Voices of my sisters

by Nurul Syahira (Singapore)

Making a local connection Indonesia

It's that day again. The day where all women come together to march for their rights. The city was filled with pink, rainbow and everything bright. Flags were flying high, and bullhorns can be heard kilometers away. Many had witnessed some form of protest, disagreement, and conflict in their life, but not for me. I grew up in Singapore, also championed as the "the best country in the World". Living in Singapore is safe, too safe, in fact. Upon reaching adulthood, I realized that there was more to life than Singapore, that I have been living inside a safe bubble for too long. "Ungrateful, self-centered, selfish" are often the words directed to me from my family back in Indonesia. Singapore is a city full of hope for many people; similar to the USA. Being the second generation of Indonesian in Singapore, I seized all the opportunities I could and have met the purpose of my family moving here. As I move forward, I start being more liberated in my thoughts. Was I ungrateful? No. Self-centered? No. Selfish? No. As a matter of fact, it's the opposite. Ignorance has long blinded hearts. Amongst the crowd, I felt free, liberated and heard. Compared to these girls who I am standing in line with, I am privileged, and I acknowledged that. But I do listen to them; their stories, struggles, and pain, that as women, we should be together despite our circumstances. "Terima Kasih sudah bergabung (thank you for participating)", whispered Dinda who is a co-founder of a feminism group in Indonesia. The capital city of Jakarta scares me without a doubt. There is an infamous Indonesian saying, "if you survive in Jakarta, you can survive anywhere". During my time in University, I have chanced upon journals about discrimination in Indonesia. Just reading about those issues gave me shivers; of how the same people who campaign for the freedom of their citizens are also the ones shoving them down in misery. Amongst the many posters, the ones that resonated with me the most were; "My success is not determined by marrying a rich guy." "My body is not a reproductive machine." "Education for all." I have always believed that every individual has a story to share. The exchange of conversation alarms you of how the society in Indonesia is structured by sexism. It is even more disheartening to know that are still women who are keen on upholding this patriarchal system. Believing that it is a structure to be enthroned. The scorching heat had melted any traces of makeup I had, making it look like I did go to a battlefield. What was even hotter were the insensitive comments made by police officers who quickly swarmed the marching location. Overhead bridges were full of journalists trying to get the best angle of what's to come; dying to make sexist headlines within a few hours. Their cynical laughter, belittling comments and catcalling could be heard meters away. They all sounded like murmurs as we chant our rights out to keep spirits high. Their voices were challenges to us, and we got louder that it echoes straight to their soul. It's such an irony to be experiencing discrimination during a marching event, but that further highlights the importance of why such movements must be held. "Don't you feel like we're in the zoo right now? These barricades feel like animal cages, and our voices sound like lions roaring in hunger. Our pictures get taken, and we become subjects of their sexist headlines. Like, don't you think we should be getting royalties for all our hard work?" said Karin, who was my march-buddy. I have long been accused of disconnecting with my roots. Part of me did not want to communicate with my family in Indonesia, for they have hurt me with their mockery and insults. But it seemed like I have connected with my roots organically. One that does not force me to become someone that I am not meant to be.