…and that was Jakarta

Teaching Language in Jakarta is No Joke

Recently I have found that I have lost my humour. My thinking is tainted by a negative hue, like a tumour. My spark and my wit have turned to shit as I’ve become gloomier and gloomier. I need to get back on the funny track soon, if not sooner.

The reason I’ve lost it isn’t something eluding me. I’ve left home to come and work in a completely new country. The culture’s Islamic – not that people are rude to me, but I don’t know the language so I’m lost out here socially.

There are westerners and expats and the places they go, but drinking’s expensive with a ‘sin tax’ on alcohol. And work as an English teacher means my wages are low, so even living near the oil and gas expats is a no-no.

I’ve searched for my mirth in the spirit of drink, supping beers in bars with strangers to make social links. I’ve found it then, albeit just a temporary glimpse. The next day, it disappears with a pain between the ears, and a hangover so bad, I can barely think.

I spend way too much time sat in front of the TV. But the rolling news channels are just filled with war, death and misery. The sport and the movies entertain, but they neuter me. Doing nothing is uninspiring, it’s a life that’s too sedentary.

If my humour doesn’t return then I’ll be heading back home. It’s cold, grey and boring, but at least I’m not alone. In fact most of my humour came from a bloody good moan. But it’s lost in translation when the joke’s on its own.