Of Street Lights at Night

The Lovely Monas

Some time ago I had lunch with Dita, one of my dearest friend. We noticed how we have changed. We still feel young as ever and yet there were little things that says, you’re aging babe!

We were reminiscing how in our 20’s, still flush with excitement of that first job we’re able to go out after work to dinner then continue partying till whenever and still be fresh enough to go to brunch the next day. Now, the spirit is there but if push comes to shove, I’d rather go to sleep especially now I have this wonderfully comfy bed to sleep on. I sound like an old fogey don’t I?

But seriously I don’t miss Ebony, Fire, Musro, B.. what was the number? B-something, all that much.Β Yes sometime I do feel like dancing but the smoke and the drunks I can do without. I really don’t fancy smelling like a walking ashtray anymore. None of my dancing partner live over here anyway, so really no reason to go anymore (I mean the whole point is to dance, on the table preferably, not standing around in heels looking like immobile beings).

Having said all that, there is one thing I quite miss from those dancing days. The drive home.

a rare sight

Jakarta in the wee hours is actually very pretty, certain parts are just downright gorgeous. There is something about the almost empty street with the lights on. The busy capital is taking a break, relaxing for awhile before the hordes of workers come trampling back in the morning. It is a time to appreciate the wonder that is Sudirman, our major CBD. With the large roads, wide sidewalks, plenty of greens and gleaming skyscrapers, Jakarta looks like any major cities in the world. It looks rich, modern, cosmopolitan; power dealers, movers shakers, they’re all here. Resting behind or even on those tall glass buildings.

roti bakar, bubur ayam, internet, teh botol? Semua aya....

The wonderful thing about Jakarta is that it is never completely without people. You just need to know where to look and then you see then. Food stalls selling toast bread, chicken porridge there, the ubiquitous Internet or noodles, egg and corned beef. Sometimes we stop to eat. All those dancing makes one rather hungry. And when we do, nobody bats an eyelid. Fellow revellers. Under the harsh neon the true you emerged. Who are the true beauty, who’s cute, whose phone number worth keeping, etc. Sometimes we just go straight home. The need for pillow over-rides the wants of the tummy.

The drive home. The one thing I truly miss from those days though even then don’t actually go out all that often. So when I do I always make sure I drink up the scene that unfolds before my eyes because I never know when the next time I’ll be able to witness it again.

good night, sleep tight...

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