I’m stuck not knowing how to react to the city in which I live. I walk, daily, past people who subsist on very little. They live on 1 000 000 Rupiah (that’s $100 US approximately) a month, sometimes less, sometimes more. I walk past open sewers that are sometimes smelly and sometimes revolting. I walk past mansions that exist next to shacks. Mercedes driving past men pulling home-made carts.
What does all of this have to do with a flower? There are no parks but lots and lots of green. There is asphalt and trees, and because it’s always summer (or seemingly) the blossoms on trees and vines bloom and die all the time. I’ve been here a month and I’d almost gotten used to it. Leaves fall off trees all the time, but it’s never Autumn. I wonder if I’ll get used to all of it. I hope not. I hope that I’ll always be shocked, saddened, enraged, curious, and hopeful.