FOURMILIÈRE

Grey, white, or similar color with dark paint as concrete; perpetual building constructions—high and plush up to the sky; four-and-two-wheels machines lining up on the road; smokes of pollution and cigar jumbled together to spike each hearts; and no green, no trees.

Yes, sometimes I missed the bustle of humans, waiting for the Trans. Yes, sometimes I missed them to say ‘Selamat Siang’ whenever I entered every shops at the corner. And, yes, sometimes I missed the night  which I could not find here. Youth, elder, kids, they besiege the late night food and junks as a throng of bats, attacking their preys. But then it changed: busy and even busier, narrow, stuffy, unpretty, and stressful.

I love Jakarta. I miss Jakarta. And the feeling stopped ’til the city becomes a jail which is going to kill you slowly with lifeless elements inside, ’til it becomes a small pit of a hundreds ants, like fourmilier. I will come back, but not to breathe heavily, just for a sip of the best coffee in Cikini.

***

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt “No, Thanks“: Is there a place in the world you never want to visit? Where, and why not?

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Author: HUGLOOMS

Indonesian Blogger | Nusantara Tanah Airku | Don't take 'spice' out of my life |

The Pieces of Words

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