I just need to take a moment to look at some portraits: Kuningan, Cirebon, Jakarta, Bali. All those beauties, hustle and bustle, immediately disassembles the wall of dread and loneliness. Tanah air is my other half, my sunlight and the moonlight.
Grey, white, or a similar color with dark paint as concrete; permanent building constructions—high and plush-up to the sky; four-and-two-wheeled machines lined up on the road; pollution and cigar smoke jumbled together to spike each heart; and no green, no trees.
The darkness blinds me, and cheers and cries combine to buzz my senses. My voice is muffled. I’m losing feeling in my face. A movement in the shadow draws my attention to a caution. I note a figure among the specks of light. It is stomping on my chest and widening my eyes. The entire light is directed toward him as the piano strains continue to pound; as the violin string escorts.