Author: Michael Passage

Ik Ben gevraagd om even een beetje over mijn leven te schrijven.  Ik dacht, nou zeg, dat is misschien een 1 April grap en ik word belazerd…..aduh, in American-English maar.  This is an April Fools joke right?  That is how I saw the email message on my well used IPAD.  I read the message again and then understood the seriousness.  Let me just get this angst out of the way and shake my old head so the memories will not be too foggy.

Yes, I consider myself an INDO.  Why?  For the many parallel reasons so many of our INDO families have.  The history of having suffered and endured and overcome strife and a new world.  The multiple stories we have all read, about the time before, during and after the big WWII.  The stories about family names that bind us to the Dutch or European lineage.  The common thread of our parents under brutal captivity in camps.  How they survived sickness, empty stomachs, rations and barbaric treatments.  This went on after the WWII ended.  For another four years of the Bersiap period when many of our families had to find shelters to defend against the now growing numbers of Indonesian independence fighters.  The repatriation of the Dutch colonials had begun.  The allegiance to the Netherlands (Dutch) made many families leave everything behind and make the big move.  From a tropical island setting to a cold and wet flat land.  Those that made it thru the war and repatriated to the boerderijen were the first generation. I am an INDO because I am a second generation, born after the war WWII.

The Indo heritage started in 1890’s when my truly Dutchman grandfather decided he should leave his family and travel to the Dutch East Indies colonies.  He started a new branch on the Van Overeem family tree that had grown since the early 1400’s.  I thank my dear grandfather Antoine Cornelis Van Overeem for the linkage to the Dutch-Indo heritage.   He was smitten by a beautiful West Javanese girl and together they toiled the land and lived in peace.  My dad, Herman, was the eldest of 7 aunties and 2 uncles.

The Japanese war machine rolled over the colonial islands. My dad as a KNIL soldier was captured in March of 1942 and was immediately send to Siam/Burma.  He survived working on the railroad of death and in August of 1945 was reassigned to keep the order and peace in the lower Sunda Islands and Celebes.  He met my mother, Marlien, and she was a Menadonese, a very good cook, sings as a bird and dances as a butterfly.  Her family was 12 kids large.  On the way to bring his bride home, I was born on the island of Sumbawa.  It was unfortunately too late for my dad to see his father.  His father, passed away in the last month of captivity in a Japanese prison camp.  I was named after him, Antoine Cornelis Van Overeem.  On a side note, just a couple months ago, Herman Van Overeem was posthumously honored by the Netherlands Ministerie van Defensie with the Mobilisatie and Orde en Vrede Kruis medals.

All of the Van Overeem brothers and sisters had survived these awful times and had made their way to the Netherlands.  Our Van Overeem family was the last to leave Indonesia.  In early 1958, My dad had to leave everything he worked for.  The tea and rubber plantations were taken over by the Indonesian government.  He left everything behind and now with a family of four kids, boarded an Italian steamship and left Indonesia from Tanjung Priok.  If you asked me to go out and eat Italian, I would say anything but spaghetti.  On the ship we had spaghetti every waking hour for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack.  We disembarked in Genoa, Italy, and then by train made it to the Netherlands.  We were now placed in a welcoming camp and then moved to bungalows in Leersum.  I remember the hills with short brush and some pine trees in the distance.  I remember the big chestnut tree that if you threw your rock perfectly, a bunch would fall and we would put them on the kachel to roast.

My mom and dad were not ready to make our home in Niewerkerk a/d Ijssel a permanent one.  Yet, we assimilated, my dad learned a completely new trade, we grew up ice skating the canals, and bartering for fresh chicken and eggs with the farms nearby.  I will always remember climbing up trees at the apple orchards and stealing green apples. I also remember that all the aunties and my beautiful tiny Oma with bun in her hair, and wearing a sarong kebaja would come together in her flat in Schiedam.  I remember the weddings we attended and of course it was always that Dutch-Indo food that was cooked.  We listened to Radio Veronica and sang songs by the Blue Diamonds.  I remember the mooije meisjes in Gouda and then I went to HBS school in Rotterdam by bicycle, and played soccer (voetbal) on the school team.  On the month we were to play in tournaments in London, England, my parents got their wish answered.  We would leave “Holland” in March of 1962 and emigrate to the USA.

Our journey by plane to New York and then by train across the USA was a big eye opener.  We had flats in Holland that were perhaps 15 stories high, but these are skyscrapers, and the land we crossed was endless.  So much too see and take in.  The train ride took the better part of 4 days travel and every story you had read about the Wild West are no longer imagination.  This is the real deal.  I remember the prairies and the green forests and magical mountains.  I remember real oranges from California.  We made it to Los Angeles and the church sponsors drove us to Long Beach.  We settled in and with my British -English, I was placed in the ninth grade at Jefferson and went to Wilson High School.  Funny how you learn to acclimate real quickly because you had too.  It was jeans and white T-shirt or jeans and plaid shirts and “tennis shoes”.

How and where did our parents get the courage to continually seek out the best for the family?  Why did they not stop when all was good and happy?  I think every second generation Indo has perhaps asked that question.  With all the adversity of starting a new life in a whole new country, not once, but twice, we can’t thank our wonderful parents enough.  We all learned that if you truly wanted and worked hard, the opportunities are there for the taking.  Both my parents worked multiple jobs, my mom was a great seamstress and later made all the special outfits for grandchildren.  My dad became a knowledgeable oil drilling machinist, and often sent to far away places for installations and repair.  Our parents made the ultimate sacrifice so we can continue to carry the torch.

We as children and being second generation, learned of other families that were here, and especially in Southern California.  A whole community of Dutch and Indo are living here and they have social groups and they get together.  There was The Wapenbroeders that my dad knew, and then there was AVIO and the Holland Soccer Club.  You hear about Pasadena and the Mousson and the Pasar Malams and kumpulans.  The parents were now getting their lives back and the silent front saw cracks and little by little you hear about the who, the what and the why from days past.  You could sense the pain, but also the relief of that heavy burden they had carried.  May both Herman and Marlien forever Rest In Peace.

We grow up and we find the partner in life.  The one you bring home becomes the Indische meisje and she learns from watching OMA.
We become our own families with third generations and we get together for special social holidays and picnics and always we find what brings us close; family, food, and fun.  We speak of our past, but most of all we plan our future.  My two brothers and sister are close.  They live in California and they too have their families and stories.

My story has many starts and finishes, yet it continues forward to this day.  I worked my tail off.  I was a gardener, a newspaper boy, a chauffeur, a factory assembler, a tool maker, a draftsman, I climbed on airplanes and helicopters, I am not a veteran, but have worked with every DoD and Space based industry.  I played hard, I swam, I surfed, I did tennis, did racquetball, did handball, tried out for under twenty USA soccer! We danced all night and watched submarine races.  I am retired now and my knees ache.  Ann, my lovely wife, I met in college and she for many years was an ER nurse.  We are now the OMA and OPA and we want to leave our INDO heritage alive and well.  We live in the USA and much thanks to our past Indo affiliates and to the Indo Project and the Indo Dutch Cook Book and the many social media groups and special Dutch-Indo and now include local Indonesian events, our wish will be granted.  Tot ziens en Slaap lekker allemaal, morgen gaan we goed eten.

Antoine Cornelis Van Overeem

Hello, my name is Michael Rijnders,

Readers – i want you to Imagine a time… a time where there was green jungles, beautiful little houses made out of mortis and tenon joints and wooden pegs, timber, bamboo, thatch and fibre, indo’s know this as, “rumah adat”. Which meant, “custom home”. Life was custom, and people were accustomed to being well to do with simplicity. House servants were extended family that you paid to help around with cooking, cleaning, even help raising children… That was the life of an INDO post war. The life of my families stories told from my mother and grandmother where she grew up. 

On my mothers side it was a story of love in war… My grandmother Wilhelmina Paap lived in Indonesia during the times of the Japanese invasions, while many families were being searched, raided, harassed, my grandmothers beauty was radiant and hopeful and caught the eyes of a Japanese pilot at the time( they were the enemy). The story goes, the pilot would help and aide her and her family during the time and out of the blue, disappeared. Perhaps he got captured, but that is unknown. However, he left my grandmother with the most amazing gift… My mother… Curly Jolly Paap-Monod de Froideville – Rijnders. Later my grandmother fell in love with Lt. Robert Monod De Froideville from the Royal Dutch Marines, who by his dutch-Indonesian decent, was brought in to negotiate terms for the Dutch-Indo shenanigans. However, he did’t speak Bahasa at the time. So My grandmothers brother Rex Paap was his translator. (which is how my grandmother and him met) Having raised my mother as his own and having 8 more children!

Side thought: Fast forward/rewind end up in limbo… in between most of this.

My family experienced… a little jungle magic(no pun intended haha). Weird things like jaga’s (good spirits protecting the home), to sacred kris’s that made Indonesian soldiers run out the house scared from head to toe, and kept my family safe on both sides. (similar stories actually came from both my mother and fathers side). And my mother and her family ended up in the US, and my father Andries John Rijnders from the Royal Dutch Navy.

My mothers family and her flew into what was New York International Airport(Now Kennedy International) on KLM McDonnel-Douglas aug. 16 1962. Once they cleared customs, they went to Grand Central Station and took a train to Chicago, from there to Santa Fe railroad to Los Angeles. Trip took 3 days and they arrived Aug, 19, 1962.

My Opa was 39 my Oma would be 35 – 8 days later. My mother 16 at the time, with her siblings Peter(13), Fee(12),Dick(11) Marjo(9), Hanneke(7), Hans(5). The Dutch consul general asked a Dutch family Jaap & Janny Kaperto borrow their station wagon and two additional cars the consulate provided to pick them all up and take them to a large house on 555 N Alvarado Blvd, a block away from the famous McArthur Park. They lived on the first floor with Bill and Trees Seeman. Which through a dividing door, my family peeped through key holes to look at the magical world of Black and White Television. They only had 75$ in their pockets when they arrived.

Raising a family was hard, but my grandfather made it happen with finesse. fast forward after some hardships and finally moving to Pasadena with other indo families. A year later the Indo Community Center De Soos was established. Where my grandfather was Vice President and my grandmother made the first Sinterklaas costume used in the club. De soos first met monthly at Jefferson Park in Pasadena, then Boyle Heights, After that, St Andrews Church in la Puente, where Rene Creutzburg servedthe longest as President of de Soos.

My mother, old enough to work by sixteen years of age, met my father when she was working as a waitress at Garuda Indonesian Restaurant in Pasadena. My father and his old military friend were sitting their eating, when they saw this Indonesian gal with long dark black hair down to floor, with giant C cups. They were giddy and googly eyed when they made gentlemen’s bet… “Let’s flip a coin and see who asks her out!”.. My father won.  He was 26/27 years old at the time. On their first date, he wooed her with his cooking skills. She came over to his apartment and he cooked her Corned Beef and Rice!(ok not really cooking skills, but it left an impression). An Impression so good that my mother said, he will never cook again as long as she’s around. They fell in love, she quit her job and became a stay at home wife, raising 7 children together. Where she cooked every day she could. I am the youngest of 7.  My brothers and sisters Andries Jr, Richard, Paul, Charlie, Belinda, Rebecca and Myself, have been 3rd Generation Indos, living the American Dream.  We grew up in places like the Avio, and Soos. It seemed there was a party 7 days a week full of dancing, drinks, laughter, war stories, and love… Indo’s love dancing – I grew up with diverse music like the Lambada, Indo Rock, Rock n Roll, Oldies but Goodies, playing on old record players non stop, even when my mother was cleaning.

My father became a chief engineer and retired from Ralph’s grocery factory in San Pedro after his military career ended and family life started. His family was all left behind in Holland, he too comes from a huge family of 7.

He was forced at the age of 16 to join the military by his father. Once he did, being the second oldest, he went through and decided, sunny beaches and polka dot bikinis was his goal. He’s never stopped working a day in his life, and til this day, still helps many first and second generation indo’s with his business, A.Rynders Electric Air conditioning and Refrigeration. Also til this day, does all the electrical work for the Dutch/indo fair in long beach. He has always been an honest worker, and never charging much for his time and labor, growing up working with him as my brothers all did before me, he would tell us how he always wanted to give us a life of knowledge like his father gave him. He said if you are an honest worker, you will always have enough money to be comfortable. He told us how if he wanted to he could be like all the other companies that over charge for parts and labor with arms and legs, but why would you want that reputation? He said honest prices, and honest work, will always have God look out for your family. If you charge people fairly, they will recognize your worth and you will always have business. He raised 7 off us whole heartedly and with the sweat off his back since age 16. My mother and him raised us to be So-Cal Indos.

Til’ this day i have never met another Indo in person besides family and our extended close niche Indo family through Soos and Avio connections of first and second generations. I am glad i can start connecting more with others like me. 3rd and 4th generation Indo communities that are still interested in our heritage and background so it does not remain lost.

What does it mean to me to be an Indo?

To me, it is exactly how my family raised us and the surroundings of our environment. Open doors for friends and family, always having food and snacks for random guests that pop in to say hello. A Warm heart that welcomes anyone and everyone of every color and background. Family morals that build a chain that keeps on growing to support everyone in our community. Being able to know my dreams are not possible today without the sacrifices of the ones before us that were refugees without a country. To remember the smiles, laughs, poker chips shuffling and dancing to music for generations to come. Sharing stories of the past show that everyone has overcome so much to be here and because of that, INDO’s will never be forgotten.

Thank you for listening to my story, i hope to read more of yours and share drinks, pot-lucks, dances, and rock out to Een kop koffie!

I am a SO-CAL indo. I am Michael Rijnders.

Selamat, I am Irene Goutier, raised in beautiful Altadena, California. It was more promising to own a home in America than in Holland, so my father wanted that after serving in the Dutch Navy.  My parents, just like many alike, is Dutch Indo who took refuge to the Netherlands from Indonesia in the late 1940’s. Then later immigrated to the United States around 1960.

My Goutier side of the family is fortunate enough to trace our history back to the early 1800’s.  We are part of the Indo – African decent.  It started with my great great grandfather Najoersie, a warrior of the Mossi tribe in Africa. Born in Ghana, he sold himselfto the Dutch to fight the war on the island of Sumatra. Later, these soldiers were known as the “Black Dutchman” and “Black Skin with an Orange Heart”. Najoersie next generation was given a last name of Niks,  which means “nothing” in the Dutch language.

On my mother side, same scenario after the war, their last name is Beuk. The surname before that was Alles.  In translation means “everything” in Dutch. So yes, my mother and father was the joke of the family when “everything” and “nothing” got married.

Fast forward to my birth year, 1968. I had no idea the uniqueness of my family heritage of why I was the way I am or how I live.  It was like putting pieces of a puzzle together to make an accepting identity. I have black hair,  dark olive skin complexion, green hazel eyes, slender nose and face.  So, I looked different from my peers in school, and knew a language no one really heard of. Even if I mention the country of Indonesia it would raise a lot of eye brows and questions.  My brother , tall, thin, light skin, brown hair took after my Opa Wim Goutier, from the French decent. My sister has a round face, dark complexion, taking after my mother, of Indonesia decent. Try to explain that to the neighborhood when you are just a little kid.

Another lingering thought, why did my relatives livedso far apart from each other, and in different countries. So any Dutch Indonesia friends our family had growing up near by, I would consider them as my oom, tante, neef and nicht. It felt great to see family more often and finally like I fit in ! Not having to apologize for my parents direct behavior and their stubborn ways because their parents were just the same ! Especially when the adults would get  together in a group laughing so loud, listening to Elvis, singing karaoke, and doing the jive. My friends from school would visit me and always ask why do we cook rice 24/7 in the kitchen, and why we would fry chips in the hot grease and can’t wait for it to explode. (Kerupuk Udang or Emping) Why I love drinking coconut milk (way before it became popular) with green worms in it. (Chendol) It was also great not having to translate my parents conversation. Especially when they would yell “hey apa kabar”. (What’s new!)  Lastly, why we were so threatened by the sloff ! (slippers).

My parents were excited to tourthe U.S, and experience all what they have heard about it to be. I had the pleasure to experience their first sights of this great country with them.  My mother envied the celebrity life in the United States while living in Holland. So my mother took a lot of pictures, posing everywhere, all the time, just like in the movies and magazines. As much as I hated to take the time to pose and smile for the pictures, I really appreciate them now.

Growing up Indo taught me to be appreciate “everything” and the “nothing” in life.  At 48 years young, my identity, my puzzle,  is a proud American – Dutch – Indo – African person with a French last name.

Thank you SoCal Indo for this opportunity to share our experience with others alike and making our generation feel like one big, happy satay ayam eating family.

My name is George Richard Muller, named me after my Opa. I am Dutch-Indonesian. I was born in Redondo Beach Hospital, the 2nd born of 5 boys, in beautiful Southern California. When I was 8 months old, my mother moved us to Big Bear Lake in the San Bernardino National Forest. Times were tough on my mom, being a single mother of 5 boys, but it was nothing short of an adventure everyday of my life and I don’t regret a single day. We spent the summers exploring the vast wilderness of mountains, discovering new camping spots, and places to let our imagination run wild. For a time, we had to live in the forest camping for weeks on end, moving place to place within the woods, even through the winters I had to do what it took to provide for my brothers and help my mother through tough times. I became a thief at a young age, stealing orders from McDonalds, breaking open toilet dispensers to take those big roles, showering at campgrounds. Living life on the wild side in a way most people will never know.

The years went by, things got better. We traded off between camping, a mobile home, a truck trailer, and  camper. We would break into vacation homes occasionally to take a hot shower, or wash our clothes. My perception of it wasn’t bad, I just hated other kids complaining about their problems when I’d kill for a fresh pair of shoes that fit. I grew angry in my youth at being bullied for being poor and having to wear the same clothes and shoes that were too big.

Time passed and eventually my mother found a man to love and provide for a woman who had five sons that were not his own. We didn’t take it easy on him. Things got easier as he moved us into a two bedroom house at the edge of the parking lot near Snow Summit, one of the local ski resorts. I still had the camper, my buddies would party there all night, or come back to it after skiing all day and night. They also used it as a safe haven after getting into some midnight mischief. Unfortunately, old habits didn’t die young, and my thievery and burglarizing days didn’t end when things got better. I eventually got arrested and went to juvenile hall when I was 15. From then on I stopped stealing and tried to do better but it was short lived, as I became an alcoholic and became addicted to prescription pain pills until the age of 20. That lifestyle did not end until a girl I had worked at a ski resort many years before called me. It was December 23, 2012 – I didn’t hear her voicemail until the 26th and I called her back immediately!

The woman who changed my life forever is Tara Hall, the Beautiful Dutch-Indonesian girl who shared the same heritage as me. Our love story is one out of a destiny- driven novel, brought together by the hands of fate. When I first laid eyes on her, all those years ago (at the age of 15) I knew there was something familiar about her, something unique. Her light brown hair reached far down her backside, past her butt (I cant make that sound romantic), and the color of her skin was unmistakable. I was pulled to her by curiosity until I rudely asked her,”what are you?” She replied, “Dutch.” I said,”uh-huh, that color comes from somewhere!”, to which she responded, “I’m Dutch-Indonesian actually, but nobody ever knows what that is.” It was love at first sight and I had thought to myself,”I need to marry this girl!” nothing happened between us for many years, as we had both moved away and had different things going on in our lives. But as fate would have it, we both moved back to Big Bear in 2012. She is my greatest inspiration to do good, and to strive to change into a better person – everyday!

In our second year together, I got a job working with the Forest Service working with a restoration crew on various projects. The Crew Captain was a retired Wildland Firefighter Battalion Chief, whose former career peaked my interest. The rest was history in the making, and the start of a fantastic journey back into the forest. I drove to Colorado for a quick Fire Academy to get my training, and worked with a fire crew the same year – The Mojave Greens Fire Crew  to be exact. My first big fire assignment was anopportunity to fight a fire in the heart of my home town. One of the proudest moments of my life, next to proposing to Tara. The year after, I got onto a Firefighting Helitack crew as a Helicopter Flight Crew member with the Apple Valley Flight Crew. My first of many flights to fight a fire was once again to my home Town, Big Bear.

As of this moment in my life, my fiancé and I are planning our wedding and looking forwardto starting our own family. To have our own bundle of Dutch-Indonesian children and making sure that they grow up knowing where they come from, and to be proud of our heritage and culture. My Oma and Opa always said,”Do not shame the Muller name” and “KANNIET IS DOOD JONG!” which means “cannot is dead youngen” these were some of the many inspirational things I was taught by Oma and Opa. They  both played a big role in the way I was raised. I will always do my best to remain grounded and humble like my Opa. He was a hard working man throughout his life, he was once a wealthy man in Indonesia. But,  like everybody else after the war, he lost everything along the way – except his family. When he came to this country he took any job he could, including cleaning toilets in dive bars. Still, he was the happiest and kindest man I knew. He always made sure that anyone who came to his door had a meal before they left, including the mailman. To me, being Dutch-Indonesian is to be a survivor, to be humble, and to serve others. I only hope that my Opa is looking down, and is proud of the man that I have become.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed my story, as scattered as it may be! SALAMAT!

My name is Jennifer Ripassa. I was the first generation born in the United States to Dutch-Indonesian parents, both born in Surabaya, Indonesia, who came to this country with their parents, looking for a brighter future and a good education. (Thank you, Omas and Opas for making that crazy trip). I can’t believe all the racism, violence, and war our family had to go through. I know my Oma lost many family members in World War II, she witnessed so much torture, suffering and poverty. And when she had her own family, she did what she could to get them to a more promising future. I remember Oma Monod telling me how a letter from President John F. Kennedy gave them permission to live in the United States. Oma, of course, sent the first letter. She was such a brave lady. Oma Monod was born in Amsterdam. When she was 5, her whole family moved to Kediri, where her father became a newspaper man. Eventually they moved to Surabaya where she remained until my mom was born, after which they moved to Jakarta.

My Opa Monod was born in Sarolangun, Jambi Province on the island of Sumatra. His father was a Dutch colonial government official known as Assistant Resident of Jambi. His mother was Javanese. He lived with his mom in the kampong (village) until age 5, when his father married his stepmother. He was then sent to the Netherlands for school. Then Opa came back to Indonesia as a Dutch Marine fighting for continued colonial rule/against nationalism. He had cousins fighting for nationalism & became national heroes in Indonesia.

My Opa Ripassa was born on the island of Sumatra, from parents of mixed backgrounds… Ambonese, Javanese, Dutch. Oma was born on the island of Java from Dutch Parents and later, after having 7 children, migrated to the United States as a single mother. Unfortunately Opa passed away before my dad turned 2.

My parents met here in the United States through the Indo club called De Soos. And because both of my parents’ families were part of this club, I guess you could say that both sides of the family were involved in their meeting. My mom wanted to learn how to jive, and because she had seen how great a dancer my dad was, she asked him to teach her… and that’s how they met. I feel so blessed to have been able to watch them sing and dance in De Soos shows growing up.

Then there was the bowling league for De Soos and Rosi, which I feel so honored to have been a part of. Those Indos are such fun people, no matter how old. They never seem to lose their spark as they get older. It’s so great to see the Indo people keep in touch after all these years and keep bringing the younger generations of Indos together. That’s one thing I noticed. We love to dance and party and just be together! I hear of other families that dread family get-togethers. We just can’t wait to be together!

I remember around Christmas time with De Soos, Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet would come! They were scary!!! I was always happy to see Sinterklaas, but hoping that I was good enough that Zwarte Piet wouldn’t take me away in their big potato sacks.

Going to school when I was younger, I remember my mom would pack me my Hagelslag sandwich for lunch. My friends would ask me every day, “Are you eating chocolate covered ants again? Ew!” They never asked to try, but I don’t think I’d ever want to share anyway. Chocolate sprinkles are still my favorite!!

Dad would always cook his famous Nasi Goreng in the wok. He taught me how to make Olie bollen and we attempted Tjendol, but it just never comes out the same as the ones we get from the Holland Festival/Pasar Malam or the Indo restaurants. But I am good at making Nasi Kuning with Beef Rendang! Yummy!!!   Now I’m craving some Pisang Goreng!

If you looked at my extended family, you’d see how mixed up we are. Some look Caucasian with their light skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. Then there are the ones like me, tan skin with dark brown hair and brown eyes. I love my family! What is there not to like about us crazy Dutch-Indonesians? We eat the absolute best foods, we have a crazy history, we have the best attitudes and sense of humor, we are amazing people… to name a few.

A little about what I do. I am an artist. I always have been. I get that from my dad, who has several great paintings of his own. The beauty that I now see in everything is inspired by my mother and especially my brother, Max, who was once a great artist… he was passionate in all he did and found beauty in everything. His memory and passion is with me every time I create. And my brother, Ahren… he’s also an artist. He’s a music producer, DJ and a great writer. We share a music/art studio and his music puts me in the artistic zone to create.

I am a versatile artist, skilled in a wide variety of mediums including charcoal, pastels, pencils, oils, acrylics and I’ve even airbrushed a few portraits. I’m regularly commissioned to create private custom paintings/portraits, usually of pets and loved ones. In 2007, I discovered the thrill and challenge of creating on the pavement, before a live audience, in a crazy timeframe, on surfaces that could make your fingers bloody, and during all kinds of weather: cold, hot, wet, windy… Street Painting had become my new love. I now travel across the country (hopefully around the world soon) sharing this new love. I love how street painting brings the pavement to life. It can be therapeutic and tranquil, and it brings people together.

Recently, I celebrated the Indonesian side of my family heritage, by featuring my beautiful mother in traditional Balinese dress, in a chalk street painting in Houston in November. The theme was “A Colorful World”. It was definitely awesome to share a little about Indos to so many people who knew very little to nothing about us. I am still learning about us! If you want to see more of my art: www.jennifer-ripassa.com.

My name is Jennifer Ripassa and I am a proud, artistic, SoCal Indo and will never deny where I came from and the craziness that’s happened to get us to where we are today. Our families before us endured so much suffering so that we could have a better life. Thank you, to my Omas, Opas and parents. I love you!

My Oma was from the small city of Klaten and grew up on a tobacco plantation, where her father was a book keeper. My Opa was from Jogja and his father was in the dutch army, with his mother being his fathers servant. The Indonesian part of our family is Javanese (Orang Jawa) with the Dutch or European part being mostly a mix of German, French and English (and a little bit of Dutch), and one of my distant great grandmothers being Raden Adjeng or daughter or a Sultan.

My grandparents lived a happy childhood of abundance and privilege. That all changed during the war, when they were stripped of their possessions and rights and placed in internment camps; where they were nearly starved to death. Both of my great grandfathers died from complications due to imprisonment, as POW’s under the Japanese. My grandfather was at Changi in Singapore, which had a very low survival rate and a reputation for brutality towards its prisoners. He survived, and went on to meet and fall in love with my Oma in Jakarta after the war.

Once married, and after two children, my grandparents immigrated to Holland. They were not fond of the country, as it was very cold and the native population was prejudice of their dark skin. They decided to try their fate elsewhere.

They immigrated to the US in the late 1950’s with about 5 children, a motorcycle and $100 to their name. They chose the city of Costa Mesa in Southern California, as they were told that the climate was most like their native home of Indonesia. They were sponsored by the church and luckily, as a skilled and trained electrician, my Opa was able to find work right away. They continued to grow their family until they had nine children in total.

My father went to fight in Vietnam in the 1970’s, and having never really recovered from the war, was unable to be a parent to me. My grandparents filled in where he lacked. Especially my Oma who took me over the summer, winter and spring breaks from school –providing much needed, cost-free childcare to my mother. Through all the time spent, my Oma and I developed a very strong bond to each other. We often spent lazy summer days sitting on her porch or lying in her bead snuggling our gulings and listening to the doves she kept in her back yard cooing. Indonesians have a thing for birds.

She would tell me about the carefree times of her childhood. It was a world that seemed so far away, but that I could only imagine in my wildest dreams. I became obsessed with Indonesia. Every school report, project or essay was written about this far away land that I was somehow distantly connected to. There were so many beautifully romantic and exotic stories that it would take an entire book to collect them all with words to describe. I can only say that it inspired with me a love and appreciation for my culture that has no bounds. One day, I will put these stories to paper. I also learned to cook the cuisine of our culture and attended events with her, such as the indo festival. She would often give me old relics of her past such as jewelry, art work, or wood carvings. I treasure these pieces to this day and look forward to passing them down to my children.

After college I spent a year in Indonesia, living and working as a journalist and English teacher. I was able to go back to my Oma’s childhood home and explore her neighborhood. I walked through her home, looked down into the well where they drew their daily water, stepped on the grass of my Oma-Oma’s old tennis court, stood over the dried pond where the little neighbor boy had drowned, stood under the massive tree that Oma used to climb. I felt the walls that encumbered her most treasured childhood memories of life before the war. I was able to make this pilgrimage twice and in one visit, bring with me three of my Tante’s and a cousin. We even met a lady selling vegetables on the side of the road that knew my Oma as a child. So many things that I had questioned in childhood, made sense once I lived there –Just weird quirky things, like moth ball smells, words and expressions, cultural nuances. I will never forget that year, as one of the best and most wonderously amazing experiences of my life.

Fast forward to three years ago, when I lost my Oma and shortly there after, my father –both to cancer.The family disbanded shortly after the loss of our matriarch.  At this time, I was just barely beginning to start my own family and I was perplexed with a heavy sadness that I could not provide the exposure to my culture for my children. Shortly before the losses, I had began seeking out online and in social media, to find other sources of our culture in the local area of Southern California. At that point, I became familiar with the Indo Project. I met Jeff, Michael and Jamie shortly after and we all instantly clicked over food, culture and dirty jokes. We began organizing casual meet ups and gatherings, mostly centered around food. Now we have large, formalized, and organized gatherings! Its been a pleasure watching this develop and most importantly being able to expose my children to the wonderful things that inspired me as a child. I want to thank SoCal Indo for providing this opportunity for myself and my family. Whenever we are all together, it brings such comfort…. and it feels like the warm embrace of home.