Nukilan
Text by Langgam Novena18 August 1945
It has been a day since Indonesia gained independence. We are no longer a colonised country. There is a strange, eerie, almost foreign feeling writing this journal entry down. I had to put my pen down and read the first sentence I wrote. Indonesia gained independence. At last, we are free. We, as a country, no longer succumb to the pits of colonialism. I now wonder about the things that may be of this wondrous country I call home. Tanah airku. I yearn to see what kind of country Indonesia would become… These past few months, Soekarno’s nationalistic propaganda echoes through our old radio. I could not help but to dream of what heights Indonesia could reach. What new chances await out there for Indonesians…?
I may say Indonesia is independent, but the reality is Ngayogyakarta is still under Japanese rule. I live in Ngayogyakarta. That is the reality… but I felt positive that we will follow suit. Besides, Ngayogyakarta is a special city. Batavia would not forget about us. I mean Djakarta.
Mother made us soto ayam. When I say us, I am just referring to my mother, my maid and me. The chicken was slightly stale. I can tell that this was the little chick that was frolicking in front of our house just about one month ago. Oh, how I miss the days when there were the four of us (and Mpok Inem, of course… which makes five).
Writing this reminds me of my brother. It has been several weeks since he sent his last letters. The last letter he sent me had a cut-out, crumpled article from Het Vrije Volk. It feels strange having to write Dutch after years of not doing it… I mean, it was not long since we stopped studying and speaking in Dutch but still. We have the freedom now to speak our language. In any case, it is hard to find newspapers on socialism and communist ideas here in my country. Thankfully, I have Soeyato and my father. It is not meant to say that I do not enjoy reading William Wordsworth’s poems or Virginia Woolf now… It is just that - as I come to walk longer on this earth, I enjoy understanding how the world works. Non-fiction literature if I may say. On ideas, why people act certain ways, why societies fail and rise… This is what intrigues me. Although it shouldn’t.
There was an article from one of the newspapers my brother sent me. It had the word feminism… It was the first time I knew of this word. Which in short, speaks about the emancipation of women. I told my father about it and he laughed. Not quite sure why. But, perhaps one day I will find a library with a special section devoted to it…
All in all, I felt like today was a pleasant yet boring day. I still need to wash my mother's tea cup and biscuit plate after this…
30 August 1945
I am so confused. I went on a brief walk today with Mpok Inem to get some spices. First of all, most of them were rotten. Second of all, I still see Japanese flags raised up in government buildings. Perhaps that is why father was sent to Djakarta - because he can’t build buildings yet in Ngayogyakarta as it is still ruled by Japan. I heard from Tukiman that some locals are planning to put the flags down and attack the government buildings where Japan is located. I asked if I could join and he laughed at me. A pretty girl like you should not be seen by the Japanese. I was going to say something but was weakened at the thought of what he ought to mean.
I heard they were planning to do this more so in a month. I wonder if I could do more than just sit around. My brother said Analisa and him have been more and more active in Perhimpunan Indonesia. What a life he has there in Leiden. Analisa could speak and not be silenced in the room, everyone respected her speech he said… Yet here, I am invincible. If ever I move to Europe, will I be heard? Will they not laugh at me when I say that women are more than just pleasers of men and servants of the home? Will they applaud me for saying that women should have a position in the resistance? These are my questions for the universe today…
10 September 1945
This morning my mother woke me up and said I should prepare my best shoes for a flag ceremony soon. Not quite sure when. It was said that Kraton Yogyakarta has officially become a part of NKRI and in a couple of days, a flag ceremony was due to happen in the town hall. Father came home at the beginning of the month, and the main reason why I was given this opportunity was pretty obvious. Father was invited to celebrate this, as he is quite well-versed within the head of governance, even had chats with the Sultan. Mother did not ask to come with nor did father invited her. It made me wonder… Am I only able to get close to these powerful men because of my privilege of being my father’s daughter?
My relationship with my father has been tumultuous ever since he got back. He would speak about the situation in Djakarta, how many things would need to be fixed. How he needed to find a new style of building and seemingly remove his presumptions about architecture. Afterall, he was mostly Dutch-educated, like me. I went to a white school, again, thanks to my father's position. I spoke fluent Dutch, and my friends were Dutch as well. However, I was never truly one of them… and they knew it.
I asked my father, quite gently, if he would accept my request to study abroad, just like Soeyato. He looked at me as if I was a madwoman. He said something atrocious, along the lines of: “It is going to be difficult for you to find a husband if you are highly educated. Besides, even if you find a husband, your knowledge would be useless. You will probably just work as a librarian or a shop clerk. Or else, become a teacher. That is what women are made for. If you want to study politics, law, economics, science, engineering… or that woman's thing you have been talking about… it will simply be useless as it is not a woman’s place to judge the role of man.”
I was surprised. I brought up Soeyato’s girlfriend. He said she was allowed to study because she is of different ethnicity; not Javanese. And the mindset of a Javanese is distinct. Men do the work, women support men. I remember the look in my mother’s eye… signalling me to stop talking about it. I am tired… of not being able to be seen as equal, and just being made to clean the clothes of a man who has worked. It is not to say that cleaning and cooking is not an important thing, it is more that… is this what we are made for, as women? Does my mother not have dreams and aspirations when we were younger, more than just being a wife? I reflect upon my identity as a Javanese woman. Mostly, Javanese women are portrayed as an extension of man. Swarga Nunut, Neraka Katut – as the saying goes. How is it that a woman's fate is decided by man? Even in that saying, a woman is defined as a wife and wife only. Wherever the husband goes, the wife follows - may it be to heaven or hell. How can that be? I feel like I am about to combust to a million pieces. I recall the times I went to a traditional Javanese wedding where the bride has to wash the groom’s feet…. It is not symbolic, it is a premonition of the woman’s fate.
10 October 1945
It was the flag ceremony today. Longer than I thought, but I heard from the radio and the newspapers that Japanese forces have fully surrendered in my city. I was instructed to become one of the girls to stand beside the officials whom I cannot recall the name of. My father stood behind us, mingling between the higher-ups. There were several Dutch people who still lived there. One of my friends from Dutch school, Lienke, was there. I have not seen her in a while, but we had a chance to chat earlier. She says she is going back to Holland soon. There is no way that it is safe for her here. She feels foreign here now. I chuckled in my heart at her response.
To say the least, the flag ceremony was not grand - but enough to make everyone feel like Yogya is a part of Indonesia. A rebellion took place a couple days back. Tukiman did not join as he had broken a leg in mid-September but he was a reliable source on what was happening. I wonder what will happen after this. Aplenty needs to be rebuilt, yes. I feel an unwavering sense of dissociation when I flatter my thoughts with my country and my role. Father is completely unconvinced with my request to study abroad. I argued and attacked him personally, I think. I said that he had no right to think that way, because he himself is not that much of a Javanese man anymore. He worked for the Dutch, was Dutch educated, mingled with the Dutch as well. If he was so open to this world, why must he close the world off from me, his daughter?
Being at the flag ceremony today made me realise, maybe I will never be the one giving grand, charismatic speeches like Seokarno. I am only fit for ironing the clothes of the men who will give speeches and all that. I am only fit for cooking the food to give them energy and power to give these passionate speeches. Alas, I will never give speeches and will not be able to change the world through my dialogue.
I do not even know if I will ever see the world anymore. Will it be possible for me to speak to women who feel the same way? Will there ever be someone brave to speak of the injustice of women in newly independent countries? Will there be change, perhaps, as we are now independent? I pray closely and write this down as I prepare what to say to father again, for him to be convinced that I should study in another country…
I still want to see the world… and all the books they offer….
It has been a day since Indonesia gained independence. We are no longer a colonised country. There is a strange, eerie, almost foreign feeling writing this journal entry down. I had to put my pen down and read the first sentence I wrote. Indonesia gained independence. At last, we are free. We, as a country, no longer succumb to the pits of colonialism. I now wonder about the things that may be of this wondrous country I call home. Tanah airku. I yearn to see what kind of country Indonesia would become… These past few months, Soekarno’s nationalistic propaganda echoes through our old radio. I could not help but to dream of what heights Indonesia could reach. What new chances await out there for Indonesians…?
I may say Indonesia is independent, but the reality is Ngayogyakarta is still under Japanese rule. I live in Ngayogyakarta. That is the reality… but I felt positive that we will follow suit. Besides, Ngayogyakarta is a special city. Batavia would not forget about us. I mean Djakarta.
Mother made us soto ayam. When I say us, I am just referring to my mother, my maid and me. The chicken was slightly stale. I can tell that this was the little chick that was frolicking in front of our house just about one month ago. Oh, how I miss the days when there were the four of us (and Mpok Inem, of course… which makes five).
Writing this reminds me of my brother. It has been several weeks since he sent his last letters. The last letter he sent me had a cut-out, crumpled article from Het Vrije Volk. It feels strange having to write Dutch after years of not doing it… I mean, it was not long since we stopped studying and speaking in Dutch but still. We have the freedom now to speak our language. In any case, it is hard to find newspapers on socialism and communist ideas here in my country. Thankfully, I have Soeyato and my father. It is not meant to say that I do not enjoy reading William Wordsworth’s poems or Virginia Woolf now… It is just that - as I come to walk longer on this earth, I enjoy understanding how the world works. Non-fiction literature if I may say. On ideas, why people act certain ways, why societies fail and rise… This is what intrigues me. Although it shouldn’t.
There was an article from one of the newspapers my brother sent me. It had the word feminism… It was the first time I knew of this word. Which in short, speaks about the emancipation of women. I told my father about it and he laughed. Not quite sure why. But, perhaps one day I will find a library with a special section devoted to it…
All in all, I felt like today was a pleasant yet boring day. I still need to wash my mother's tea cup and biscuit plate after this…
30 August 1945
I am so confused. I went on a brief walk today with Mpok Inem to get some spices. First of all, most of them were rotten. Second of all, I still see Japanese flags raised up in government buildings. Perhaps that is why father was sent to Djakarta - because he can’t build buildings yet in Ngayogyakarta as it is still ruled by Japan. I heard from Tukiman that some locals are planning to put the flags down and attack the government buildings where Japan is located. I asked if I could join and he laughed at me. A pretty girl like you should not be seen by the Japanese. I was going to say something but was weakened at the thought of what he ought to mean.
I heard they were planning to do this more so in a month. I wonder if I could do more than just sit around. My brother said Analisa and him have been more and more active in Perhimpunan Indonesia. What a life he has there in Leiden. Analisa could speak and not be silenced in the room, everyone respected her speech he said… Yet here, I am invincible. If ever I move to Europe, will I be heard? Will they not laugh at me when I say that women are more than just pleasers of men and servants of the home? Will they applaud me for saying that women should have a position in the resistance? These are my questions for the universe today…
10 September 1945
This morning my mother woke me up and said I should prepare my best shoes for a flag ceremony soon. Not quite sure when. It was said that Kraton Yogyakarta has officially become a part of NKRI and in a couple of days, a flag ceremony was due to happen in the town hall. Father came home at the beginning of the month, and the main reason why I was given this opportunity was pretty obvious. Father was invited to celebrate this, as he is quite well-versed within the head of governance, even had chats with the Sultan. Mother did not ask to come with nor did father invited her. It made me wonder… Am I only able to get close to these powerful men because of my privilege of being my father’s daughter?
My relationship with my father has been tumultuous ever since he got back. He would speak about the situation in Djakarta, how many things would need to be fixed. How he needed to find a new style of building and seemingly remove his presumptions about architecture. Afterall, he was mostly Dutch-educated, like me. I went to a white school, again, thanks to my father's position. I spoke fluent Dutch, and my friends were Dutch as well. However, I was never truly one of them… and they knew it.
I asked my father, quite gently, if he would accept my request to study abroad, just like Soeyato. He looked at me as if I was a madwoman. He said something atrocious, along the lines of: “It is going to be difficult for you to find a husband if you are highly educated. Besides, even if you find a husband, your knowledge would be useless. You will probably just work as a librarian or a shop clerk. Or else, become a teacher. That is what women are made for. If you want to study politics, law, economics, science, engineering… or that woman's thing you have been talking about… it will simply be useless as it is not a woman’s place to judge the role of man.”
I was surprised. I brought up Soeyato’s girlfriend. He said she was allowed to study because she is of different ethnicity; not Javanese. And the mindset of a Javanese is distinct. Men do the work, women support men. I remember the look in my mother’s eye… signalling me to stop talking about it. I am tired… of not being able to be seen as equal, and just being made to clean the clothes of a man who has worked. It is not to say that cleaning and cooking is not an important thing, it is more that… is this what we are made for, as women? Does my mother not have dreams and aspirations when we were younger, more than just being a wife? I reflect upon my identity as a Javanese woman. Mostly, Javanese women are portrayed as an extension of man. Swarga Nunut, Neraka Katut – as the saying goes. How is it that a woman's fate is decided by man? Even in that saying, a woman is defined as a wife and wife only. Wherever the husband goes, the wife follows - may it be to heaven or hell. How can that be? I feel like I am about to combust to a million pieces. I recall the times I went to a traditional Javanese wedding where the bride has to wash the groom’s feet…. It is not symbolic, it is a premonition of the woman’s fate.
10 October 1945
It was the flag ceremony today. Longer than I thought, but I heard from the radio and the newspapers that Japanese forces have fully surrendered in my city. I was instructed to become one of the girls to stand beside the officials whom I cannot recall the name of. My father stood behind us, mingling between the higher-ups. There were several Dutch people who still lived there. One of my friends from Dutch school, Lienke, was there. I have not seen her in a while, but we had a chance to chat earlier. She says she is going back to Holland soon. There is no way that it is safe for her here. She feels foreign here now. I chuckled in my heart at her response.
To say the least, the flag ceremony was not grand - but enough to make everyone feel like Yogya is a part of Indonesia. A rebellion took place a couple days back. Tukiman did not join as he had broken a leg in mid-September but he was a reliable source on what was happening. I wonder what will happen after this. Aplenty needs to be rebuilt, yes. I feel an unwavering sense of dissociation when I flatter my thoughts with my country and my role. Father is completely unconvinced with my request to study abroad. I argued and attacked him personally, I think. I said that he had no right to think that way, because he himself is not that much of a Javanese man anymore. He worked for the Dutch, was Dutch educated, mingled with the Dutch as well. If he was so open to this world, why must he close the world off from me, his daughter?
Being at the flag ceremony today made me realise, maybe I will never be the one giving grand, charismatic speeches like Seokarno. I am only fit for ironing the clothes of the men who will give speeches and all that. I am only fit for cooking the food to give them energy and power to give these passionate speeches. Alas, I will never give speeches and will not be able to change the world through my dialogue.
I do not even know if I will ever see the world anymore. Will it be possible for me to speak to women who feel the same way? Will there ever be someone brave to speak of the injustice of women in newly independent countries? Will there be change, perhaps, as we are now independent? I pray closely and write this down as I prepare what to say to father again, for him to be convinced that I should study in another country…
I still want to see the world… and all the books they offer….