Published at

    22 Jan, 2025

    Author

    Gripastudio

    What does it mean to feel at home in a world that’s constantly shifting? For those of us caught between the timeless pull of tradition and the relentless march of modernity, it can feel like we’re living two lives at once. One rooted in rituals, stories, and customs passed down through generations. The other racing forward, driven by global trends and infinite possibilities. But is it possible to embrace both without losing our way? To weave the wisdom of the past into the fabric of the present? Let’s pause for a moment, quiet the noise, and listen to the whispers of our roots. They might just hold the answer.

    I was born in the early 60s, into a Javanese family that lived by the quiet power of tradition. Back then, life was steeped in rituals—things you didn’t question because they weren’t meant to be questioned. The choice of words when speaking to the elderly, the rhythm of gamelan music in ceremonies, the subtle grace in a bow of respect. These weren’t just practices; they were a language, a code, and a compass all rolled into one.

    But life has a way of shaking even the roots you thought would hold forever. As a diplomat, my father exposed our family to different cultures, but most of my childhood was spent in a metropolitan city where the skyline rose higher with each passing year. Along with it came the noise of other cultures. It became a constant dance—our feet planted firmly in the soil of Javanese heritage, while our arms reached out to embrace pieces of the fast-paced, globalized world surrounding us. One moment, we were captivated by traditional dances; the next, we were laughing at Western sitcoms. One day, we marveled at shadow puppets (wayang kulit); the next, we were hooked on Star Trek: The Next Generation on color TVs. And over time, the whispers of tradition felt quieter, drowned out by the roar of modernity.

    Fast forward to now. I sit in the middle of the information age, where a swipe of a finger can transport me to Tokyo’s neon streets, a Brooklyn art gallery, or a wellness retreat in Bali (ironically advertised by a foreign influencer). The world feels closer than ever, yet my own roots feel farther away.

    And it’s not just me. Think about it: most of us know more about foreign cuisines than the richness of Indonesian dishes beyond nasi goreng or rendang. Our playlists brim with global pop stars, while gamelan music feels like something we dust off for a once-a-year performance. Younger generations can name five K-drama stars off the top of their heads but might stumble when asked to name five national heroes.

    This shift wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t some grand conspiracy to erase tradition. It happened quietly, like a slow, unstoppable wave as the internet opened our eyes to the rest of the world. Foreign cultures feel shinier, more exciting, more current. Meanwhile, our own traditions often get dismissed as old-fashioned, inconvenient, or irrelevant.

    ### Losing the Art of Integration Yet, as Indonesians, balancing contrasts is nothing new. It’s woven into our identity. For centuries, we’ve been a nation of intersections—a sprawling archipelago shaped by trade, colonization, and waves of migration. Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity have all found a home here. Our ancestors didn’t reject the new; they absorbed it. They wove something foreign into the fabric of their lives without losing their essence. But today, it feels like we’ve forgotten that skill. The information age brings so much to our doorstep, yet instead of weaving, we consume. Instead of adapting, we imitate. It’s easier to wear a Hollywood trend than a _kebaya_ because we fear looking ‘outdated.’ It’s simpler to follow global fads than to see the depth of _batik_ patterns—more than just fabric, they carry symbols of life, death, and everything in between. And yet, somewhere deep down, the longing for our roots remains. It’s in the goosebumps we feel when a traditional _gamelan_ orchestra echoes through an ancient temple. It’s in the quiet awe of standing before Borobudur at sunrise. It’s in the comfort of sipping _jamu_ from a street vendor while the world rushes by.

    Losing the Art of Integration

    Yet, as Indonesians, balancing contrasts is nothing new. It’s woven into our identity. For centuries, we’ve been a nation of intersections—a sprawling archipelago shaped by trade, colonization, and waves of migration. Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, and Christianity have all found a home here. Our ancestors didn’t reject the new; they absorbed it. They wove something foreign into the fabric of their lives without losing their essence.

    But today, it feels like we’ve forgotten that skill.

    The information age brings so much to our doorstep, yet instead of weaving, we consume. Instead of adapting, we imitate. It’s easier to wear a Hollywood trend than a kebaya because we fear looking ‘outdated.’ It’s simpler to follow global fads than to see the depth of batik patterns—more than just fabric, they carry symbols of life, death, and everything in between.

    And yet, somewhere deep down, the longing for our roots remains. It’s in the goosebumps we feel when a traditional gamelan orchestra echoes through an ancient temple. It’s in the quiet awe of standing before Borobudur at sunrise. It’s in the comfort of sipping jamu from a street vendor while the world rushes by.

    Navigating the Tension Between Old and New

    So where does that leave us? Torn between the modern and the traditional, between speed and stillness, between Instagram-worthy trends and ancestral whispers?

    The answer isn’t to reject the new or cling blindly to the old. It’s about finding a rhythm—a way to honor both. Traditions aren’t meant to stay frozen in time. They’re meant to evolve with us.

    What if we treated our culture not as a museum artifact to preserve, but as a living, breathing part of our identity? What if we let it grow alongside us? Imagine being proud of both our batik and our Apple Music playlists, of quoting Javanese proverbs while enjoying French films.

    Reconnecting in a Fragmented World

    This isn’t just a lofty idea—it’s something we can all begin, quietly, in our everyday lives.

    The next time you scroll through social media, pause and follow an account that highlights Indonesian culture—traditional dances, local artisans, or regional recipes. When dining out, go beyond the familiar and taste the hidden gems of Indonesian cuisine from different islands. Ask about the history behind the food. Share with younger generations one family tradition, whether it’s the art of greeting elders properly or the story behind your family’s heirlooms.

    These aren’t grand gestures. They’re whispers—soft, steady reminders that our roots are still here, waiting for us to listen.

    ### Where I’ve Landed Looking back, I realize my parents’ greatest gift wasn’t just the traditions they passed down, but the permission to grow beyond them. They never asked me to choose between _gamelan_ and contemporary jazz, or _wayang kulit_ and the city skyline. They let me hold both. Now, as I see younger Indonesians navigating a world far faster and more connected than mine ever was, I hope they remember this: You don’t have to choose. You can be both global and local. The trick is to hold your roots close, even as your branches stretch toward the sky. The world is noisy, but traditions have always been a quiet, steady whisper. And sometimes, in the chaos of modernity, all we need is to pause and listen - it’s the whispers that usually carry us home.

    Where I’ve Landed

    Looking back, I realize my parents’ greatest gift wasn’t just the traditions they passed down, but the permission to grow beyond them. They never asked me to choose between gamelan and contemporary jazz, or wayang kulit and the city skyline. They let me hold both.

    Now, as I see younger Indonesians navigating a world far faster and more connected than mine ever was, I hope they remember this: You don’t have to choose. You can be both global and local. The trick is to hold your roots close, even as your branches stretch toward the sky.

    The world is noisy, but traditions have always been a quiet, steady whisper. And sometimes, in the chaos of modernity, all we need is to pause and listen - it’s the whispers that usually carry us home.

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