The other day it was 154, and then it became 100, and now London feels closer than Jakarta has ever felt to me.
I breathe its dusty air, but I don’t know its ways. At twenty, I finally learned a tiny part of the train system, but I’m still afraid of the bus. I’m still scared of what the city can do to me; I never felt safe on its roads, and I don’t know why.
Jakarta, in a picture
Maybe it’s how my parents always made sure we had a car to get us from place to place. I memorized the feeling each route gave, but never where the next turn is.