Sometimes I just don't realize it, but it's all happening all around. The struggle for survival, the begging hands, the sorrowful eyes and sored feet where dust has sinked to the skin beyond regular cleaning. This colorful city of red and orange colored uniforms of the street sweepers, the yellow-greenish spotlight vest the rent-a-motorcycle (ojek) drivers, the dulled green, blue or brown shirts of the so called parking "officers". It's a flat city with neon boxes and irregular high rises as its hills and the never ending curvature streets.
Here we are today, "the more we see the less we know". The great and blissful scenery of the malls, entertainment centers, pubs and hang out places has marred our perspective of the real city we actually live in.
Jakarta, or used to be called Batavia, is and has always been a city of the wheel of fortune, where wealth and prosperity are built upon the noisy and restless jammed roads. The road we so took for granted as we pass them to get to our places, to work, to mingle, to sleep and make known. If probably to our disposal, it may that every single road bend, there will be crafted signs of "i was here".
Here we are again today, making a living, growing old on the road, feasting on our fast food and street stalls gorengan. We pray and work to the limits, holding fast to our jobs and careers, just to forget that "blessings are not just for the ones who kneel"....luckily.
Michael
