A Conversation

Irni is originally from Sumatra but now she is living in Bali and has been working at the On-On Bar for a little more than a year.

Six and seven years ago, On-On was a bustling establishment on Jalan Danau Poso, situated right next to another bustling bar called Angel's. The crowd in both bars would often be shoulder to shoulder, with people standing where no seats were available.

Now, both bars are very quiet. New bars have shouldered in on the opposite side of the street, and many more new bars, clubs and restaurants have sprung up all along the main drive in Sanur, from Poso to Tamblingan. The customers are spread as thin as butter on a diabetic's slice of toast. 

Erni is standing on the open sidewalk along with her coworker, who is Balinese and whose name I cannot remember. The coworker is pretty, except for her buck-teeth, and thin, and has a large, blotchy tattoo on one arm. Erni herself is heavyset, with a pretty face and a charming white smile. 

We speak in Indonesian, and she seems happy to converse with a customer for a change. Among the English words she knows, she tells me, are "What's up?" and "Good-day" and "What's new?"

"And mate," I suggest. 

"Oh, ya ... Mate. Like friend, yes?"

She tells me she misses home because it has been more than a year since she has seen it. She has come to Bali, naturally, in order to make money, which she may then send back to her family. This plan, though a common one, has yet to be proven lucrative. 

I tell her that I have not been home in 7 years. 

"Where are you from? Australia?"

"God forbid. No, I'm from America."

"Oh! South America or North America."

"The United States of America." 

"Oh! Ya. Hollywood! New York City!"

"Exactly."

"How many languages do they speak there?"

"Only a couple. Most people speak English, but quite a few speak Spanish, too." 

"Here in Indonesia there are many languages. Every island has a language, and some islands have more than one language. But everyone can speak the common language, Indonesian. When I first came to Bali, I didn't understand what people were saying, because they were speaking Balinese. I never heard that before. I still don't understand it."

"I don't either." 

"And you have a family here in Bali?"

"I did, but not any more."

"No wife?"

"Yes and no. How about you. Married? Children?"

"No, not yet."

"Really? But how old are you?"

"Thirty-three."

"And no husband?"

"No." She looks sad. "I had a boyfriend. We were together for five years. But then he broke my heart."

Irni's friend moves closer and puts a hand on her shoulder. A tear slips from Irni's left eye, and she smiles and shakes her head. 

"He had other girlfriends," she explains. "You know, behind my back. The whole time, there were other girls. He said he would come here to be with me, but then he stayed with his girlfriend in Sumatra. He broke my heart." She puts her hand on her broken heart. "It still hurts. It is quite broken."

"Things will get a little better every day," I suggest. 

"And you know what? Then, a month ago, he broke up with his girlfriend, and so he called my phone and said he wanted me back! But I'm not stupid. Not anymore. I was stupid, but now I'm not."

"People like that never change," I suggested. 

"I know! That's why! Now I look for the good man."

"A lot of competition there," I say. 

"What do you mean." 

"Well, I mean, there seems to be a lot of girls looking for the good man."

"Oh. Yeah. You know what? Maybe he doesn't even exist."