Tag: Chinese-Indonesian heritage

Posted on by — 1 Comment

Book Review: She Smells of Turmeric

Bravo to Natasha Sondakh, the young Indonesian author for this lovely book. I came across She Smells of Turmeric when my book club (Mad Tea Book Club) invited Natasha as one of the guest speakers. The Indonesian-books talk was back in August 2021, and you can find the discussion here. I was glad to finally be able to read the book – and what a ride!

Structure

The author interspersed sections of this book with some great poems. At first hand they might not seem directly related to the prose, especially if you’re not into poetry. I’ve always loved poetry, and for me, the pieces emitted moods and emotions in a way which complimented the narrative. I’m so glad the author decided on this structure. It really added something special to the reading experience.

Vibes

I definitely got Crazy Rich Asians vibes with this book. Since it takes place in Jakarta, it hits home even more. Being someone who has also lived in the United States and Indonesia, I can relate a lot to Cecelia (our main character’s) cultural experiences. Of course, Cece lives the life of the 0,01% of Indonesians, so if there was ever a sequel I’d be very curious to see what happens when Cece experiences more of Indonesia.

Traumas (potential spoiler)

Somethings happen to Cece which is sadly and unfairly common (1 in 3 women globally experience sexual violence), though I wasn’t expecting it at all in this book. It sounds weird, but I’m glad that section was included in She Smells of Turmeric. It shows that sexual assault, domestic violence, and abuse isn’t just rampant in lower economy societies – it happens in middle and higher up strata too. As a survivor myself, I think the author handled writing Cece’s emotions and reactions carefully and responsibly. It was not simplistic but rather fleshed out and empowering at the same time.

I finished She Smells of Turmeric in a day. Bravo to the author and I am looking forward to read more books from her in the future!

PS : Episode 13 of my podcast is going to be an in-depth conversation with Natasha, so stay tuned!

Posted on by — 2 Comments

Bobo Lie, Part 2

In the last years of her life, Bobo Lie (as the huge Efferin-Lie clan) calls her, can’t recollect clearly who she is. Due to her dementia, she had no idea what day, time, or year it is. She had no teeth. But she didn’t need teeth anymore because her food is all soft porridge-like meals.

She was one good cook.

Around the time my parents got married (the 1980s), Bobo Lie was about fifty years old. She lived in a large estate which she turned into a boarding home, sometimes with up to ten boarders at a time. She needed the money from boarders to survive and care for her sons. She has four sons, plus two nephews that she took under her wing because their mother-Bobo’s sister-had died at a young age.

If a woman can manage a home, she can manage an office. If she can manage an office, she can manage a company. If she can manage a company, she can manage a country.

In her home, Bobo always made sure the best meals were set out for everyone: sons, nephews, boarders, eventually daughters-in-law, and all the grandchildren that visited. Her signature dish was rawon: black beef soup with turmeric, lemongrass, lime, and green onions.

She was one angry lady.

The reason she needed to turn her house into a boarding home was because Kung-Kung (my grandfather) divorced Bobo in her forties. He was a highly respected doctor in Surabaya, East Java. One of the first medical professionals in the whole province, in fact. After three children, he left Bobo (who was pregnant with a fourth child) to marry another lady. Now, I call her Granny Rika. I call her that behind Bobo’s back. I suppose reconciliation takes generations.

According to Bobo Lie, she never wanted the divorce. But somehow, in one of her angry emotional fits towards an unfaithful husband, it is possible that she signed the papers in exchange for ownership of the large estate.

She was one talented lady.

Before she got married to Kung Kung, Bobo loved to sing. As a teenager, she won singing competitions and even sang regularly on the radio. Being a radio star in the 1950s is like being a YouTuber with millions of followers in 2021. She was the belle of the town.

Bobo continued singing as a hobby, even when her mental capacities started to decline. Somehow, she managed to remember melodies and songs. Sometimes, she even sat on my piano and plunked out some tunes.

I suppose she died without remembering any of this.

But I remember. And now, you do too.

Bobo means grandmother. It’s a common term for Chinese-Indonesian families. Kung Kung means grandfather, another common Chinese-Indonesian term.

Posted on by — 1 Comment

Bobo Lie, Part 1

Bobo Lie

In November 2020, my 93-year-old grandmother’s health condition dropped. After clearing with the necessary checks to confirm that it was not Covid, we admitted her to the hospital for about a week. Honestly speaking, her 4 sons, 4 daughters-in-laws, 12 grandchildren, and 9 great-grandchildren probably all had the same thought: Bobo Lie (that’s what we call her) is going to die soon. Her sons even gathered in the hospital room, hosting a masked service. Just in case.

Then came February 2021, celebrating Chinese New Year-Zoom family dinners and all. My father contracted the virus and got better (see my reflections on that), the nurse contracted the virus and got sent back to her village but through it all, Bobo Lie? Despite her dementia, she’s still alive and virus-free.

Today, 2nd September 2021, Bobo Lie finally breathed her last.

She is one tough lady.

About five years ago, when she was still living with my parents, an incident happened. I was there practicing piano, as usual, preparing for a concert. I remember I was working on a Brahms Rhapsody. It was a particularly loud passage, so I couldn’t hear anything else. After the forte passage, I heard the household helper scream. My parents were not home, so the helper ran to my piano room in a panic. All she could say was “Bobo, Bobo, blood!” 

I stopped the Brahms and went to check inside Bobo’s room. Bobo was lying on the floor, surrounded by blood. She was conscious though and calmly asked me to help her.

“What happened?” I asked, trying to help her get up.

“The scissors,” she answered vaguely. I saw there was a pair of scissors in the pool of blood, and there was a huge gash on her hand. I knew that she did her sewing, so it was likely that she lost muscular control and somehow fell while cutting her hand very badly.

She is one generous lady.

Bobo is much too old to go anywhere now. Ten years ago she was still able to go to church every Sunday. At that time, her dementia was just beginning. She dressed up as usual, and put some money in her wallet for the offering. The church protocol was for an offering bag to be passed from person to person as people put their money gifts in the bag. Sometimes there would be different colored bags for different purposes/projects.

When the bag reached her, she took out her wallet. There was the money she had prepared: a twenty thousand rupiah bill (equivalent to 15 USD), and spare change in the form of a one hundred rupiah coin (equivalent to 0,01 US cent). I suppose she originally meant to give the bill. However, she reached for the coin instead and dropped it proudly in the offering bag. Reactions from surrounding people included laughter and embarrassment. Perhaps in her mind, she was back half a century ago before the devaluation of the Indonesian currency. Back to a time when coins were still valuable while that particular bill had not even existed yet.

She is one beautiful lady.

When I was a child, my parents often took me to visit Surabaya in East Java. Bobo Lie lived in Surabaya until she was seventy. Then she moved to Bandung (West Java), where three of her four sons lived.

She introduced me to this amazing thing called nail polish. Her nails were always shiny with bright colors. She taught me how to cut my nails properly, how to patiently polish them, and also how to remove the polish when I got bored of the color. Bobo had a large collection of different brands and shades of nail polish. Manicure was an art form for her.

Sadly, I don’t keep up with proper care of my nails. She wouldn’t approve.

Continued to Bobo Lie, Part 2.