The heat was so closed, it almost burned my skin. And damn(ly), my southeast asian’ skin was like dried weeds in the arid land, flammable. If it was not because of Mr. Hat and Mrs. Lotion, I would crawl under the Joshua trees; sought of protection—or knelt to the man who has always been my loyal driver, begging to escape from the heat that reminds me of hell.

Jakarta is indeed hot, but not as hot as the desert. Despite, my love for nature successfully hypnotized me. Joshua trees, rocks, cactus, desert creatures, camping cars, they made me forget of the shower of sunlight. Climbed along the road, feel the breeze that greeted my face, smell the soil and grass that I like it so much. Oh, it makes me realize how boring big city is.

One that I regret of: when I looked at my face in the mirror, I cursed thereafter. I got chocolate like the skin of barbeque chicken.