Jakarta – the megalomaniac megapolis. The city of omnipresent noise. The city of dust. This city of asphalt, this concrete city. A sixteen-lane highway meanders through Grogol, West-Jakarta, where I live. I became immune – or: stone deaf – for the noise produced by countless vehicles. The exhaust fumes raise the dust though. I kiss the dust every morning, every evening. And living next to a construction site does not elevate the situation. Dust to dust. Desperate – I keep on dusting. A fine grain of dust covers the pages of the books, of the character keys. I go on, and sweep.
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1 comment:
Hi Roy! Stumbled upon your blog in search of 'Y.B. Mangunwidjaja' and came across this posting. Interesting what you think of the *quote*omnipresent noise*unquote* because personally to me, Jakarta almost defines 'growth'. The never-ending constructions and more luxurious malls and apartment buildings are like never-ending economy cycle. People work like the way the clock works, never stopping, never resting. "Mati satu tumbuh seribu" to me reminds me so much of Jakarta and its never-ending noise. You keep on living and keep on producing something doesn't matter what the cause of previous failure is. :) Just a thought.
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