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Your letters: Violence, marathons, Indonesia, Boston
One of the best parts of living in Indonesia, 12 hours ahead of American time, is waking up in the morning and scrolling through my Facebook feed to see what my friends in America did
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ne of the best parts of living in Indonesia, 12 hours ahead of American time, is waking up in the morning and scrolling through my Facebook feed to see what my friends in America did.
Tuesday was not a good morning. Monday night, as I went to bed, I saw pictures of friends from my running group at home as they were preparing to run the Boston Marathon, the US's oldest and most iconic race.
People train hard for years to qualify for Boston. Even for runners who know we'll never qualify, we still think about the possibility (if I had a great day'¦; if I could lose 15 pounds [7 kilograms] ..; if I can still run this fast when I'm 70'¦).
Based on my age and gender, I would have to run a 3:35 marathon to qualify. That will never happen, but for my friends who are just a little faster and a lot more competitive, it's within the realm of possibility.
Tuesday morning, I was excited to wake up and see how they had done in Monday's race. And, of course, the first thing I saw was the terrible news of two bombs at the finish line.
For some reason, when people hear about a senseless act of violence, we want to find a connection to our own lives. Maybe it's human compassion, maybe it's voyeurism, but we want to take someone else's tragedy and make it our own. We update our Facebook status, we tweet: 'We are all New York;' 'Praying for the people of Aceh;' 'Those could have been my friends;' 'That could have been my child.' We want to be part of it, and somehow we feel like we are.
People here in Indonesia are the same way, and often, I am their connection. For many of my students and colleagues, I am the only American they know well, or even the only American they have ever met. When a tragedy occurs in the States, they often seek me out. 'We are sorry to hear the news,' they say. 'Are your family and friends okay?'
Usually, my family and friends are hundreds of miles away ' many Indonesians don't know New York from New Mexico. I let this slide since many Americans don't know that Sumatra and Java are more than coffees at Starbucks. But, by being able to connect with me, an actual American, they seem to feel a connection with the tragedy, and they have a conduit for their condolences.
Of course some of my friends were there, had passed the exact bombing site only minutes before. And even more of my friends felt like they were there. People come to run Boston from all over the US. I would bet that any distance runner in America who runs with a group knows at least one runner in Boston and immediately thought of that friend.
Actually, many of them had already been thinking of those friends all morning as they ran the 26.2 miles (42 kilometers) from Hopkinton to Copley Square, mentally sending luck and encouragement. We think about them going to the race exposition while we are doing our own long run Saturday morning.
We see Facebook pictures of them having their pre-run pasta on Sunday night. We post good luck comments on the picture of them on the bus that morning. We follow their progress online. A little bit of us is there too. So when we imagine their finish line excitement and triumph turning into tragedy, we also experience it with them.
I feel a little bit sheepish saying this about something as secular as a foot race, but there is something sacred about the finish line. I always cry as I cross. I'm not sure if that is because I'm proud of my accomplishment, overcome with endorphins, or just happy I don't have to run anymore.
Living in Indonesia, in a Muslim society, I have come to love the phrase Alhamdulillah. I explain it to my American friends as 'Praise be to God,' but that just doesn't have the same ring to it. I can see why Muslims continue to recite the Koran in the original Arabic; there is a true power and beauty in the language. That may be why Alhamdullilah just seems more powerful than 'Thank God' or 'Praise the Lord.' So that's what came to my mind.
When I read the email from Marathoners in Training (MIT), my running group in Columbus, saying that all the runners from our group were safe. Alhamdullilah.
When I saw my friend Katie's Facebook status: Just wanted to let you know that I'm OK. Alhamdullilah.
Ever since Sept 11, 2001, many Americans think of Islam when they think of terrorism, and that is a sad and unfortunate connection. But after two years of living in a Muslim society, among some of the kindest and most thoughtful people I have ever met, now I will too. Alhamdulillah.
Tabitha Kidwell
English language fellow,
US Embassy Regional English Language Office
Lecturer, STAIN Salatiga
