An Indonesian Chapter written by a Filipino Student teacher

INTRODUCTION

There is something strange about arriving in a new country and immediately feeling both lost and at home at the same time. This chronicle serves a simple yet deliberate purpose: to document my four weeks as a student teacher from Southern Leyte State University – Tomas Oppus Campus, deployed to Universitas Islam Darul Ulum (UNISDA) in Lamongan, East Java, under the SEA Teacher Program of SEAMEO. 

More than a mere travel diary, these pages aim to capture the raw, unpolished reality of cultural exchange—the classroom observations, the teaching demonstrations, the daily struggles with language barriers, and the small victories that rarely make it into glossy brochures. I write this not as a finished expert on Indonesian education or culture, but as a Filipino student teacher who showed up, stumbled, learned, and eventually found her footing in a country that felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

When I first learned that I would spend an entire month in Indonesia, my emotions swung between exhilaration and dread. Exhilaration, because the opportunity to teach abroad was exactly the kind of bold, formative experience I had always dreamed of. Dread, because I am not naturally adventurous. I worry about stomachaches from unfamiliar food. I fear getting lost in streets whose names I cannot pronounce. I questioned whether my English‑based instruction would make any sense to students who spoke Bahasa Indonesia in their daily lives. Packing my luggage, I felt like I was carrying two versions of myself: one eager to embrace the unknown, and another quietly calculating how many backup snacks I should bring in case I rejected the local cuisine. The thirty‑day journey ahead seemed impossibly long, and I had no guarantee that I would emerge from it transformed rather than simply exhausted.

 

Looking back now, after four weeks of early morning observations, spontaneous musical interactions, amusement park rides that humbled my stomach, and heartfelt goodbyes in front of crowded halls, I realize that this journey meant far more than professional development. It became an unlearning of my own assumptions—that foreign places must feel foreign, that hospitality is merely performative, that teaching requires perfect linguistic fluency. Indonesia did not just show me another country's classrooms; it showed me that belonging is not about erasing differences but about finding the quiet spaces where similarities live. The students who called out “Filipina, Filipina!” with genuine curiosity, the teachers who translated difficult words for me without making me feel inadequate, the simple morning jogs in Lamongan Town Square—these were not checklist items on an exchange program. They were the actual curriculum. And what I carried home was not a certificate but a quiet confidence that I could step into any unfamiliar room—classroom or country—and find a way to belong.

THE PROGRAM

The SEA Teacher Program—alternatively referred to as the SEA‑Teacher Project or SEA‑Teacher Journey—is a month‑long international teaching exchange placement designed specifically for third‑year and fourth‑year education students across Southeast Asia. An initiative of the Southeast Asian Ministers of Education Organization (SEAMEO), the program allows future educators to complete cross‑cultural internships, observe classrooms in different national contexts, and teach abroad before they even receive their professional licenses. Unlike traditional study abroad programs that prioritize language immersion or general coursework, the SEA Teacher Program places pre‑service teachers directly into partner schools where they assume real teaching responsibilities: assisting, demonstrating, and eventually delivering rated classes under the supervision of local cooperating teachers. For one month, exchange student teachers do not merely visit a foreign country; they inhabit its educational system, learn its classroom rhythms, and discover that pedagogy, at its core, transcends national borders.

 

Southern Leyte State University (SLSU) actively participates in this program, with its Tomas Oppus Campus (SLSU‑TO) serving as both a sending and receiving institution for SEA Teacher exchanges. On the outbound side, SLSU‑TO
deploys its own education majors—specializing in English, Mathematics, Science, and Bachelor of Physical Education (BPED), which is my own field—to complete their month‑long pre‑service teaching in Indonesia. Our batch, Batch 11, was sent to Universitas Islam Darul Ulum (UNISDA) in Lamongan, East Java, a long‑standing partner university of SLSU. On the inbound side, SLSU regularly hosts Indonesian student teachers who arrive in the Philippines to experience our own classrooms, engage in seminars on flexible learning materials, and participate in cultural‑pedagogical forums that deepen mutual understanding. This two‑way exchange is not accidental; it reflects SLSU's commitment to genuine reciprocity, where learning flows in both directions and neither university claims the role of sole educator.

For SLSU students who wish to join future batches, the pathway is both structured and accessible. You must typically be in your third or fourth year, maintain excellent academic standing, and demonstrate proficiency in English, since English serves as the primary medium of instruction during the exchange. The selection process begins by contacting the university's External Linkages and International Affairs (ELIA) Office or your respective college dean. Once selected, you will undergo a pre‑departure orientation that covers cultural expectations, teaching preparations, and logistical coordination with the partner university abroad. In many cases, SLSU provides financial grants or university support to help cover travel expenses, making the program more attainable for students who might otherwise be discouraged by costs. For education majors who dream of teaching not just in one classroom but across the region, the SEA Teacher Program offers exactly that: a month that fits inside a suitcase, yet expands a career for a lifetime.

OBSERVATION PHASE

My observation phase began in earnest on Day 5, when I sat in my first formal class under my cooperating teacher, Pak Dimas Bagus Hidayatullah, the PJOK instructor assigned to mentor me at MA Matholi’ul Anwar. Watching him teach was genuinely inspiring; despite the obvious language barrier between his Indonesian instruction and my Filipino ear, his classroom management transcended words. He moved through the lapangan (field) with an intentionality that needed no translation—clear hand signals, consistent routines, and a quiet authority that made students fall in line without raised voices. I learned that good teaching is not always about speaking fluently; sometimes it is about presence, structure, and the genuine connection a teacher builds with students before the lesson even begins. Over the following days, daily classroom observations became my quiet routine. I would sit at the back, notebook in hand, mentally translating Pak Dimas's Indonesian instructions while simultaneously observing how he introduced physical education concepts, managed student behavior, and adapted activities for different skill levels. Translating conversations in my head while also observing classroom dynamics was both exhausting and exciting—every unfamiliar word slowly became familiar, and every misunderstanding gradually transformed into a learning moment. I relied heavily on Google Translate, which became my unofficial teaching assistant long before I ever stood in front of a class. What struck me most during this phase was how Indonesian PJOK classes balanced discipline with joy. Students left their shoes outside the musholla before entering, greeted their teachers with genuine warmth, and participated in physical activities without the self‑consciousness I often saw back home. By the end of the observation phase, I realized that I had already started adapting—not because someone taught me Indonesian classroom culture, but because I had simply watched, listened, and allowed myself to be shaped by what I saw.

 

Beyond the physical education classes I observed under Pak Dimas, the observation phase also exposed me to how other Indonesian teachers structured their lessons across different subjects. On Day 14, when no PJOK classes were available, I observed Pak Buyhun Khulel's English class at UNISDA, and that experience became one of the most insightful academic moments of my entire stay. Pak Buyhun taught with humor, energy, and intentionality—he kept the classroom alive while ensuring that no student felt left behind or isolated. What impressed me most was his ability to maintain engagement without making the environment intimidating, a balance that many educators struggle to achieve. Watching him navigate between Indonesian and English, switching codes fluidly whenever a student's face showed confusion, I realized that effective teaching is not simply about delivering information; it is about creating an atmosphere where students feel included enough to participate. This lesson felt especially relevant for my own PJOK classes, where physical movement already makes some students self‑conscious. I took careful notes on how Pak Buyhun used praise, gentle humor, and strategic pauses to draw out shy learners. By the time my observation phase concluded at the end of Week 2, I had filled a small notebook with observations—not just about teaching techniques, but about the Indonesian philosophy of education itself. Students here were not merely receivers of knowledge; they were active participants in a community of learning, and their teachers treated them with a respect that felt both formal and familial. That quiet realization would shape everything about how I prepared for my own demonstration lessons.

PREPARATION PHASE

The preparation phase unfolded gradually, interwoven with our observations rather than announced as a separate stage. On Day 9, we had a Meet and Greet with previous SEA Teacher exchange students followed by a discussion specifically focused on lesson planning. Listening to their stories felt comforting because suddenly the anxieties I had been carrying—confusion, excitement, homesickness, the nagging fear that my lessons would fail because of language barriers—became validated and normalized. Every exchange student, regardless of their home country, eventually experiences the same emotional cycle: excitement first, adjustment second, and survival mode during group activities under extreme heat. That discussion helped me understand that lesson planning in a foreign context requires more than just pedagogical knowledge; it demands cultural sensitivity about what activities are appropriate, what language level is realistic, and how Indonesian students typically respond to different teaching styles. I began drafting my lesson plans for PJOK with these considerations in mind, keeping my language simple, my demonstrations clear, and my backup strategies ready in case students did not understand my English instructions. On Day 23, the preparation intensified when we were scheduled to demonstrate at MAN 1 Lamongan—an experimental session that would serve as a basis for future partnerships between UNISDA and SLSU. For that demonstration, I chose First Aid (P3K in Indonesian) as my topic, preparing visual aids, simplified handouts, and a step‑by‑step activity that minimized the need for complex verbal explanations. My cooperating teacher, Pak Deddy, was hands‑on in helping me prepare, constantly translating specific hard terms from English to Indonesian so that my lesson would not get lost in linguistic gaps. By the time I stood in front of that class, my materials were ready, my spirit was firm, and I had made peace with the thought that not everything is under our control—what is bound to happen, happens. That quiet surrender, I learned, is also a form of preparation.

ASSISTANTSHIP PHASE

The assistantship phase began on Day 12, and finally the role I came to Indonesia for truly started. Each morning, I joined the usual PJOK classes alongside Pak Dimas, participating in preliminary classroom activities and gradually taking on more responsibility as the days progressed. The language barrier remained present—there was no magical m

oment where I suddenly understood fluent Indonesian—but thankfully modern technology became my bridge. Google Translate remained my unofficial teaching assistant throughout the exchange, helping me decipher instructions, translate key vocabulary for warm‑up exercises, and occasionally rescue me when a student asked an unexpected question. Despite these communication challenges, the students remained participative, respectful, and incredibly kind. What continuously amazed me about Indonesian students was how deeply values and manners were embedded in their daily behavior. Greetings and farewells were not treated as routine formalities; they were expressions of respect genuinely practiced every single day. At some point during this phase, I realized I had already adapted to their way of greeting teachers and bidding goodbye after class. Slowly, unfamiliar habits started becoming my own habits, and the students made my stay at MAWAR lighter and happier with their curiosity, humor, and openness.

 

As the assistantship phase continued into the second week, my daily routine became more fluid and less intimidating. On Day 13, after assisting classes in the morning, my cooperating teacher together with other faculty members and Mas Irfan brought us to try es degan and es oyen—refreshments that reminded me of home yet carried their own Indonesian character. These small excursions were not separate from the assistantship; they were part of it. I learned that teaching assistance in a foreign country does not end when the bell rings. It continues over shared drinks, through gestures and broken sentences, during afternoon conversations where everyone tries their best to make the Filipino guests feel included. On Day 15, our final day of teaching assistantship for the month, I looked back at how far I had come. The classrooms no longer intimidated me. The students no longer felt distant. Even the once‑confusing language barriers had become manageable through patience, observation, and sustained effort. By the end of this phase, I was no longer merely assisting Pak Dimas—I was beginning to feel like a real teacher, one who could read the room, adjust on the fly, and find joy in the small victories of a successfully explained drill or a classroom full of laughing, sweating, engaged students.  

 

DEMONSTRATION PHASE

The demonstration phase arrived with pressure that I could not ignore. On Day 19, May 4, the schedule finally announced itself: my final demonstration at MA Matholi'ul Anwar—a rated PJOK class that would determine whether my month of preparation had been sufficient. Although I had prepared my lesson plans, my visual aids, and my firmest teaching spirit, I still carried the quiet anxiety of the unknown. The major challenging part remained the

language barrier: how could I make my class engaging and participative when my Indonesian vocabulary barely covered greetings and classroom commands? As the class started, I felt a moment of hesitation, but I reminded myself of what I had observed from Pak Dimas—good teaching is not always about speaking fluently; it is about presence, structure, and genuine connection. I launched into my lesson with demonstrations that spoke louder than words, using hand signals, body language, and simple English reinforced by visual cues. My students responded with enthusiasm. They followed my instructions, participated in the physical activities, and even laughed with me when my pronunciation of an Indonesian word went hilariously wrong. Ibu Elis, my support system during that demonstration, stood at the side offering quiet encouragement, and by the end of the class, I knew I had done more than survive—I had taught. The relief and pride that washed over me afterward were indescribable.

 

But the demonstration phase did not end with one rated class. On Day 20 and Day 21, I had my usual, very dynamic class demonstrations that were not rated but equally valuable. My Tuesday class, in particular, was more active than Monday's group and needed to be managed with extra care. I taught badminton as my lesson focus, and the students showed genuine interest—not just in the sport, but in me as their Filipino teacher. Every time a student said, "Thank you, Ma'am, I have learned something," I felt that everything was rewarding. These unrated demonstrations gave me room to experiment, to make mistakes without high stakes, and to refine my classroom management in real time. On Day 22, I held my final class demonstration at MAWAR—my last day interacting with Indonesian students, my last day cooperating with Pak Dimas, my last day immersing in the academic culture of Indonesia. That day, I took my time to interact with the students, savoring every moment. It became even more special when a football team from an elementary school approached me for a photo, shouting "Filipina, Filipina!" as if I were a public figure. After conversing with their coach, I learned they had been training for an upcoming match. That spontaneous encounter reminded me that demonstration teaching is not merely a performance; it is also a moment of cultural visibility where you become a representative of your homeland.

 

The final piece of my demonstration phase happened on Day 23 at a different school, MAN 1 Lamongan. This demonstration was not rated, yet it carried special weight because it would serve as a basis for future partnerships between UNISDA and SLSU. I was assigned to teach class X.A under my new cooperating teacher, Pak Deddy, and my topic was First Aid—or P3K as they call it in Indonesia. The class was engaging and interactive; students were so participative that they always nodded and said they understood, even though I knew there was still a language barrier. Fortunately, because the setup was informal, Pak Deddy was hands‑on in helping me overcome that barrier through constant translation of specific hard terms from English to Indonesian. After the demonstration, we were invited to the school's podcast, where we answered questions about culture shocks, teaching pedagogies, and our overall experience. Before ending, I left the students with this line: 

"Learning is progressive. It is continuous. So keep learning, keep curious, be an explorer of different cultures, languages, and ways of life. Because learning is not limited to the four‑cornered classroom—true learning is around us everywhere." That sentence was not just for them; it was the lesson my own demonstration phase had finally taught me.

The Daily Narratives

WEEK ONE

Between Familiarity & Foreignness

Day 1 – April 16

As the airplane landed in Indonesia, I expected everything to feel overwhelmingly different. I thought the roads would confuse me, the people would intimidate me, and the culture would make me feel small. Instead, somewhere between the airport and the long tree-lined roads of Lamongan, I realized that Indonesia did not feel unfamiliar at all. It felt like a cousin of the Philippines — quieter in some ways, calmer in others, yet carrying the same warmth that Filipinos naturally recognize.

And maybe that was the first lesson Indonesia gave me: not every foreign place has to feel foreign.

We were welcomed by Bu Irmayani, the internationalization coordinator who, from day one, made me feel less like a visitor and more like someone expected. I immediately noticed how respect is deeply embedded in Indonesian culture. In the Philippines, we practice pagmamano — taking the hand of an elder and placing it on our forehead as a gesture of respect. Indonesia carries the same spirit, though expressed differently. Women greet women warmly through hand gestures or a respectful “bless,” while men politely bow when greeting women. It was subtle, gentle, and incredibly reflective of how Indonesians value courtesy.

That first day felt like everything was happening at 2x speed.

One moment I was wearing my travel clothes, exhausted from the trip, and the next thing I knew, I was changing into our Type D uniform for the courtesy call at
Universitas Islam Darul Ulum (UNISDA), Lamongan. Honestly, I barely had time to process that I was already in another country representing my university and my homeland.

And then I saw UNISDA for the first time.

The campus stood there with its grand architecture and welcoming atmosphere, as if quietly saying, “You are safe here.” The place did not try too hard to impress — it simply did. There was something comforting about the environment. Maybe it was the students casually walking around, maybe it was the warm smiles from the faculty, or maybe it was because everybody welcomed us with such genuine hospitality that nervousness did not have space to grow.

Of course, one cannot fully enter another culture without entering its cuisine first.

During the courtesy call, I encountered dishes that looked unfamiliar to me. Some of them honestly made me hesitate internally like, “Lord, kaya ba ni sa akong tiyan?” But cultural exchange also means allowing your taste buds to become diplomats. Surprisingly, among all the dishes served, I found myself enjoying kropuk the most. Crunchy, light, oddly addictive — the kind of snack you keep eating while pretending you are only getting “one last piece.”

Food became one of the first reminders that unfamiliarity is not always discomfort. Sometimes, unfamiliarity is simply a new version of enjoyment waiting to happen.

After the courtesy call, I had my first glimpse of the campus grounds before finally heading to the homestay. That night was beautifully ordinary — unpacking luggage, arranging necessities, buying an e-sim, and trying to mentally absorb the fact that this would be home for a month. From sunrise to evening, I quietly observed how Indonesians moved through life. The streets were alive yet calm. The roads were busy yet strangely peaceful. Everything seemed softer, slower, and gentler than I expected.

I realized that adapting is not always loud. Sometimes, adaptation begins through simple observation.

 

Day 2 – April 17

The following day, became my first deeper immersion into Indonesian academic culture.

We toured different faculties inside UNISDA and attended a seminar on English language education. As a student teacher, I found myself listening not only as a participant but also as a future educator trying to understand another country’s perspective on teaching and learning.

What struck me the most was how learning here seemed deeply connected with community. Education was not merely about instruction — it was relational. There was warmth in the interactions, openness in discussions, and sincerity in the way students communicated with teachers.

But perhaps the most unforgettable part of that day happened unexpectedly.

Before the program ended, there was a small musical interaction between us and the students. Filipino songs met Indonesian songs in one room, and suddenly the atmosphere no longer felt formal. It felt human. For a moment, language barriers disappeared because music carried the conversation for us.

It reminded me that cultural exchange does not always happen in presentations or seminars. Sometimes, it happens through laughter after someone misses a lyric.

Lunch afterward became another memorable experience because we were accompanied by faculty members from the English department and our fellow Filipino, Kuya Rahim. There is a specific comfort that comes from hearing your own language in a foreign country. It feels like finding a tiny piece of home unexpectedly waiting for you abroad.

Although, if I am being completely honest, not every Indonesian food immediately won my heart. Some dishes and I are still in the “getting to know each other” stage. But that is part of the experience too. Cultural immersion is not about instantly loving everything; it is about being willing to understand why people love it.

Later that day, we visited Maharani Zoo together with Pak Buyhun — a person who, throughout this journey, continuously made sure we never felt isolated. There are people who assist because it is their responsibility, and there are people who assist because they genuinely care. Pak Buyhun belonged to the second kind.

On our way home, he introduced us to a local store famous for making peanut sauce and unique coconut refreshments. It was fascinating to see how something as simple as coconut — or buko, as Filipinos call it — could be prepared differently yet still carry familiarity. In the Philippines, we usually enjoy it fresh straight from the shell. In Indonesia, I experienced it served with ice, liquid sugar, and soft coconut flesh. Strange at first sip. Surprisingly addictive after the second.

That evening ended in a seafood restaurant that tasted unexpectedly close to Filipino cuisine. Finally, my taste buds sighed in relief and whispered, “Ah yes, this feels emotionally familiar.”

 

Day 3 – April 18

This day became one of the most spontaneous days of my stay in Indonesia, so far.

In the morning, we had the welcome program from the both schools, MA Matholi’ul Anwar and the SMK NU 1 Karanggeneng. I, personally, appreciate so much the welcoming of both schools, how they value guests especially foreigners who shares just almost the same culture as theirs. 

They gave us the Selendang tenun, a long, traditional, woven Indonesian scarf fabric made by crossing warp and weft yarn techniques, as a welcome garland for us. It was so unique and I truly appreciate that. I even witnessed their culture in greetings and giving value to guests such as their performances especially the one that is very meaningful to me, the Saman dance. It was so humbling to finally witness it in person, since I have only been studying and dancing it during my sophomore year and that real life experience could never replace by books and youTube videos. It was truly a memorable one for me. 

Also, as a way of our thanks to them, we had a spontaneous song presentation singing Kota Ini tak Sama Tanpamu – in which I never knew that it will have a special place in my heart. That song truly resonates in my heart up until now, and for sure until forever.

In the afternoon, we traveled to Surabaya, known as the second-largest city in Indonesia, and the entire day felt like a film stitched together by randomness and curiosity. We visited traditional markets, souvenir shops, public spaces, museums, and cultural centers. The streets were chaotic in the way Southeast Asian cities naturally are — motorcycles everywhere, vehicles moving with confidence that somehow still avoids accidents, and people walking like they have mastered the rhythm of urban survival.

But amidst all the movement, Surabaya carried history everywhere.

Inside the museum, I learned more about Indonesia’s long period under Dutch colonization. Hearing that they endured approximately 350 years of colonization made me pause. As a Filipino, it was impossible not to reflect on our own history under colonial powers. Different countries, different timelines, but somehow the same inherited resilience.

The most unexpected part of the day happened near the theater area.

Children preparing for a theatrical performance became curious about us. Their excitement was pure and unfiltered. We talked, laughed, exchanged awkward smiles, and somehow managed conversations despite language limitations. It reminded me that children do not need perfect communication to create connection.

And then I saw the Gamelan orchestra in person for the very first time.

As a Bachelor of Physical Education student, I had encountered Gamelan only through readings and videos before. But witnessing it live was completely different. The sound was rich, grounding, and deeply cultural — the kind of music that does not merely entertain but tells history without words.

I may not remember every detail of that theatrical performance, but I will always remember how it felt hearing the orchestra resonate inside the theater for the first time.

Some experiences do not need complete understanding to leave permanent impact.

 

Day 4 – April 19

This marked our deployment to our respective schools.

This day felt different because suddenly everything became real. The orientation phase slowly transitioned into purpose. I, together with Sir Ivan, was assigned to MA Matholi’ul Anwar, while the others were assigned to SMK NU 1 Karanggeneng nearby.

The warmth we received from both schools was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Students looked at us with curiosity and excitement, while teachers welcomed us with generosity that never felt forced. One cultural detail immediately caught my attention: students leaving their shoes outside classrooms before entering. Such a simple practice, yet it reflected discipline, cleanliness, and cultural values deeply embedded in their daily routine.

As I walked through the campus corridors, I saw students who were highly studious, students laughing with friends, students casually existing in their own worlds. And suddenly I realized that despite geographical differences, student life remains universally familiar.

Teenagers everywhere are still teenagers.

That evening, we had a farewell dinner for Dr. Leslie before she returned to the Philippines. It was one of those quiet emotional moments where gratitude becomes heavier than words. By then, Indonesia no longer felt like a temporary destination. Slowly, it was beginning to feel like a lived experience.

 

Day 5 – April 20

I experienced my first formal class observation under Pak Dimas Bagus Hidayatullah, the PJOK instructor assigned as my cooperating teacher.

Watching him teach was genuinely inspiring.

Despite language barriers, his classroom management transcended language itself. His strategies were effective, organized, and intentional. I learned that good teaching is not always about speaking fluently — sometimes it is about presence, structure, and genuine connection with students.

And honestly, I was grateful that Sir Ivan was assigned to the same school as me. Navigating a foreign educational environment becomes lighter when someone shares your confusion, your laughter, and even your silent panic during translation struggles.

That afternoon, after registering our sim cards and spending time with Bu Irmayani, I realized how quickly small routines begin forming even in unfamiliar places. Slowly, Indonesia stopped feeling like an event and started feeling like everyday life.

 

Day 6 – April 21

Then came 21^st of  April — one of the most meaningful cultural experiences I had during my first week.

Indonesia celebrated Kartini Day, honoring Raden Ajeng Kartini, a pioneer for women’s education and emancipation. What amazed me was how deeply the celebration was valued by students and teachers alike. It wa
s not treated as a mere school program. It was remembrance with sincerity.

As a Filipino, it reminded me of how we also honor women in our culture — through celebrations like National Women’s Month every March, where Filipino women’s contributions in leadership, education, family, and nation-building are recognized. Both the Philippines and Indonesia carry strong images of resilient women whose strength quietly shaped society long before recognition formally arrived.

During the event, I was unexpectedly given the opportunity to speak.

Standing there, in front of Indonesian students and teachers, talking about my admiration for their politeness, discipline, and hospitality, I realized how surreal everything felt. Weeks ago, Indonesia was merely a location on my itinerary. Now, I was actively participating in its cultural celebrations.

Life truly becomes beautiful when it surprises you kindly.

And of course, no memorable Indonesian day ends without good food.

That afternoon, Sir Ivan and I officially developed a strong emotional attachment to bandeng — milkfish served tender and flavorful, paired with sambal carefully separated for us because Indonesians apparently possess superhero-level spice tolerance. Together with es jeruk and es teh, the meal felt complete.

At this point, my adjustment to Indonesian cuisine was progressing steadily. Slowly but surely, my stomach was earning its internationalization certificate too.

 

Day 7 – April 22

Daily classroom observations became part of my routine.

Although these days appeared “ordinary,” they quietly became some of the most enriching moments of my first week. Translating Indonesian conversations mentally while simultaneously observing classroom dynamics was both exhausting and exciting. Every unfamiliar word slowly became familiar. Every misunderstanding slowly transformed into learning.

The challenge itself became part of the reward.

And just like that, my first week in Indonesia ended.

Not perfectly.
Not smoothly all the time.
Not without confusion, translation struggles, and occasional battles with unfamiliar food.

But definitely beautifully.

WEEK TWO

Somewhere Between Chaos, Comfort, and Cultural Curiosity

If Week 1 was about observation and adjustment, Week 2 was about immersion.

Not the dramatic kind of immersion shown in movies where someone suddenly transforms overnight into a culturally enlightened person. No. Mine was slower, funnier, slightly chaotic, occasionally exhausting, and sometimes involved throwing up six times in an amusement park.

Very authentic cultural exchange, if you ask me.

Day 8 – April 23

The start of my second week was just slow, however, meaningful.

On the morning, I had the usual classroom observation and in the afternoon of April 23, we had a focus group discussion with Pak Buyhun regarding our observations and experiences. It became a space for reflection — a chance to unlearn assumptions, relearn perspectives, and understand that education looks different everywhere, yet always aims for the same purpose: human growth.

That evening, we ended the day eating in a small local eatery — something Filipinos would casually call a karenderia. Again, another simple meal became another reminder that meaningful experiences abroad are not always grand.

Sometimes, they are found in shared tables, unfamiliar languages, accidental laughter, and ordinary nights that quietly become unforgettable.

Day 9 – April 24

April 24 started with a Meet and Greet together with previous SEA Teacher exchange students and a discussion regarding lesson planning. Listening to their stories felt comforting because suddenly, the things I was feeling — confusion, excitement, homesickness, culture shock — became validated. It reminded me that every exchange student, regardless of country, eventually experiences the same emotional cycle: excitement first, adjustment second, and survival mode during group activities under extreme heat.

We also toured the faculty buildings and offices in UNISDA. The more I explored the campus, the more I noticed how Indonesian academic spaces balance professionalism and warmth. Faculty members did not make us feel like outsiders observing from a distance. Conversations flowed naturally, and every interaction carried sincerity.

One thing I appreciate in Indonesia is how hospitality here never feels performative. People do not welcome you because they are required to. They welcome you because they genuinely want you to feel included.

That evening, I had a small stroll around the quieter side of Karanggeneng to buy necessities for the following day’s scheduled activity. The streets were calm, the small stores glowed softly at night, and life seemed slower compared to the busy cities I was used to. There is something peaceful about suburban evenings in Indonesia. Nothing extravagant happens, yet somehow it still feels memorable.

 

Day 10 – April 25 

Unfortunately, this day reminded me that not every day abroad will go according to plan.

Our scheduled activity had to be postponed because one of our fellow student teachers developed red marks across her body due to possible reactions from the water or climate. She was brought to the hospital while the rest of us stayed in the homestay the entire day.

The atmosphere suddenly shifted.

One moment we were excited for the activity, and the next moment we were silently worrying for a friend in a foreign country. Experiences abroad are often romanticized online — the pictures, the adventures, the food — but moments like this reveal the less visible side of exchange programs. Behind every fun trip is also responsibility, care, and emotional adjustment.

Although nothing “major” happened that day, I think it quietly taught me something important: when you are away from home, the people around you slowly become your temporary family.

And somehow, that realization makes every shared meal, every conversation, and every ordinary moment feel more meaningful.

 

Day 11 – April 26

Sunday morning moved slowly, peacefully, almost lazily. We had a short conversation with Ms. Crystal, one of the previous SEA Teacher participants, and hearing her experiences gave me reassurance that everything I was going through was part of the process.

Then finally — the postponed activity pushed through.

And honestly, I was excited like a child who just heard there would be no classes.

We traveled nearly two hours going to Wisata Bahari Lamongan, a massive recreational area filled with rides, attractions, food stalls, animals, and entertainment. The weather was incredibly hot, and combined with our conservative outfits suitable for the culture and environment, I genuinely felt like a microwaved exchange student walking under the sun.

But everything was manageable… at first.

Then the rides started.

I survived the Flying Carousel. Barely tolerated the Gravitron. Questioned my life decisions in the Drop Zone. And then came the Octopus Ride — the exact moment my soul temporarily left my body.

I threw up six consecutive times afterward.

Six.

At that point, I was no longer participating in cultural immersion. I was participating in physical suffering.

For more than an hour, I sat there trying to recover while silently promising myself that I would never underestimate amusement park rides again. Meanwhile, everyone else still looked functional and emotionally stable.

I, on the other hand, looked like someone who just lost a battle against gravity.

Fortunately, the bump cars saved my dignity.

That ride became my emotional support attraction for the day. It was simple, nostalgic, and genuinely fun. For a moment, I forgot how terrible I felt and simply enjoyed being present. Sometimes the best parts of an experience are not the grandest ones but the moments that unexpectedly reconnect you to simpler memories.

By evening, we ended the day in another seafood restaurant — one that served dishes closer to Filipino flavors. After everything my stomach experienced that day, finally eating comforting food felt like receiving an apology letter from the universe.

Honestly, that entire day exhausted me physically.

But strangely, it also became one of the most unforgettable parts of my stay.

Because growth abroad is not always found in seminars or formal programs. Sometimes it is found in surviving rides that violently humble you.

 

Day 12 – April 27

This marked the beginning of our teaching assistantship.

Finally, the role I came to Indonesia for truly began.

That morning, we joined the usual PJOK classes and participated in preliminary classroom activities. Of course, the language barrier remained present, but thankfully modern technology exists. Google Translate became my unofficial teaching assistant throughout the exchange.

Despite communication challenges, the students remained participative, respectful, and incredibly kind. What continuously amazes me about Indonesian students is how deeply values and manners are embedded in their daily behavior. Greetings and farewells are not treated as routine formalities here — they are expressions of respect genuinely practiced every single day.

At some point, I realized I had already adapted to their way of greeting teachers and bidding goodbye after class. Slowly, unfamiliar habits started becoming my own habits too.

And honestly, the students made my stay at the school lighter and happier. Their curiosity, humor, and openness made every classroom interaction feel less intimidating.

That same afternoon, we visited SMPN 1 Lamongan for our first public school immersion.

Nothing could have prepared me for the welcome we received.

Students lined up at the entrance, bowed together, greeted us warmly, and even presented us with tenun. For a moment, I genuinely felt like I accidentally entered a celebrity event instead of a school visit.

But beyond the grand welcome, what truly stoo
d out to me was the students’ enthusiasm. During classroom interactions, they eagerly participated, introduced themselves, and asked questions despite language differences. Curiosity filled the room, yet it never felt uncomfortable. Instead, it felt sincere.

Then came the moment that personally meant the most to me: the music room.

Inside was the famous Gamelan orchestra that I had only previously encountered through textbooks, YouTube videos, academic readings, and documentaries. Yet there I was — standing in front of the actual instruments, hearing their resonance live, and eventually even playing them with guidance from their instructor.

As someone majoring in Bachelor of Physical Education, experiencing cultural instruments firsthand felt incredibly meaningful. It transformed theory into lived experience.

And somehow, unexpectedly, I also got the chance to play the drums — my personal comfort instrument and something I have loved for years. We jammed together with students and fellow SEA Teacher participants, and that small musical interaction became one of the happiest moments of my week.

Music truly removes barriers faster than language sometimes can.

As we continued touring the school, I noticed how skilled and disciplined many students were. The institution clearly invested in developing student talents through proper training and support systems.

That afternoon did not merely feel like a school visit.

It felt like witnessing how education can genuinely nurture both discipline and creativity at the same time.

 

Day 13 – April 28

We returned to our usual classroom assistantship routine.

By then, routines in Indonesia no longer felt unfamiliar. The once-confusing daily setup slowly became normal life. We assisted classes, observed teaching strategies, interacted with students, and continued adapting little by little.

Later that afternoon, my cooperating teacher together with other faculty members and Mas Irfan brought us to try es degan and es oyen — refreshments somewhat similar to buko and nilamaw in the Philippines.

But of course, Indonesian cuisine always finds a way to surprise me.

Here, even sweet refreshments somehow coexist with meatballs and kropuk on the side. The flavor combinations continuously confuse me in theory yet somehow work perfectly in reality.

Indonesia truly taught me that food does not always need to make sense first before becoming enjoyable.

Afterward, I simply returned to the homestay and continued my usual evening routine. At that point, even ordinary nights abroad already felt meaningful.

 

Day 14 – April 29

Sir France and I went to UNISDA for our cultural immersion.

Since there were no PJOK classes available that day, I observed the English class of Pak Buyhun Khulel instead.

And honestly, observing his teaching style became one of the most insightful academic experiences I had in Indonesia.

Pak Buyun teaches with humor, energy, and intentionality. He keeps the classroom alive while ensuring nobody feels left behind or isolated. What impressed me most was his ability to maintain engagement without making the environment intimidating.

That balance is difficult for many educators to achieve.

Another thing I deeply appreciated was how Indonesian classrooms integrate technology into teaching and learning. Attendance systems, assessments, classroom management, presentations, and learning materials were all highly technology-driven. It reflected how adaptable and progressive their educational environment has become.

Watching Pak Buyhun teach reminded me that effective teaching is not simply about delivering information. It is about creating an atmosphere where students feel included enough to participate.

Later that day, we visited MAN 1 Lamongan.

And once again, Indonesia surprised me.

We were welcomed by the school’s marching band.

A literal marching band.

At that moment, I genuinely felt like a government official visiting internationally, not a student teacher surviving on limited allowance abroad.

The welcome was incredibly grand — from the entrance until the main hall, everything was organized with so much effort and enthusiasm that I almost forgot how ordinary I actually am.

The performances presented for us reflected not only talent but also pride in culture and community. As the program continued and we introduced ourselves, I felt overwhelming pride too — pride in representing my homeland, my university, and my identity as a Filipino student teacher.

There is something deeply fulfilling about realizing that your presence abroad is not solely personal anymore. You begin carrying pieces of your country with you everywhere you go.

And somehow, Indonesians made that responsibility feel beautiful instead of heavy.

 

Day 15 – April 30

This day became a quieter ending to a very eventful week.

It was our final day of teaching assistantship for the month, and by then, routines already felt familiar. The classrooms no longer intimidated me. The students no longer felt distant. Even the once-confusing language barriers slowly became manageable through patience, observation, and effort.

That afternoon, I simply rested in the homestay.

No grand activity.
No cultural tour.
No dramatic moment.

Just rest.

And maybe that was exactly what I needed.

Because by the end of Week 2, I realized something important:

Indonesia was no longer simply a place I was visiting.

Little by little, it was becoming a place I was learning how to belong and blend in.

WEEK THREE

Demonstrations, Pendulum Trauma, and the Strange Relief of Letting Go

Day 16 – May 1

If Week Two introduced me to the chaotic comforts of cultural immersion, Week Three arrived like a wake‑up call dressed in amusement park tickets and lesson plans. On Day 16, May 1, we traveled to Florawisata Santerra De Laponte, a popular photo destination featuring colorful flower gardens, culturally themed areas, and children's rides. The journey took almost five hours from our homestay, and although we traveled very far, it was worth it—every corner of the place was vibrant and, of course, very instagrammable. Located approximately 1,200 meters above sea level, the spot offered cool mountain air for which we were completely unprepared. The place is a mixture of European and Korean architecture, making it ideal for photo spots and such. While we toured the park, I was genuinely amazed by the natural rock formations and the real flowers blooming everywhere. I did not expect that Indonesia still had its own unique way of expressing creativity. For sure, my mother would have loved it if she were there. And then, of course, there was the ride again. They call it the Pendulum. It was a hell of a ride. It creeped the best out of me, and after that ride… I puked. Three times. That is when my fear of rides officially began, and it originated right here in Indonesia. Just as the sun began to set, we decided to go home, since we faced another five‑hour drive back. My stomach and I had a long, silent conversation on that van ride, and neither of us was winning.

 

Day 17 to 18 – May 2 to 3

The next two days, May 2 and 3, shifted from physical suffering to academic preparation and unexpected adventures in public transportation. On the morning of May 2, we spent our time preparing for the final demonstration scheduled for Monday. In the afternoon, because we were going to have a sleepover at Bu Irmayani's house, we had the chance to experience Indonesian public transportation modes: buses (they call it trans jatim), trains, and the angkot—the open mini‑van that feels like a sardine can on wheels but somehow carries the friendliest strangers you will ever meet. This continued into the next day, when we used these same modes to stroll around Surabaya. At dawn, we woke up very early to catch the train heading to the city. Since it was very early in Surabaya, we witnessed how city life and the daily hustle gradually became busy as time went by. We explored new foods, a new pace of life, unique cultural centers such as museums, and simply strolled the streets as empty vessels waiting to be filled with new experiences and adventure. There is something humbling about riding an angkot in a foreign country—no air conditioning, no pretensions, just you, fifteen locals, and the shared understanding that everyone is going somewhere. I loved it.

 

Day 19 – May 4

Then came Day 19, May 4—the most pressured day of all. If the previous days were all about fun, excitement, nervousness, anxiety, tours, and experiencing outside cultures, this was the schedule for my final demonstration. Although pressured, I had peace in my mind knowing that I was prepared for this day and that everything was planned. But I still left room for the thought: not everything is under our control; what is bound to happen, happens. And so I started my Physical Education, Sports, and Health (PJOK) rated class demonstration that day. As the class began, I thought I was prepared, yet in that moment I hesitated, unsure how I would make my class engaging and participative because the major challenge remained the language barrier. Fortunately, I had my materials with me and a firm spirit that I could overcome it—and I did. My demonstration was one of a ride (though thankfully not the Pendulum kind), and it was comforting to have my support system there with me, especially Ibu Elis. After my demonstration, I went back to the office and greeted Bagas from SEA Teacher Batch 10 and Avarel from Batch 11, who had returned from the Philippines a few days earlier. We exchanged laughter and discussed things over food at MA Matholi'ul Anwar. For a moment, surrounded by fellow exchange veterans, the pressure melted into something close to pride.

 

Day 20 to 21 – May 5 to 6 

The following days, May 5 and 6, brought unrated but equally rewarding demonstrations. On the 5th, I had my usual and very dynamic class demonstration. The class was not the same as my Monday group; my Tuesday class was more active and needed to be managed much more carefully. As part of the class and my journey in general, I had fun conversing and teaching them, especially because they showed genuine interest in me and in the lesson—badminton. Everything feels rewarding when students say, “Thank you, Ma'am, I have learned something.” 

The next day, we went for a badminton match with the teachers in MAWAR, traveling about fifteen minutes from the school. When I arrived, I was surprised that the players were not young—they were 40 and above. There was no single person during that time as young as me. That is when I realized that Indonesians value sports and health at all ages, and it holds true across other sports as well. We played with no competition, no pressure, just fun and excitement. I encountered teachers in MAWAR whom I had not met before—faces unfamiliar to me, smiles I had never seen—and all of them had this special welcoming spirit that made me feel completely comfortable during my stay. We laughed, we sweated, and I lost every match, but somehow that felt like winning.

 

Day 22 – May 7

Finally, Day 22, May 7, marked my final class demonstration at MAWAR. It was my last day interacting with Indonesian students, my last day cooperating with m

y cooperating teacher, and my last day immersing in the academic culture of Indonesia. Truly, it was a moment where I felt relieved and, at the same time, aware that I would miss them deeply. That day, I took my time to interact with the students, savoring every moment. 

It became even more special when a football team from an elementary school, MI Tarbiyatul Banin Sungelebak Karangg
enen, asked for a photo with me. They shouted “Filipina, Filipina!” as if they had seen a public figure and needed to grab the opportunity immediately. Afterward, their coach and I conversed for a while, and I learned that they had been training for an upcoming football match. 

Later that day at noon, some faculty members treated us to a special lunch at Omah Lawas, a traditional Indonesian home converted into a restaurant, with Pak Ubaid (the Vice Headmaster for Public Relations), my cooperating teacher Pak Dimas, Ibu Dian, Sir Ivan, and Mas Irfan. 

In the afternoon, we went to UNISDA to attend a cultural exchange activity featuring traditional games from both Indonesia and the Philippines. We had so much fun that day—truly unforgettable. Thus, that day concluded with a very meaningful and memorable experience for me to keep, a quiet anchor before the emotional storm of Week Four.

WEEK FOUR

Culmination, Farewells, and the Bittersweet Art of Letting Go

Day 23 – May 8

The final week of my Indonesian journey arrived like a quiet wave—slowly at first, then suddenly crashing with the weight of goodbyes, unfinished conversations, and the strange realization that the place I had just learned to call home would soon become a memory. On Day 23, May 8, we were scheduled for a classroom demonstration at a different school: MAN 1 Lamongan. I was assigned to teach class X.A under my new cooperating teacher, Pak Deddy, still teaching PJOK. This demonstration was not rated, yet it carried a special, experimental significance because it would serve as the basis for future partnerships between UNISDA and SLSU. My topic was First Aid—or P3K as they call it in Indonesia. The class was engaging and interactive, with students so participative that they always nodded and said they understood, even though I knew there remained a very real language barrier. Fortunately, due to the informal setup, Pak Deddy was hands‑on in helping me overcome that barrier, constantly translating specific hard terms from English to Indonesian. 

After the demonstration, we were invited to the school's podcast, where we answered questions about culture shocks, comparisons between Philippine and Indonesian cultures, teaching pedagogies, academic cultures, and our entire experience. It was an exchange of learning as much as an exchange of culture. Before ending the podcast, we were asked what advice or motivation we could leave for the students of MAN 1 Lamongan. The line I will always share is this: Learning is progressive. It is continuous. So keep learning, keep curious, be an explorer of different cultures, languages, and ways of life. Because learning is not limited to the four‑cornered classroom—true learning is around us everywhere. That day concluded with such a meaningful and transformative experience that I carried its lesson straight into the emotional days ahead.

 

Day 24 – May 9

On Day 24, May 9, we finally—yet unfortunately—reached the culmination program of both schools: MA Matholi’ul Anwar and SMK NU 1 Karanggeneng. As someone deployed at MAWAR, this school never failed to amaze me with its ceremonies, programs, and activities, from the very welcome we received at the beginning up through this culmination. Grand, special, momentous, unforgettable, mixed emotions—these are the adjectives I could use to describe MAWAR, though I tend to lose my words when expressing how much they truly value their guests, us in particular. 

As the culmination program commenced, one thought dominated my mind: everything will soon become nostalgic. It was a truly memorable and emotional moment for me, since I had grown attached to everyone I encountered in that school—the UNISDA faculty who also attended, the students, and the school itself. When Ibu Irma was about to close her speech, I suddenly found myself holding back tears. Then, as we presented our performance, I saw the faculty, the students, everyone in that hall, and my tears rolled down in front of the crowd while I was singing my Indonesian favorite song, Kota Ini Tak Sama Tanpamu. Everyone became emotional, because none of us knew when we would meet again. Knowing that all of those moments were part of the journey, I realized that what would remain in my heart are the memories and moments I spent with everyone. My heart was so full that day. I wished for the day to have a slower pace, but here I am, writing this blog, already back in my homeland.

 

Day 25 – May 10

The days that followed blurred into a bittersweet montage of last experiences and reluctant goodbyes. On Day 25, May 10, we woke up around 4:00 in the morning to prepare for another meaningful experience in Lamongan. Together with the teachers from MA Matholi’ul Anwar, we went to Lamongan Town Square and joined their Sunday morning activities, which included jogging and Zumba dancing at the plaza. The atmosphere was lively and refreshing. Many families, friends, and groups of people were already outside bonding and exercising at such an early hour. Through this experience, I realized that many Indonesians are truly early risers and value spending quality time outdoors with family and friends. The simple morning activity allowed me to observe another side of Indonesian culture and daily life—no rice fields or temples, just ordinary people sweating together on a Sunday morning. Afterward, we strolled around the area, visited stores to buy souvenirs (because what is a study abroad without pasalubong panic?), and enjoyed lunch together, sharing stories and laughing. Later that afternoon, we went to UNISDA for our final rehearsal for the culmination program. Although we were already physically tired from the previous days, everyone still gave their best to prepare for the final event of our SEA Teacher journey.

 

Day 26 – May 11

On Day 26, May 11, as our SEA Teacher journey slowly reached its final chapter, I found myself looking back on everything we had experienced throughout the past month—the unfamiliar places that eventually felt familiar, the people who slowly became part of our daily lives, and the countless moments that quietly changed me as a person and future educator. This day marked the culmination program at UNISDA. During the program, we performed Filipino and Indonesian songs. As we stood in front singing together, I realized how beautiful cultural exchange truly is: despite differences in language and nationality, we were all connected by shared experiences, friendship, and understanding. One of the highlights was the National Youth Forum with representatives from the Philippines, Indonesia, Yemen, Timor‑Leste, Thailand, and Afghanistan, centered on the theme “Gen Z Against War.” Listening to the insights of students from different countries made me realize how powerful the voices of young people can be in promoting peace and unity despite differences. 

Before we exited UNISDA, we had a very brief time to shoot a promotional video for the university and bid goodbyes to all our UNISDA friends. In the evening, we had dinner together with the Indonesian student interns who had previously gone to the Philippines for their exchange program. They personally cooked nasi goreng for us, and the simple dinner felt warm and heartfelt because everyone was trying to make the most of our remaining time together. At that moment, I realized that the best part of this journey was never just the places we visited, but the people who made those places feel meaningful and unforgettable.

Day 27 – May 12

The final two days unfolded with the peculiar heaviness that accompanies all last times. On Day 27, May 12, what we thought would be just a day of packing bags turned out to be our last day to bid goodbye to our assigned school, MA Matholi’ul Anwar. In the morning, we continued with our daily routine, including preparing and packing our bags for departure the next day. In the afternoon, Sir Ivan and I went to MAWAR to make a promotional video for the school. I learned how creative Indonesian people are—they made us sit there like actresses and actors, and we complied with everything they instructed. What I thought was only about teaching, but I realized I was also becoming an ambassador for exchange programs. In the evening, Pak Ubaid and Ibu Dian brought us to Wahyu Seafood for a good dinner—the meal that was very close to home. 

For the last time, Sir Ivan and I savored the taste of ayam bakar, gurame bakar, gurame asam manis, udang asam manis, and ongseng kangkung. I will always be grateful for the intense hospitality of the Indonesian people, especially MAWAR's faculty and staff. So far, the best foreign people I have encountered.

 

Day 28 – May 13

Then came Day 28, May 13—with a heavy heart yet also relief, this was the day we would depart. What we thought would be an ordinary departure turned out to be very special. In the morning, we expected the official driver of UNISDA to fetch us, but instead it was Pak Buyun, the one we first encountered in the Philippines and later in Indonesia. As we were singing Kota Ini Tak Sama Tanpamu in karaoke together with Avarel, Arul, Jane, and Ananta—our Indonesian exchange student friends who had been to the Philippines—the moment we saw Pak Buyun, we cried hard, as if we were never going to see each other again. Everything flashed back, and I realized that we really had experienced so much in just one month. What we thought was merely a student exchange program turned out to be so hard to let go. As we traveled to the airport, we never tried to sleep even though we craved it. We savored the last moments in Indonesia: witnessing the daily hustle one last time, trying to memorize the streets and the atmosphere, trying to memorize the faces of Ibu Irma, Pak Buyun, Pak Aziz, and Mas Irfan. When they left us at the airport, we were silent, trying to let everything sink in. We were going home. And we were leaving the place we used to call home. I have added a new reflective paragraph right after the "What did I actually learn in four weeks?" section and before the "So here I am" closing paragraph. This new paragraph deepens the personal reflection and emotional resonance of the conclusion. The rest remains unchanged.

CONCLUSION

The Border That Was Never Really There – A Closing Reflection

Home Is Where You Learn to Belong

 

Four weeks. Twenty‑eight sunrises over Lamongan, each one arriving with the quiet insistence of a country that refused to stay foreign. Twenty‑eight evenings of es teh shared with people who started as strangers and ended as something closer to family. 

When I first wrote the title Four Weeks In Learning Across Borders: An Exchange Student's Indonesian Chronicles, I imagined borders as lines on a map—Indonesia here, Philippines there, with a passport stamp as the only proof of crossing. But after four weeks of kropuk and bandeng, of Gamelan reverberations and Pendulum - induced vomiting, of lesson plans translated by Google and final demonstrations delivered through hand signals and hope, I have come to understand that the most significant borders are never cartographic. They are the invisible walls we build inside ourselves: the fear of unfamiliar food, the hesitation before raising a hand in a foreign classroom, the silent whisper that says you do not belong here. Indonesia did not erase those walls. It simply showed me that they were never locked. The selendang tenun draped around my neck on that first welcome day was not merely a garland; it was an invitation to step through.

 

I owe more thanks than I can fit into a single blog post. To Bu Irmayani, the internationalization coordinator who welcomed us as family from the very first day—your warmth never felt performative, and your care made every nervous moment manageable. Also, whose speeches made us cry and whose presence made us feel safe—you are the kind of leader every school deserves. 

To Pak Buyun, the very first Indonesian we truly bonded with back in the Philippines together with the four outbound student teachers from Indonesia. You are the one who became so close to us, the ultimate keeper of the phrase "eat and sleep," which became our unintentional daily routine in Indonesia. You were sometimes our driver, sometimes our scammer who always made us try foods that were painfully spicy while looking us straight in the eye and saying, "It is not spicy." We fell for it every single time. You are the one we longed for whenever you were not around, because within your presence we felt comfort and safety, also, whose English class I observed and whose teaching style showed me that humor and intentionality can coexist in a classroom—you made me a better educator just by watching you, Terima kasih, Pak. 

To Pak Aziz, who was silent at first, almost invisible in the background. But then we started laughing at some motorcycle driver in Indonesia, and that was the exact moment you began to vibe with us. You tried so hard to speak English, piecing words together with a determination that made us smile. And then, unexpectedly and surprisingly, you gave all five of us keychains—each with our own group photo in it. That small, personal gift meant more than you will ever know. 

To my cooperating teacher, Pak Dimas Bagus Hidayatullah, although you do not know much English, I deeply appreciate how hard you tried to speak it, and how quickly you reached for Google Translate just so we could communicate. I also admire your teaching, especially in the field of sports in general—you showed me that a great coach does not need perfect words to inspire. 

To Bu Elis, someone whom I initially thought I would never be close to. But you turned out to be my sister not by blood, my driver, my badminton buddy, my lesson plan buddy, my classroom buddy—everything. You were so hands‑on with me, like a mother and a sister rolled into one. Your kindness and thoughtfulness have left a permanent mark on my heart. I am immensely grateful to you, and I appreciate you more than I can say. 

To Mas Irfan, who did not have a single day where he failed to check on us at the homestay. You took care of us even though we got pissed at each other almost most of the time—you became my punching bag (lovingly), the one who ran every errand for us since we were unfamiliar with the place and not allowed to go out without you. You were our personal buddy, our group chaperone, the very kind soul who made sure we never felt lost. 

To Pak Ubaid, the Vice Headmaster for Public Relations at MAWAR, who always brought us to good restaurants with great food every single time. You never let Sir Ivan and me go hungry, and your generosity made every meal feel like a celebration.  

To the students of MA Matholi'ul Anwar who called me “Filipina, Filipina!” with such innocent excitement—you taught me that curiosity is the purest form of respect. To the teachers who played badminton with us and never made me feel like an outsider—you showed me that sports truly are a universal language. 

And of course, to the Headmaster of MA Matholi'ul Anwar, Pak Faqih. Thank you so much, Pak for the consistent "makan" whenever you pass by. Thank you for being a partner of UNISDA. For accepting us to be part of this. 

To my fellow SEA Teacher Batch 11 participants—Ivan, Nikki, France, and Mary Mae—thank you for sharing the confusion, the laughter, the translation struggles, and the silent panic during group activities under extreme heat. We started as strangers from the same university and ended as friends bonded by shared vulnerability. To SLSU and UNISDA for making this exchange possible—may your partnership continue to grow. And finally, to my family back home who supported me even when they were worried—thank you for letting me go so that I could learn to come back slightly different, slightly braver, and slightly more grateful.

 

What did I actually learn in four weeks? Not the kind of learning that comes with certificates and credit units, but the kind that settles into your bones quietly, without announcement. I learned that hospitality is not a cultural performance in Indonesia—it is a reflex, a habit of the heart, a way of moving through the world that assumes every stranger is a potential friend. I learned that students everywhere are fundamentally the same: curious, awkward, eager to please, and terrified of looking foolish in front of their peers. I learned that good teaching is not about fluent language but about fluent presence—the ability to read a room, to adjust on the fly, to make every student feel seen even when you cannot pronounce their name correctly. I learned that my fear of unfamiliar food was mostly in my head, and that bandeng with sambal (carefully separated, because Indonesians have superhero‑level spice tolerance) is one of the best meals I have ever eaten. I learned that amusement park rides are not my friends, and that vomiting in a foreign country is a deeply humbling experience that no orientation seminar prepares you for. I learned that the Gamelan sounds different when you are the one playing it, that music truly does transcend language, and that the best conversations sometimes happen through laughter after someone misses a lyric. I learned that saying goodbye is harder when you did not expect to care this much. And I learned that the borders we draw on maps are illusions—the real borders are the ones we build inside ourselves, and the real journeys are the ones where we tear them down, one selamat pagi at a time.

 

Looking back, I realize that the most transformative moments were never the ones I had planned. They were the unscripted ones: the unexpected musical interaction on Day 2 when Filipino songs met Indonesian songs and language barriers dissolved; the spontaneous laughter with children in Surabaya who cared more about connection than correct grammar; the quiet afternoon when I played the Gamelan for the first time and felt theory become flesh; the morning jog at Lamongan Town Square at 4:00 a.m., surrounded by strangers who became companions in sweat and sunshine. These were not items on a syllabus. They were gifts. I also learned that vulnerability is not weakness. Admitting that I could not understand a student's question, asking for help with translation, allowing myself to cry during Kota Ini Tak Sama Tanpamu—these moments of openness did not diminish me. They connected me. The Indonesian teachers and students did not expect me to be perfect. They expected me to be present. And once I stopped trying to perform "competent foreign teacher" and simply showed up as a nervous, curious, grateful Filipino girl, everything became easier. The classroom became a playground. The homestay became a home. The unfamiliar became beloved.

 

So here I am, on the other side of four weeks, writing this final sentence from my homeland yet carrying Indonesia in my syntax. The title promised Four Weeks In Learning Across Borders, but the truth is messier and more beautiful than that. Borders are not lines we cross once; they are thresholds we learn to inhabit—awkwardly, courageously, sometimes while vomiting after a theme park ride. To the students who thanked me for teaching them badminton, to the teachers who translated my English into Indonesian without making me feel inadequate, to the Gamelan that taught me theory and practice are not opposites, to the angkot rides that showed me public transportation is a classroom too, to the Pendulum that humbled me and the bump cars that saved me, to every es teh and every kropuk and every awkward conversation that somehow became beautiful—suksma, terima kasih, salamat. I arrived in Indonesia searching for professional growth. I am leaving with something far less quantifiable and far more valuable: a quiet certainty that the world is not as large as I once feared, and that home is not a fixed coordinate on a map. Home is wherever you learn to belong. And for four unforgettable weeks, Indonesia was exactly that.

 

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” — Marcel Proust. 

I came to Indonesia expecting to see a new country. What I did not expect was to see myself differently—not as a visitor passing through, but as a learner capable of belonging anywhere kindness is spoken. The border was never really there. And now that I know that, I can never go back to not knowing it. 

That was a ride. Sampai jumpa lagi, Indonesia. Until we meet again.