I’m writing this on a flight to Japan, the second of a three-flight series to reach home. By then, my (hopefully, first of many) American adventure would come to an end. While it could be argued that it ended after I departed D.C., I simply would like to take into account the experience of winding down the immediate nostalgia and sentimentality of being in the States.
A part of such a process is tempering my mind to the quirks of Indonesian life by catching up on news from back home over the past few weeks. As of now, somewhere over North America, it’s 50-50. That being said, any sense of displacement (feeling out of place due to some cultural leanings) or disappointment (amongst many things, by the general lack of orderliness) which usually accompanies my journey home is peculiarly absent.
Perhaps it’s because I simply want to get this journey over with. Maybe the full aura of Jakarta life will wash over me when I get to see its humdrum from my hotel room during quarantine.
Such things notwithstanding, I have plans. Oh boy, do I have plans. Those might not come to fruition. Some might just be parts of a complex pipe dream. But can always dream, eh?