After a journey, even a long one, everyone eventually has to go back home. I don’t know how my father took our return trip to Bekasi after spending weeks in the town where he was born. Was it like coming home, or returning to another tiring long journey? I would never know because home is defined only at heart. It has an ordinate of phase upright the axis of space.
My father’s hometown has turquoise horizon and long straight road to the place I was named after. It has breathtaking vista, where the rivers meet and the mountains rest. Where the tea comes with egg and our morning comes without local newspaper. With my father discussing in his mother tongue; with my brother and cousins playing; and the afternoon shopping, it perfectly defines a home for me.
The night I returned to Bandung, I felt like, I didn’t know where to put the focal point. Whether I should look at the hundreds tiny holes filtering the window, or through them; at reality of continuing a journey.
The night I returned to Bandung, I fell asleep, and suddenly there was no different between the highway and the slow boat to Sumatera.
Even after 5 years, the big clock is still ticking.