Monthly Archives: October 2013

EXPATS LOVE STDs

condompackThe longer I live and the further I travel, the more I become exposed to it.  I just can’t avoid it and I never seem to be able to prevent it.  I’ve experienced it a few times, and I’ve even been experiencing a mild case over the past week while my beloved boyfriend has been in Australia.  It hurts, it’s awkward, and there’s no fast way to get rid of it.

But it’s not just I who has been caught in the wrath of such woe.  I have been discussing the bloody issue with strangers, acquaintances, and my dear old friends and most of them are either going through one now, or have suffered the cringing ordeal at least once in their lives.

We are experiencing it on all corners of the world and most of us have come into contact with one so let’s just put it out there – Sexually transmitted distance (“STD”), or what is otherwise known as the “long-distance relationship” curse is a harsh reality in our increasingly international and globalised lives.  A generation of explorers with hearts on fire and minds under scrutiny are succumbing to the exotic vices of new and exciting territories and getting tied down in sexually transmitted distance faster than bona fide employment.

Sexually transmitted distance/long-distance relationships are defined as “any kind of love that endures oceans apart”.  No matter how long lovers are separated for – whether days, weeks, months or years – the time apart, the distance between hearts, and the suspense in between is a lethal combination.  Sexually transmitted distance is a pain in the ass.  It gives you the shits, has you run down, stressed out, and sleep deprived.  Although it can have its perks, it can be a tormenting ordeal to survive!

In fact,  sexually transmitted distance/long-distance relationships are sexually transmitted diseases – they’re fucking dangerous, easy to catch, very painful and spread like wildfire among backpackers in exotic and sexy places.  We all think it will never happen to us, but just like a bout of good old Chlamydia, you catch it in a moment of passion and desire and then it eats you up inside for many moons to come.  You get swept away in the romance and suddenly you’re carrying the burden of an STD that you just can’t seem to shake off. The long-distance in between lingers all over and devours you within like a bad case of Genital Herpes. And most disturbing of it all is that you can’t have sex for a long, long time.  It hurts, it stings, and the pain gets worse the longer it manifests.   But you can’t seem to get rid of it because it represents the passion, adventure, intimacy and love shared between you and the person who made it happen.  The romance is sweeter than candy and as addictive as heroin.  Battling through an STD/long-distance relationship is an epic fight.

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Long distance love royally sucks and burns as bad as a serious case of the Clap.  It’s a bitter sweet combination of being utterly besotted with somebody yet not being able to smell, touch and taste them. The drama is addictive but the absence is torture.  You’re both connected through the mutual feeling of dissatisfaction, sexual frustration, and yearning for the holiday romance that brought your souls together, yet you’re stranded oceans apart with a continent of insecurity and distrust wedged in between you.

Sexually transmitted distance is running rampant, and particularly so in the dirty, deviant, and debaucherous circles of the young expatriate community.  We are taking on the world from stations far away from home.  We are facing new challenges and embracing new people.  As the global nomads of our over-indulged and over-privileged generation, us budding expats are young, dumb and full of love for the new, exotic, and exciting cultures that the world has to offer.  Our current crop of world-explorers and desperate job seekers is jet-setting across the world and on the quest for income, worldly experiences, and good old fashioned L.O.V.E.  As a result of the constant international quest for pleasure and success, we are getting sucked into STDs left right and centre.  In other words, the conservative cultural prejudices of generations past are now well and truly out the window.  Sexually transmitted distance is becoming more frequent, and it’s here to stay.  And nowhere is the legacy of sexually transmitted distance more fiery than in a flourishing expatriate community such as the one here in Princess Jakarta and extending to all over the world.  Skype is on and the clothes are off.

An insatiable hunger for new cultures and experiences, a thirst for adventure, and a raging libido is a lethal combination rendering us globe-trotting expatriates particularly susceptible to sexually transmitted distance. Like the prospect of catching Genital Herpes, we all fear falling under the spell of a long-distance lover.  But long distance love is as resilient as the phoenix.  And with the exception of facist dickheads, asexual oddities, and those on the “call to duty”, I can safely say that we are all vulnerable to falling victim to the curse of long distance love.  Like Genital Warts on a sexual deviant, long distance relationships are part of living a vibrant life with an open heart.  Not for the faint-hearted, it is a curse that every adventurer inevitably falls under.  But it’s not a bad thing and it doesn’t make us hopeless, weak, dependent or desperate people.  Long-distance relationships are part of life.  They make us stronger, patient, tolerant and committed.  And despite the pitfalls, tears, cracked computer screens and Facebook blow-ups, I fully advocate diving in naked, balls deep and exposed into the turbulence of a long-distance relationship.  Just like the thought of catching the Clap, the prospect of having a long-distance relationship is unsavoury, but it never stopped us from living, loving and sharing a world of pleasure with our significant other.  There is no limit to the altitudes or depths that two ambitious, passionate, nomadic souls can reach.  And when you both persevere and push through it, you reach levels of patience and commitment that you never expected possible.  In the end, after you both survive the sexually transmitted distance ordeal together, the distance becomes a distant memory in itself, and you both sit back and laugh at the tough times gone by. Expats love STDs. Why don’t you give it a try?

AUSSIE FEVER HITS JAKARTA

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Acknowledged – Jakarta is inundated with Australians, Australian foreign affairs, and Australian interests every day of the freaking calendar year (we are neighbouring nations after all).  But after what I have been confronted with over the days gone by, I stand strong in my belief that this week was an exceptionally Australia-drenched period for Princess Jakarta.  Over the last seven days we have been so smothered in “Down Under” goodness that I swear I saw kangaroos hopping through Jl. Thamrin.  This week myself and my Australian mates have all practically forgotten Bahasa, developed an addiction to Cadbury Chocolate, and have been religiously tuned into the “Australia Network” more intensely than ever.  The reason for this patriotic behaviour? AUSTRALIA FEVER has hit Princess Jakarta, transmitted brutally by the gladiatorial Lance Franklin and new Prime-ministerial Tony Abbott.  Symptoms are as follows:

Firstly, HAWTHORN WON THE AFL GRAND FINAL 2013 AND THOUSANDS OF AUSSIE EXPATS UNITED IN JAKARTA TO CELEBRATE!  AFL Grand Final day is the biggest Aussie day of the year.  Temperatures rose and brown and gold were everywhere to be seen.  A sense of true sportsmanship, grand-final euphoria and paralytic tendencies were detected among victims of the Grand Final Fever.  Bringing people together with a more powerful force than the 26th of January ever had, Saturday the 28th of September was the one day of the year where Australians in Jakarta could legitimately take the prize for the most “gila” of all “bule gila”, rock-out-with-our-cocks-out and get tanked in this flourishing Muslim country from the wee early hour of 9 am onwards.  Kicking off at 11.30 am Jakarta time, every Australian in Princess Jakarta was glued to their radios, televisions, and big screens at any pub that was willing to open at such an ungodly hour to witness pure Australian carnage at its best.

The most die-hard and dedicated of Australians in Jakarta congregated at the Ritz Carlton for an all-day free-for-all of AFL goodness.  Tickets to the famous Grand Final event had sold out (naturally, because it was so quintessentially Australian that you could almost smell the grass and soil of the MCG from Pacific Place).  It was pure expatriate decadence with all the dirty, grimy Aussie trimmings.

The less fortunate of us were forced to descend upon any bar that would open its doors early on a Saturday.  I gravitated towards the trusty Hawthorn-friendly territory of Eastern Promise,  Kemang’s famous expatriate haunt where the food is to die for and the patrons even more substantial.  Myself, a random German couple and the more blue-collar of us Aussie expats were welcomed into the one bar in Jakarta that exclusively and with dedication supports the Hawthorn Hawks.   Settling down onto the stools in the corner, we were swept away by two hours of pure brown and gold Hawthorn domination.  Eastern Promise looked after us loyal Hawks fans well – our bellies were full of hot Australian meat pies, bubbly cold beers, and an assortment of other greasy delicacies from the pub menu.  The crowd was adorable and spirits were high.  And it was all the more satisfying to see a Melbourne team take home the 2013 AFL Premiership. The cries of the Perth mining crowd huddled in the back corners of the bar, outnumbered by us stoic Melbournians, were a faint squeak compared to the roar of Victorian victory when the final siren sounded.

It was well worth the unhealthily early start, the pre-12 pm alcohol, and the cringing feeling of being a fish out of conservative Indonesian waters for a day just to watch the mighty Hawks bring home victory.  But when we eventually ventured out of what is normally a night-haunt into the harsh sunlight of a Jakarta Saturday afternoon, our souls were quickly jolted back to reality.  No longer were we immersed in a sea of Melbourne madness, icy winds, and Richmond smog – we were back in Princess Jakarta and facing a night of Australians gone bad in old Batavia.  And then the sweet taste of victory soon turned sour as news broke out that Buddy sold-out to Sydney – a ripe shit-stain on the spoils of a war well won.

Secondly, AUSTRALIA’S PRIME MINISTER CAME TO JAKARTA!  Just as we were recovering from Grand Final Fever, out stepped Prime Minister Tony Abbott and his massive entourage of Australians, Australians, and more Australians into the melting pot of Princess Jakarta.  Monday the 30th of September 2013 marked the date when the recently sworn-in new Prime Minister of Australia officially commenced his first overseas visit of the term, endowing President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono with the honour of breaking the seal in Indonesian territory. Heavily clad with an onslaught of Indonesia-friendly, cautious, and flattering rhetoric, Prime Minister Abbott flawlessly navigated himself through the deluge that Indonesians see as a Labour-lead mine-field of bilateral tensions – live cattle jousting, West-Papuan grand-standing and boat people hand-balling.  “Sovereignty” was the buzz-word of the visit, along with a push for educational ties and selling Aussie land to ease off live-cattle export stalemates.

His address to Indonesian audiences a mere shadow of his stern campaign tirade, Prime Minister Abbott played his cards well by bowing his head, pulling back his guns, and holding out a ripper limp handshake to win over his cautious Indonesian counterparts.  And now he has exited with a bang, leaving us gagging for more engagement and waiting with baited breath to see the unfolding results from 36 hours of bilateral back-scratching.

And on this fine Wednesday evening in Princess Jakarta, there you have it – two momentous events that bring the good, the bad, and the sweaty of Australian culture right into the hearts of Indonesians across the archipelago.  This week Princess Jakarta has become the metaphorical transit point on the journey back home, and my heart has never felt more patriotic.   As September enters October, and we fall deeper into those final months of a challenging year, never have I felt more attached, home sick, and exhilarated due to the pull of our “Sunburnt Country” through doses of Australiana left right and centre, scattered across this minefield of traffic, nasi goreng and batik.

If this week was dominated by a downpour of Sherrin balls and Liberal policies, what will next week bring?