post election euphoria, she returns to jakarta, with a sense of longing for solitude that only found in this chaotic, invasive, contradictory city.
it’s the second time to sit in the squalor of his room, shoes hanging on the wall, eka kurniawan’s book married together with travel books, vonnegut, carnegie, chinese lessons and stacks of files piling on the floor, coasters from istanbul, a bed holed in wooden cabinet. a barred window. we talk of his father’s death 3 days before. still, i don’t understand loss.
Y has moved out, replaced by a french girl i’ve barely spoken to. it’s too still at night at times, i distract myself by cycling to the gym (instead of a 25 minute walk), run to this is america, and read or drink tea, or a cigarette when i’m in the mood. i only checked his fancy new apartment in the weekend, crossing the old houses and majestic trees in Menteng. we talk, with the royal wedding playing in the background, sans coffee. love, drugs, F, drama from the day before, feeling lost in the world still. what is happiness anyway? one just lives.
and some things are better left unsaid.
perkaraperkara 