be more grateful.

While the Yayasan creates an environment where Blalinese people and foreigners can interact and connect, one of the most important things it does along with teaching English is giving people all across the world the chance to sponsor a child. Sponsorships help students go to school, which can be very expensive when considering costs such as textbooks, transportation, uniforms, tuition and more, all things the government does not provide in Indonesia. Because of the sponsorship program, many of the students at the Yayasan are able to pursue not only a middle and high school education, but even attend university. Lova herself has just become a sponsor for one of her students, and we want to share her experience here:

“Since the beginning of my stay here, I decided that when I left I still wanted to be a part of this experience, I still wanted to help. And as my parents frequently asked me how and where we could donate money, I heard about the sponsorships. At the Yayasan, some of the students have sponsors; it’s one of the most important ways to help the children receive an education. The sponsor donations are used only for education purposes, for example educational materials, school uniforms, and transportation to and from school. With a certain amount per month, you can help one of these gifted children and their families towards a brighter future.

Enough said, I had made up my mind. Therefore I can now proudly say that my family and I are sponsors for one girl in my B5 morning class called Paramitha, one of the most entertaining and charming 12 year old I have ever met. She is the class clown while at the same time has the will to learn like no other, and the courage to try, over and over again.  At the end of every month, when the students write an email to their sponsors, the look of disappointment in Paramitha’s eyes killed me, but she sat quietly and wrote her sponsor letter to Mr and Mrs unknown as she was told. Therefore, the look on her face the day I told her that she had gotten a sponsor, put me into tears. I told her that my family and I had decided to become her sponsor, and she just replied “oh my god, oh my god!” over and over again. Then she asked, “Are you sure?” For those of you who don’t know me, I am one of the most indecisive people you could ever come across, but in this case, I have never been more certain about anything in my whole life. And that huge beautiful smile of hers when she jumped into my arms, will always be my drive in life.”

And the beauty of this is that there are several ways you can help the students at the Yayasan, not only individual students, but also the school in general (If you are interested in learning more about sponsoring a child, make sure to check out the Yayasan’s website here!). Both Lova and I have realized that, unlike many sponsorship programs and donation charities around the world, we make things personal. We make it personal for those back home because we’ve actually interacted with the students and we know where the donations and sponshorship money go; we took that initial risk of coming here and now we can vouch for the Yayasan and earnestly say that the money is going into an incredible program, a program that will benefit from every little thing it receives. Volunteering has been our main job from the beginning, but now we realized that we also want to help raise money for a place and for people we care so deeply about. Even the smallest contribution makes a huge difference, and we’re not just saying that. But regardless of whether you can or cannot donate, we wanted to open people’s eyes to the incredible world we live in. Who could have known that Lova, I, and so many other volunteers could have connected so beautifully with people not so different than us on a little island half way across the world? Whatever it was: fate, chance, luck, it doesn’t matter. We’re just grateful, for everything. If you would like to donate, all you need is a simple click here

Also, thank you to Montsi, a dear friend and volunteer,  for letting me use some of her wonderful photos.

Balinese Dancing

The playful laugh is over as her body falls into the starting position. Knees bent, spine erect, elbows up and back, she aligns her biceps perfectly with her shoulders. Face exquisitely balanced to show no emotion, she begins by extending her right arm out and she stops, hip popped to the opposite side, left heel rapidly tapping the floor. Her fingers are bent backward impossibly as her ring fingers vibrate side to side like metronomes, keeping time to the imaginary music. Twisting her wrists she flares her hands, her neck dipping to the side and then back again she stops. Here she looks me dead on as her right hand twitches to the side, yanking her eyes and neck like a puppet on a string, but she snaps them back instantly.

Balinese dancing is about posture, about fluidity and precision, but most importantly it’s about the eyes. Here the eyes are not the window to the soul; she gives nothing away. She is fearless and in control, her movements punctuated by a kick of the ankle or a twirl of the wrists, perfectly synchronized. She hears the dinging music in her head, she feels the shiny clothing on her skin, and she makes me believe as if I’m experiencing it too. Her eyes tell whichever story she wishes to convey, but they have always been her shield and her dagger, ready to defend and disarm at a moment’s glance. She breaks the trance and laughs knowingly.

Caught candid with Leony (in blue), Lova, and Montsi

Leony, a girl my age that works at the school I teach at, exposed me to my very first Balinese dancing experience. We were bonding over a discussion of things we like to do and she mentioned dancing. I asked her excitedly if she could show me and she did, shyly at first, and then with more confidence until she laughed and broke from the dance, thinking that I’d had enough. Except, it was the complete opposite: I can’t seem to get enough. Balinese dancing is so different from every other type of dance form I’ve experienced, not to mention how challenging it is. Every Saturday a teacher comes to the school and gives a three hour long lesson to the younger girls from the village. Two of my volunteer friends and I always make a point to join in; even though we’re embarrassingly terrible at it, we love learning and interacting with the girls, in addition to providing a few laughs here and there every time a ten year old girl corrects us.

The girls during their Saturday class! Can you spot the volunteer? 😉

It was during one of these Saturday classes that the teacher, Made, approached us and asked if we would be willing to go to her house and let her dress us up in traditional Balinese clothing. My friends and I looked at each other in bewilderment and agreed. Why would she want to do that with us? We decided it was better not to question it. Two weeks later I found myself sitting in a chair with Made painting my face with waves of colors and makeup. I was twirled into my traditional Balinese dress by her daughter and friends and after an hour and a half, the three of us looked ready to perform. My complexion actually resembles that of a Balinese woman, but it was a different story for my two friends who are Swedish and German; they looked a bit comical with their long black hair and drawn hairline, but regardless they looked beautiful.

The three of us hugging Made, the wonderful woman that made this experience possible.

We took hundreds of pictures doing different poses, laughing, and dancing. We were dressed up in the traditional dress for the Tari Pendet, and get this: every single Balinese dance has a different dress, headpiece, and style of makeup that corresponds to it. We couldn’t believe our luck and the generosity of this woman for what she did for us. Leony, who came with us and acted as our photographer, explained that the desire to dress us up came from a sense of pride; Balinese people are overjoyed when foreigners show interest or excitement in their culture. She explained that the teacher thought highly of us for joining her class every Saturday, regardless of skill level. Our interest in something so fundamental to her and other Balinese people was enough.

Traditional dress of the Tari Puspanjali

Caught during the Tari Pendet dance

So luck to have been able to meet these two girls!

I thought about this for a while, still amazed and shocked that such an opportunity arose for us. It’s the first time any volunteers from the school have been able to do such a thing. I thought about how easy and natural it is for me to be excited about the culture. Balinese culture is fascinating and I try to show my interest as often as possible, whether it’s attending ceremonies and praying or joining in during dance classes. People all around the world consider Bali a paradise for its beaches and yoga; I consider it paradise because of the locals and its culture. It makes me sad to think about what people miss when they come here for holiday, but I couldn’t be more grateful to be experiencing Bali the way I am. This, I believe, is truly how one should experience a country.

Oh, Hello There!

I know the drill, and so do you– I’ve TOTALLY neglected this blog for the past month and I’ve experienced so much and have some crazy catching up to do. And while before I usually tried to have some sort of structure and planning put into my posts, I’m letting that all go now because I just want to write this stuff down and get it out there. I’ve been through so much the past month, so expect a string of disheveled, randomly thrown together blog posts with not much thought put into organizing them. On second thought, think of it as part of the art of writing blog posts about being in Bali– my crazy blog posts will reflect exactly what it’s like to live here (yes, I’m totally making that up but it does kind of fit so go with it for my sake, thanks).

A girl being held up above the crowd during a funeral procession

I spent my first month in Ubud as many people know, and guess what! I didn’t like it (GASP). Not really. Don’t get me wrong, Ubud is great and I understand why people think its charming and one of the best places in the world etc etc, but it just didn’t do it for me. Maybe under changed circumstances it would have been different; if I would have gone for maybe a week with my friends or family I’m sure I would have enjoyed it much more than I did. But being there for a month on a three week vacation and not knowing anyone but my roommate was not ideal. Partially because Ubud is relatively expensive when you have to go out constantly to eat; all the attractions cost money as well, so being a student traveler on a budget made it difficult to entertain myself for the time I was there.

Putu, the king of Wena Homestay!

I also became increasingly tired with the amount of foreigners everywhere and how tailored the place is to western tourists. I came to Bali to meet and mingle with Balinese people, not people from all over the world. I also didn’t want to interact with western ideas. No, I don’t want to eat at a western restaurant and pay western prices when Indonesian food is so freaking delicious (okay… I did splurge on pizza a few times. Cheese, man. I miss that stuff). No, I don’t want to be part of an overpriced yoga class that has most likely been stripped of its spirituality and is taught by a westerner. Don’t get me wrong, meeting foreigners is always cool and I’ve met some pretty great people, but being constantly surrounded by them in a place I was told was supposed to be the “cultural heart” of Bali didn’t make sense to me.

So there I was, stuck in Ubud for a month, frustrated. I spent Christmas and New Years alone which affected me much more than I anticipated. I missed my family on both days and it made me even more bitter to be in Ubud. I awaited my departure, January 5th, eagerly. Then, I’d finally be going to Karangasem, where my volunteer work was.

But before I get ahead of myself, I’m also going to mention the things I liked about Ubud, because it wasn’t all bad. The rice fields for one thing were probably my favorite part about it; they were so calm and not heavily populated by tourists, especially at certain hours. I’d walk through them and lose myself for a few hours just thinking and appreciating the work the Balinese do in them (rice harvesting is some serious work). There was also a pretty cool atmosphere at night in Ubud, with quite a few places playing live music that would bleed into the streets and draw you in. My parents gave me the wonderful opportunity to treat myself for my birthday so I bought myself a small traveler’s guitar that I bargained down (yes, as a matter of fact, one of my new year’s resolutions is to learn how to play the guitar, sshhh). There’s this one local restaurant that was so cheap yet so delicious that my roommate and I went religiously, called Dewa (you’re welcome for the publicity). So yeah, there were some great things about Ubud, even some things I didn’t do like attend the traditional dances (WHY DIDN’T I DO THIS? BALINESE DANCING IS AMAZING) and $8 massages (…No excuse for why I didn’t do this either).

The Balinese that live in Ubud still do a remarkable job of keeping their rituals and religion in tact. For example, they celebrated both Galungan and Kuningan, which is an equivalent to Christmas in importance, during the month of December and had to put up these massive bent bamboo poles named “penjors” all over the town. The Balinese in general are very articulate and crafty and hone an exquisite attention to detail, so walking the streets every day was beautiful (if you ignored the Pandora and Starbucks shops).

Funny enough, I also finished the book Eat, Pray, Love while I was in Ubud, but Elizabeth Gilbert clearly had a much different experience than I did. But it was cool to see all the things we had in common and the things we both noticed about the city. Ubud just wasn’t for me, but I’m grateful for the time I spent there because it has potentially affected me career-wise. But more on that in a future post 😉

December 26th, 2004

The day is exceptionally beautiful and the roar of traffic is our soundtrack as we walk back home. Mali pulls on my skirt and points to the beach where people are playing and swimming—It appears strange to me; there seem to be more rocks and sand visible than usual. When we enter our home, I tell Amuh about the beach and ask if we can go swim in order to take advantage of the weather. She yells at me in exasperation, chiding me for considering the idea after coming home just two days ago from the hospital after a severe asthma attack. She warns us to stay put and glides out to visit our aunt and her sons.

              Mali and I look to the beach with yearning, torn between following directions and doing whatever we please. Amuh isn’t around, could it really hurt? But we’re stopped short by a commotion going on outside. People are starting to run around as water makes its way down the street. I assume it’s a broken pipe until I realize that the ocean is swelling, rising over the wall and dumping more and more water onto the street. I freeze and grasp my little brother’s hand, squeezing it tightly. We stay like that until I’m shaken out of my stupor by Indika, our neighbor’s son. His voice cracks as the words tumble out of his mouth explaining that we need to head towards the monastery immediately, which is inland and on higher ground. 

              I don’t really know what’s going on, but I follow him, tugging Mali along. We take a side road since the main one is no longer accessible, and half way there, I remember Acah is on the top floor of the house. I warn Indika and beg him to go back—by the time we reach the house again, the water is already up to our knees. When I reach her, I find her casually on the phone, oblivious to the rising water that hadn’t reached the second level yet. I desperately yell at her that we need to go, but she doesn’t understand and stubbornly keeps trying to use the phone. She doesn’t believe me until I’m pulling her down the stairs and she sees the water rushing in through the door. All together now, the four of us stumble back to the side road we had taken just minutes earlier to find it jam-packed with people. So many have tried to use the two meter wide road that they are stuck– the crowd won’t budge no matter how much we push.

All of a sudden, none of that matters as the first wave hits and the water surges forward, collapsing the two walls containing the road.

              People are swept violently away in all directions and I lose sight of everyone as I’m shoved underwater by the force of the wave. I struggle back to the surface and find myself knocked towards a pole with a looped metal rod sticking out of it. My arm happens to thread the loop and holds fast, keeping me anchored against the strong current. Acah is propelled the same way and manages to hold tight to my waste. I realize we are both wailing, crying with no tears, simply adding to the louder hysteria. I panic, thinking about our brother, until I notice Mali is still struggling in the water and no one around is helping him. I shout at my sister to grab him but she can’t let go; I see the fear in her eyes, paralyzing her. Indika, who is standing on a rooftop nearby, dives back into the water and vigorously pulls our brother to safety. At this point, the water is up to my chin; everyone can be heard praying and shouting: Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, Christians alike… the cold water does not discriminate.

              And just like that, as quickly as it came, the ocean recedes. My arm, which kept me afloat, now burdens me, trapping me. I urge my sister to go ahead with Mali to the monastery. They are both crying, but they obey and I stand there, slightly shocked, wishing they hadn’t. Everyone has abandoned me except Indika, who picks up every rock and piece of debris he can find until one is suitable for breaking the rod. He hammers away until I’m broken lose and I gaze at the man who is to become my future husband in awe, wondering if he is our guardian angel. He takes my hand and we sprint to the monastery, the metal hoop still squeezing my arm. Not even a minute after we step into the monastery, the ocean surges again, and the second wave hits.

On December 26th, 2004, a mega-earthquake that hit Sumatra’s west coast, one of the many islands of Indonesia, caused the very well known and nightmarish Indian Ocean Tsunami. Upwards of 230.000 people died or went missing as the world watched in horror on television sets. The story above was told to me by my host family sister days after I arrived in Sri Lanka. She was 18 at the time.

Let me give you some perspective:

While most people associate the tsunami with Indonesia and Thailand, Sri Lanka was also severely affected. During the process of learning all of this, a daunting fact came to my attention: there was a two hour waiting period before the tsunami wave caused by the earthquake hit Sri Lanka’s coast.

The problem? Sri Lanka, at the time, was not part of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami warning system. So in those two hours that could have potentially been used to evacuate people from the coasts, Sri Lankans were completely clueless as to what awaited them. Something else I didn’t know: Sri Lankans don’t even have a word for “tsunami” in Sinhala– 97% of them had never even heard the word “tsunami” before. My host father, who was in Saudi Arabia when the wave hit, saw the headline “Tsunami Attacks Sri Lanka’s Coast” on BBC news and thought the word “tsunami” represented some terrorist group that was bombing the coast (this idea was inspired by the civil war raging in the country at the time). As he watched the clip of the wave hitting and began to catch on that there seemed to be some sort of major flooding, it wasn’t until the clip showed a familiar billboard sign and head of a Buddha that he realized it had been filmed from the roof of his city’s railway station: this was how he found out that his beloved city had just been destroyed.

It took him two entire days, 48 excruciating hours where he thought he’d lost his entire family, to finally reach them.

Now, my host family was extremely lucky… but many weren’t. Want to know another awful fact? December 26th, 2004 was not only the day after Christmas and Boxing Day (in other words, holiday time for many Europeans who were vacationing), it was also Poya day, a Buddhist holiday. With around 77% of the island being Buddhist, this meant that an even greater amount of Sri Lankans were enjoying the beach that day, especially in Galle, my host family’s city, where it was in the peak of high season.

I was nine years old when the fateful day arrived; I remember walking down the stairs in my cousin’s house after waking up and finding all the adults crowded around the television, hands covering their mouths and tears fresh on their cheeks. Images of surging walls of water, wailing mothers bent over their dead children littered on the ground, and people rushing around to help the wounded, flashed before my eyes. All the warmth and lightheartedness from Christmas the day before had vanished.

When I set off to Sri Lanka, I didn’t know what to expect– but would you be surprised if I told you that my three months in Sri Lanka were some of the best of my life? The warmth of the people there, the culture, the zeal for life, inspired me. New buildings and homes were resurrected from the ashes of the old ones, acting as a testament to humanity’s timeless resilience. Though I wish it would be the case all the time, certain experiences have the power to turn every stranger on the street into your sister and your brother, and this was precisely what had happened. Without that, there would have been no aid, no reconstruction, and no way for life to move on.

Time and time again, I thank everything that I’m worth for the lack of immediate suffering I’ve experienced in my life, for the privilege I’ve had to grow up safely without tragedy directly affecting me. Time and time again, I am struck by the way humans can come together during and after tragedy. Ten years after one of the worst natural disasters in recent history, my heart swells with remorse, but also with love and hope, for the lives lost and the families and countries affected. It’s been a decade, but those people haven’t been forgotten for a minute of it. Today, like we should do every day, look around you, take a deep breath, and give thanks. As we hear too often and fail to believe until it’s too late, our lives can change in the blink of an eye. Don’t regret it.

Time To Go To Indo–Wait, Singapore?

Heelllloooo, everybody; I’m officially back (:

While I have been updating my UNC blog pretty regularly (as it is a requirement of my participation in the Global Gap Year Fellowship), I sort of neglected my personal blog. But no longer! In order to catch everyone up to speed, I’ll outline what my last month in Sri Lanka looked like:

Basically, same old same old. It consisted of going to the beach on the weekends, hanging out with the volunteers throughout the week, and getting as much work in at the orphanage as possible. Aside from the bucket of tears I cried when leaving the orphanage, it really was a great send off. Sri Lanka holds a special place in my heart and it will always remain in my memory surrounded by a unique love and fondness. I have a great appreciation for the island country and I’m so glad I was able to begin my year there. In my last few weeks though I did run into some troubles. Initially, I was supposed to get the visa I needed for Indonesia in Sri Lanka, but when I visited the Indonesian embassy there, I found out that I wouldn’t be able to apply for it there.

Panic.

I started brainstorming every possible option I could come up with to fix this problem. The solution? Take a spontaneous trip to Singapore because why not? #gapyear

A tip for all travelers– If you ever need to get something done, do it in Singapore (Or make sure you have everything you possibly need before leaving your country like I neglected to do, lol). I went to the Indonesian embassy in Singapore and was done in under 20 min which is totally unheard of. All the worrying that came with needing to get my visa vanished instantly; I really lucked out and am grateful for it.

But seriously– Singapore. If that name conjures images of an uber efficient and clean society with malls at every corner and busy people dressed in chic clothing, you’d be 100 % correct.

I was housed on the resort world island of Sentosa (I’m not kidding, it’s actually a resort world. The small island in the south of Singapore is home to Universal Studios, a water park, and a plethora of other attractions) by an awesome friend of my sister’s and her roommates. This was the view from the balcony:

Aaaannnddd this was the pool area:

You would think that I spent an entire week lounging there right? Absolutely… NOT. Who needs a pool when I had entire city/country to explore? Singapore, true to its efficiency, has an incredible MRT train that runs along the entire country; very similar to the NYC subway station but waayyyy more organized and cleaner. With my visa out of the way, I had a week to use this train system and explore areas like the hustling and bustling Chinatown, the shopping center heavy Orchard street, decked out with impressive Christmas lights, the ever crowded Little India and adjacent Arab street, home to some of Singapore’s rare graffiti (though, can’t really call it graffiti since it needed to be approved before being painted), and my favorite, the Botanic Gardens, where I spent a wonderfully peaceful afternoon strolling, reading, and generally sweating from the intense heat.

While Singapore impressed me with its efficiency and cleanliness, I can’t say it appealed to me very much. I’m grateful I was able to explore it, and I can attest that the food there is FANTASTIC, but aside from that, it lacked a certain charm for me. That may be due to the fact that I was incomprehensibly overwhelmed to be back in such an organized and “advanced” society. I was back to paying $10 for a meal, which made me think how I could eat three meals a day plus stay in an accommodation for that same price in Sri Lanka. On the MRT train, everyone’s features had that fluorescent glow produced by the proximity of their phone to their faces. No one stopped for anything; there was always constant movement, constant rushing. It was a harsh reality compared to the easy and slow paced life style of Sri Lanka.

And dare I say it? People actually followed the rules there– and it was boring. No more swerving cars, no more jaywalking, no more bargaining for food or items, no more free tuk tuk rides because someone was feeling generous, no more loud competitions between monasteries or mosques to have their prayers heard across the neighborhoods.

This realization struck me because a mere three months ago, I was living and thriving in such a society. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t exactly condone this lifestyle–I grew up in it– but living in Sri Lanka made me more aware of what is necessary in life and what isn’t. I’m starting to place importance in different things where before I was tied up by the material. Cliche, I know, but everyone should experience that realization at some point, right?

Overall, I’m incredibly grateful that everything ran so smoothly and that I was able to explore another part of the world. It also gave me the chance to meet up with a past volunteer I met in Sri Lanka as well as meet new people who I had an absolute blast with. In the end, it’s all about human interaction and the connections you make.

And I’m also grateful to be able to say that I have arrived in Bali safely and I’m ready to begin another chapter of my gap year. More posts to come soon; hope everyone back home is doing well! (:

More Than Just Faith

To see how you can donate to the monastery, click here

“Run run!” yells Dhammarakkitha energetically as he taps me on the shoulder, inviting me to chase him. I advance towards him, but he dances just out of my reach, jumping over rusty chairs and skirting around wooden tables gracefully, his long, monk’s robe failing to inhibit him. Realizing that I won’t be able to catch him, I turn my attention to Buddharakkitha, who is giving me a sly smile from across the room. I run after him, trapping him in a corner behind a desk. I lean one way and he counters my move, locking us in a continuous semi-circle. I finally pick a side and surge forward, but he out maneuvers me by sliding under the desk and popping up on the other side. I look at him and laugh as he mocks me with his tongue. I don’t ever remember being that crafty while playing tag at his age.

“Run run,” the monks’ name for tag, is one of a few games I found myself playing this past week at the Buddhist monastery. Intrigued by the work my friend Soleil was doing, I took a break from the orphanage and accompanied her during her last week in Galle to help teach English to the monks. I had visited the monastery once before on a Buddhist holiday and Soleil showed me around in addition to briefly introducing me to some of the monks. I thought I had some inkling of what to expect when I decided to tag along, but as seems to be the trend lately, my expectations were blown out of the water.

Dhammarakkitha

Dhamma caught me taking pictures

Dhamma and Soleil! So cute

At ten years old, Dhamma is the youngest of the monks. Though small, he’s incredibly quick; trying to tag him in Run Run is like trying to lick your elbow–juuussstttt out of reach, every time. He’s an avid learner and is always eager to repeat any English phrases you toss at him. He’s a sweetheart with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.

Buddharakkitha

Had to try so many times to get a normal, smiling picture of him

Uuhh, is the sword supposed to leave the statue’s hand..?

Buddha, at twelve, is Dhamma’s older brother and entirely different. Where Dhamma pays attention and works hard, Buddha is constantly goofing off. You can see the mischief harbored in his eyes when he isn’t making faces or running around the classroom in typical class clown style. All the poking fun is in good nature though; he has such an infectious laugh that you can’t help but smile and chuckle yourself.

Indasara

Showing off

Monk model, obviously

Indasara, at seventeen, is the oldest of the monks that Soleil taught. He’s incredibly intelligent and quick to laugh. Even though I’m older than him, he carries an aura of wisdom about him that I can’t quite match. He’s like an older brother to the other two, both helping and teasing them. Indasara patiently (and impressively) answered all the questions I had about Buddhism after I bought a few books and devoured them.

Praveen

SELFFIIIEEEEEEE (so serious)

Praveen and I praying in the shrine room!

Aaaaaannnnndddd this guy! Praveen is a twenty-two-year-old Sri Lankan who isn’t a monk but spends his days at the monastery. With his goofy hair and smile, he knows English the best out of the four and has become the unofficial liaison between the teachers and monks. He’s also incredibly sweet and brought us tea every day.

Each day I spent with Soleil and the monks I became more and more fascinated by their lifestyle and the ideals taught by the Buddhist faith. After a conversation with Indasara, I was able to gather how the three of them ended up at the monastery. Indasara decided independently at the age of thirteen to become a monk, while Dhama and Buddha were given to the monastery at ages seven and nine, respectively. Coming from a very poor family, they couldn’t be taken care of adequately by their parents, so they were accepted by the monastery. This circumstance is rare, but does happen every once in a while.

I was also given a glimpse into their daily schedule. They wake up promptly every morning at six and do a combination of chores and homework until eating breakfast at around eight. By eight thirty, they’re sitting patiently, waiting for Soleil to walk through the doors of the classroom that also acts as a large communal gathering space. She teaches them for about two hours and then gives them some down time to either play games or do their school work. After English class, they go to alms-giving, where they visit different houses in the community to pray, talk about Buddhism, and receive food. Afterwards, they eat lunch, their last meal for the day, and go to school from one to five. Once that’s finished, they have some free time to read or do school work until meditation at six thirty.  It is only after meditation ends at seven that they are free to spend what’s left of their day how they want.

Above all else, I was struck by the normalcy of the three monks. They live extremely simple lives with little to no access to material things; their heads are shaved, they don’t wear shoes, and they almost never leave the monastery. Despite all of this, Dhamma and Buddha are just like every other lively ten and twelve year old I know. Indasara is taking his O levels soon, which are tests he needs to pass to get into University. The week I spent with them was full of Singlish (like Spanglish, but Sinhala and English), impromptu cricket games, run run, philosophical talks about Buddhism, and more jokes and laughter than I could keep track of. I even spent a calm, rainy evening meditating with them in the shrine room. Even though they’re dedicated to the Buddhist faith, with its demanding chores and worship, they still find ways to grow up like every other kid.

My week at the monastery exceeded my expectations and kept doing so even after the week was over. All of the monks have been so welcoming, as have been the locals that filter in and out throughout the day to pray or help maintain the monastery. I’ve visited quite a few times this past week, either to say hi or to meditate with the head monk, and I’ve learned quite a bit.

This monastery actually acts as a school house for all of the monks in Galle. Monks from different monasteries all over the city travel here every day for school, which is held in this building:

The monastery also opens its doors to anyone who needs it. There’s a group of about fifty women that come in every week and use a corner of the school room to hold meetings where they discuss and pay back bank loans. The monastery, and the monks, turn down no one.

And when I mean no one, I mean this monastery held close to almost a thousand people at one point, almost ten years ago.

Let me explain:

I’m sure that many people reading this will remember the Indian Ocean tsunami that hit on December 26th, 2004, which took hundreds of thousands of lives. While most people associate the tsunami with Indonesia and Thailand, Sri Lanka was also severely affected. Something I didn’t know before coming here was that there was a two hour waiting period before the tsunami wave caused by the earthquake hit Sri Lanka’s coast.

The problem? Sri Lanka, at the time, was not part of the Japanese earthquake and tsunami warning system. So in those two hours that could have potentially been used to evacuate people from the coasts, Sri Lankans were completely clueless as to what awaited them. Something else I didn’t know? Sri Lankans don’t even have a word for “tsunami” in Sinhala. 97% of them had never heard the word tsunami before. My host father, who was in Saudi Arabia when the wave hit, saw the headline “Tsunami Attacks Sri Lanka’s Coast” on BBC news and thought the word stood for some terrorist group that was bombing the coast (this was inspired by the civil war raging in the country at the time), not that a natural disaster had just destroyed his beloved city.

Even worse? December 26th, 2004 was not only the day after Christmas (in other words, holiday time for many Europeans who were vacationing), it was also Poya day, which is a Buddhist holiday. With around 70% of the island being Buddhist, this meant that an even greater amount of people were enjoying the beach that day.

The monastery comes into play because it actually saved the lives of almost a thousand people that made it there. When the waves hit, many Sri Lankans, including my host family, fled to the monastery because it sits on top of a hill, well above sea level. The head monk, this incredible man right here,

saved countless people by taking his robes off and using them as ropes to pull people up the hill as more and more water flooded the streets. Not only did he risk his life on the day of the tragedy, he also orchestrated one of the most effective safe houses for victims in Galle. He was able to provide food, water, and shelter for everyone living at the monastery for two entire months. I was in awe when my host sister told me this story. He’s an ordinary monk who has become an extraordinary hero.

Over the years, the monastery has taken a beating and the head monk is currently trying to renovate some parts of it. He’s trying to build a new temple that is more suitable to hold the Buddhist shrine so that more people can pray. The one they have now is so old that the paint on the walls has chipped off, some of the statues have been broken, and they don’t have adequate lighting.

I was able to snatch some pictures of the damage the monastery has racked up over the years:

Inside the shrine

Inside the shrine

Inside the shrine

Inside the shrine

Inside the shrine

Inside the shrine

Inside the shrine

Building where the monks sleep

Example of one of the rooms

Where the monks eat

Where the monks eat

The temple that’s being built is already under way, but the head monk is finding it difficult to piece together sufficient funding to keep it going and finish. The monastery relies on volunteers who are willing to dedicate time to building and maintaining it.

View from the courtyard

The temple is planned to have three floors

When I knew I was going to be working at an orphanage, I considered setting up a page to help raise money for the kids there, assuming they’d benefit from it. After being here for over six weeks though, I’ve come to the conclusion that the monastery would benefit so much more. Because the orphanage is owned by the government, they receive some funding in addition to donations from outside parties (ex. the orphanage received almost $6,000 a few weeks ago from a returning volunteer). The monastery does not. For this reason, for anyone who is willing or sees themselves fit to do so, I’ve set up a page for donations to the monastery. The head monk has a goal of renovating the living quarters of the monks by buying new beds and fixing the ceilings, in addition to finishing the new temple.

If you’d like to donate to the monastery, click here

My visits to the monastery during the past two weeks has been anything but forced; I seem to gravitate to its relaxing and peaceful environment. It’s one of the places I feel most welcomed here and it’s helped me understand a new side of the Sri Lankan mindset that I hadn’t been exposed to before: the religious mindset. Whether I see it through the locals that come to worship or the monks who live and breath it 24/7, Buddhism, like many religions, is more than just faith; it’s a lifestyle and an ideology, one that I’ve greatly come to admire and respect.

If you have any questions concerning the donations page or the monastery, please don’t hesitate to send me a message through facebook or shoot me an email at alemangs@gmail.com.

An Ode to the People

If there’s one thing you do a substantial amount of while traveling, it’s meet people. I mean, in my opinion, it’s the biggest perk. And so far in Sri Lanka, I’ve met a large variety of people, and a few I want to dedicate this post to.

I said a premature goodbye to Soleil today, one of the volunteers that’s been with us for the past five weeks. She’ll be in Colombo (the capital) for a week in addition to a week that her and I will spend traveling around Sri Lanka, but today she left our host family house, and I already miss her. She’s one of those goofy, quirky people that knows how to laugh at herself as much as with others. She does her name justice, as Soleil means sun in French, with the way she brightens every situation and room she walks into. She’s one of those people I’m grateful to have had the chance to meet and connect with on my gap year. I’m so excited to be traveling around with her in a week and I can’t wait to party it up in NYC with her.

Looking cute while co-teaching at the monastery the past week (blog post about that will be uploaded soon as well!)

Entertaining Dion, our little mascot– I mean, our little host family brother 😉

Next, I want to give a shoutout to Pushpa, my host family mother. She barely speaks any English, but who needs English when you cook and prepare tea like a goddess? How she takes care of her entire family and us volunteers, I don’t know, but I greatly admire her for it– she always has a smile on her face or a laugh on her lips. She’s also fearless and always has her handy dandy broomstick ready to beat away any cockroaches, spiders, scorpions, snakes, or rats we encounter. If I could clone her and bring her with me everywhere I went, I would.

Pushpa, on the right, with her mother, on the left, after getting blessed by a random parade procession in the street. Both so adorable, I can’t stand it.

I also can’t mention Pushpa without mentioning her daughter, Dineshi. She’s my sister’s age, 28, but already has one of the cutest kids in existence (aka Dion). She knows English the best out of everyone in the family, except maybe Michael, her father, but she’s been a great asset to the volunteers here. Not only is she infinitely interesting and hilarious, she also got me hooked on curd and treacle, a Sri Lankan dessert that consists of fresh buffalo curd covered in honey, which I now have religiously after dinner every night (it’s so, soooo good).

Dineshi and Dion! Yay! (I spy Pushpa in the baacckkk)

Lastly, I want to mention a few other people who I don’t have pictures of, but still brighten/have brightened my day:

Pijanta, our tuk-tuk driver that takes us to the orphanage every morning and brings us back in the afternoon. Not only did he lasso a scorpion on our front porch at ten at night, but he always greets us energetically and with a laugh. We tease him when he wears his black snap-back with the pink superman logo on it, but he loves it, and we do too. He also let us drive his tuk-tuk on a deserted road which was quite an experience.

The ladies that work/live next door that say hi to us every time we walk by. They always wave and have a smile on their face and I don’t know why, but they’re awesome.

The doctor who tended to me when I was sick and covered in rashes and itchy things. You’re the bomb.

All the kids at the orphanage every day and the ladies that work there. We have a blast laughing at all the crazy things the kids do.

The dude that was chasing his loose goat through the street that Soleil and I helped catch. Rock on, man.

Hopefully, and I’m making it one of my goals to do so, I want to have several blog posts similar to this one. Meeting and connecting with people is not only a joy of traveling, but a joy of life, and one of the things I’ve most looked forward to on my gap year. Here’s to sharing many more stories and laughs with new and exciting people!

Rendezvous With The Sri Lankan President

Fate is a funny thing. So funny, in fact, that two weekends ago I found myself taking a selfie with the Sri Lankan president as he walked by me not even five feet away:

There he is with his luxurious mustache and signature red scarf

That became possible after a friend of a friend of my sister’s reached out to me and asked if I wanted to go out for dinner.

When someone asks you to go out for dinner, you assume a relatively chill night ensues. That’s what I had in mind at least. When I got invited last Friday, I thought I’d be heading to the Dutch Fort here in Galle, sharing a few stories and laughs over some good food at a quaint little restaurant with a friend of a friend of my sister’s.

Little did I know that “getting dinner” actually meant visiting a luxury hotel and spending time with some very successful Sri Lankans. Slightly intimidated and perplexed, Soleil (an awesome, spunky volunteer from NYC) and I listened and conversed with everyone. We were incredibly impressed, not only with their professions, but with the good vibes and hospitality they showed us. A few laughs and wild stories later, we got invited (HOW) to a grand opening happening in the Fort—they were remodeling a Dutch hospital into a shopping precinct with little boutiques and restaurants. Almost all the people around us were investors for the bar, appropriately named, “A Minute By Tuk-Tuk.”

So the next night, Soleil and I found ourselves among a very distinguished Sri Lankan crowd, surrounded by tables of gourmet food, native dancers, and a thunderous concert.

View from just outside the door of “A Minute By Tuk-Tuk”

The dancers gathered around before the show

Where the magic happened

Said magic happening

Yes, in case you were wondering, they were extremely attractive dancers

Aaaannnddd then they added fire

The show was filled with plenty of fantastic dancing, including one number that had a soundtrack where they mixed traditional Sri Lankan music and dubstep. It. Was. EPIC. There were also a few speeches and skits in Sinhalese that both Soleil and I didn’t understand a word of, but were still cool to listen to none the less. After the performances, we wandered around and stuffed our faces with delicious food until we stumbled upon a concert just outside the hospital-now-turned-shopping-precinct. We were exposed to contemporary Sri Lankan music and though we didn’t understand any of it, the beat was very similar to Latin American music. Safe to say we danced the night away (until curfew, that is).

We jammed SO hard

All in all, it was a blast of a weekend and I’m psyched to see what the future has in store!

First Week and First Impressions

I’m currently sitting across from my roommate on the floor; we both smell like a combination of pee and sweat from the orphanage, but we can’t stop laughing and smiling as we talk about all the crazy things the little kids do. It’s only our second day and even though we’re exhausted, it’s been worth every minute.

Luckily, my roommate and I get along like sisters—we bonded instantly as she was the only one here when I first arrived. She’s from Germany but definitely knows more about American pop-culture than I do, which is insanely impressive. She was my guide the first week here, showing me the ups and downs of Galle. Now we have a total of five volunteers, all girls, all awesome.

I think about the past week and it blows my mind that it’s only been a week. Time is slower here, somehow. Each day is jam packed with activity, but we always find time to relax and chill, which seems to be a Sri Lankan pastime.

I’ll talk about the past week in a sort of timeline, using pictures, because there’s just no other way to do it.

I arrived in Colombo and stayed the night at a host family near the airport. This was my first meal in Sri Lanka and it was quite delicious. The papaya was fresh and the tea… Oh, dear goodness, THE TEA. Mindblowing. Just, ugh, soo good.

This cutie hid underneath the table as I ate breakfast.

My green cocoon! I call it a jellyfish because when you lay on the bed and look up it totally resembles one. Mosquito nets are a life saver.

View from the porch of my host family’s house. YES THE OCEAN IS THAT CLOSE. Unfortunately the beach is completely rocky so you can’t swim there, but still.

Need a place to watch the sunset every day? Oh, just cross the street. Really.

Sitting across the street from my house and I happen to snap this picture of a father and his kids. Their faces are priceless, and I think they embody the spirit of Sri Lanka and its people.

The typical fishing boat in Galle, as seen on Jungle Beach.

Got to visit a turtle hatchery (:

Some neighborhood Sri Lankans playing cricket outside of the Dutch Fort.

Two women drawing their Batik designs which they sell in their shop in the picture below. Some designs, like the bigger, more intricate ones, can take months to complete. For every different color, certain parts of the design have to be covered in wax so that they can be dipped into the different dyes. The more colors involved, the more dipping needs to be done, making the process strenuous. I was amazed by the detail in all the drawings and had to buy myself a piece!

You can TOTALLY bet I’m learning how to surf. I actually stood up most of the time and was switched to an 8’2″ board (still look like a midget) and I was pretty proud of myself (The smaller the board, the harder it is to balance). Safe to say I’m addicted and I may or may not be going again tomorrow (definitely going again tomorrow).

Question: Is it possible to not look epic when you’re a surfer caught in a sunset? Answer: Absolutely not.

 

Quick first impressions (as they came to mind throughout the week):

• The air smells like a combination of… tropical breeze, humid wood, and sweat. Oh.
• ACK THEY DRIVE ON THE LEFT SIDE, WHAT.
• Not being able to speak the local language (Sinhala) suuuccckkkssss
• Casually just fit your entire family onto a motorcycle, it’s fine
• Lanes on the road are merely a suggestion as to where you should direct your vehicle.
• cowscowscowscowscowscowsGOATcowscows WHERE ARE THE ELEPHANTS?
• All the stray dogs look exactly the same…………
• Omg we need tuk-tuks in America (aka three-wheeled taxis)
• Everyone stares at me as I walk down the street. Everyone. Hi
• They eat everything with their hands only. No utensils. Woah
• This food is amaaazzziiinnnnggggg (my host family mother cooks and ugh, the food. There’s something about home cooked meals..)
• TTTEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAA TEA TEA TEA
• So much trash e v e r y w h e r e
• Why is everyone just sitting around all the time?
• Is this really my life?

I realize this blog post isn’t much and just bounces around from one idea to the next, but so much has happened in the past week that I found it difficult to focus my attention on one idea. So please excuse my dazed and sporadic post, I’m still trying to process everything.

Hope everyone is doing well (:

 

p.s.– A cool Sri Lankan fact: The name “Sinhalese” comes from the words “sinhaya” and “le” which mean “lion” and “blood,” respectively. So the Sri Lankan people who speak Sinhala are called “Sinhalese” which literally means they came from lion’s blood. That’s why they have a lion on their flag– pretty badass, right?

Sri Lankan flag (Jungle Beach)

 

A Touch of Gratitude

As many people know, today is the day I finally leave on the gap year I have been talking about incessantly for the past five months. There are plenty of thoughts pulsing through my mind at the moment, but I want to use this post as an opportunity to show some gratitude:

Thank you to my family who has supported me from the very beginning by cheering me on and sharing my worry and excitement. This wouldn’t be possible without them and I can’t describe how grateful I am to have them by my side.

Thank you to my amazing friends across the country who have freaked out over every detail and have never doubted in my ability to embark on this adventure. I wish them all an incredible time in college, or whatever they may be doing.

Thank you to the Fellowship for granting me this special opportunity and to everyone in the GGY family who knows exactly what I’m going through and has been a huge help along every step of the way. Thank you for your patience and guidance; I’m extremely grateful knowing that I have a family waiting for me when I get back to UNC.

And finally, thank you to everyone who has shown interest in following my blog. Among the many, busy things that occupy our lives, I’m humbled to know that there are people taking the time to read my crazy (yet hopefully entertaining) stories and thoughts. This blog will be a learning experience and a way to track my growth throughout the year and I’m excited for people to be along for the ride!

So yeah. Just a big, fat, huge thank you to everyone. Are cyber hugs a thing? Well, if they aren’t, I just made them one. HUGS FOR EVERYONE, YAY!

Cyber hug, oh yeah, with a nose scrunch and everythaanngg

I’ve never been too fond of goodbyes–they have always seemed permanent to me. Luckily, the Sinhalese seem to agree, so I will share with you their special way of saying goodbye. Phonetically, it is “gihin ennam” which literally translates to “I’ll go and come back.” So as the final hours wane down, I won’t leave you with a goodbye, but a simple gihin ennam.

Cheers!