Jogja, My Sanctuary

Here I come back again to the old city of Jogja - the silent witness of both my grief and joy. The city where I left each and every fracture of my anatomy part called the heart.

Every street corner, every landmark, every particle of dust from motorbikes, every taxi ride, every unit of becak, every drop of water in fish ponds decorated with shy lotuses on the surface, every step of the way around those beautiful hotel establishments, every stall along Malioboro, every sound of Javanese language, every motif of batik cloth, every color of flowers, every bite of gastronomic indulgence, every fake smile I throw, every silent tear I try oh so hard to keep from falling.

I haven't been cured, Jogja. Not even a bit since my last visit in January. Here I go again, throwing my shattered self into your welcoming arms. I missed you and I'd just like to see you again and reminisce what it's like to laugh and have a friend telling me: "Your face is glowing with happiness."

You and I know, Jogja, that she was wrong, for now my face is still glowing with tears.