I originally wrote this in 2015, days fresh after returning to Indonesia.
How do you define a big change? Would it be possible for something so big to happen and you don’t really realise that it is happening? Like you have just been put to bed, and you are dreaming, the kind of ordinary mundane state of unconsciousness between awake and asleep. And at one point, you constantly asking yourself, when am I going to wake up?
But I am not waking up, this isn’t a dream. I have travelled eighteen-hour flight, and instead of Scotland I woke up in a drier, hotter city with less greenery and funny accent. I feel I should not continue writing this because there is only anger, and agony, as if I am writing this in haste, but I have waited for over thirty days and I still haven’t got it around my head.
Airplane, has made it so easy to travel from different part of the world that it is hard to feel I have travelled half the world away. And all I’ve got is the change of climate and language. Other than that my mind hangs somewhere in the sky, in between the time difference and airplane seat belts.
In the beginning, the euphoria beats whatever anticipation of the long overdue saying hello to the place and faces I once thought as home. I whine nothing more but the sweat and crazy driving ethics, changing lanes and car’s headlight. But I did not cry, and I thought that’s a good thing.
It isn’t because it only means I am suppressing it within on the ocean’s floor of feeling. It happens so subtle and gradually when I seek the pieces of home in people. Old crushes, mostly. I am reliving what had been so good, but now seem so temporary and long ago.
It is crazy because it is happening right now but I don’t know that it is.
