Ubud, 2019
23 October, 2019.
I’m in Ubud and it feels as if I’ve never left.
As if the ukulele seller at the crossroads, across the market hasn’t stopped playing since i was here last year. The secondhand bookstore in the hostel alley is still the most wonderful sight on my walk back at 1 AM.
As if the seat facing the road in the second story of Coffee & Co has always been reserved for me. But Seetha is next to me writing. Once in a while she looks up and says, “I love this. I love what i write. This is a good life”, takes one sip of her Iced Cappuccino and goes back on writing.
As if Pering’s owner keeps the lower bunk next to the door empty because it was exactly where i slept in, 2018. And again, now. The chattering of the school kids next door is still as loud. But Kuba slams the door every 6AM, nagging me for wasting the sacred early hours. i will pull my curtain with eyes half-opened and ask him to tell me which warung i should go to for lunch that day, then go back to sleep anyways. Every single morning.
The purple lit stage of Betelnut is still in the same shade and i always get into their toilet booth with the broken lock like a habit. The lock is still broken.
Mbok Ami still waits for the doors, still witty with a held back laugh, still can’t remember my name. Bu Tara does, in her memory, I’m “the girl with uniqlo shirt” but it is enough. As if I’ve never left.
But strangers hold my poem like a newborn child and i learn to say thank you to compliments instead of curling into compromise.
Kak Sakun and Carissa put their heart on the table, and i do too. And i learn to heal under their soft palms. Under the dimmed sky of Ubud.
26 October, 2019
When i say Ubud feels like a closet of my favorite things, what i mean is i would wear afternoons watching Seetha and Kuba trying to offend each other like a human blanket. The water was too warm and we had no time to decide which one had the best comeback, we were laughter blooming from the mountain-filled air. What i mean is Carissa is in the bright honey shade and Kak Sakun is pockets, pockets, pockets of all things i didn’t know i needed before. Janice was made out of sheer sweet words. What i mean is Bagus is sleeves of sunshine. What i mean is in my memory Robin is a gentle silk and felt as familiar as that blue sweatshirt I’ve had since one childhood summer. What i mean is i still have a bundle of questions in my jeans backpocket for Kak Theo, but her velvet presence almost answered all. Esmay grew in me like the prom dress. And my heart recognizes the familiar warmth — Virgi, always so kind. Sidhi, always so sincere. Sasa, always so gentle. Mbak Putri, always so bright.
What i mean is their embraces melted into a layer of skin i am now carrying everywhere.
When i say Ubud feels like a closet of my favorite things, what i mean is find me behind the door, drunk in poetry. We were warm beer on the dance floor.
I would never run out of words for this kind of magic.
