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We worked day in and day out in the confines of that four-floor building, my fellow scorers and I, waiting for our big break to fall from the sky. Our lives grew so predictable, so routine, that some days we’d just give in and let Life pass us by.
We’d nod off in the train carriage, indifferent to the landscape racing by. The remnants of the city’s glory were behind us. On outbound trips, the view was all downhill.
the road. Antonio had been attempting penance. You know how it is. Men. They’re so good at regrets. Even in heaven, they wallow, demanding sympathy all the time.
“Indonesia was at a crossroads.” Those were her words. And everything came down to which path the country would take. “Everything,” she said, stretching out her arms as wide as they would go. Hah! If you ask me, is any nation—especially a postcolonial one—ever not at a crossroads?
It’s good to be strong, Mbak Nani had once told her. But it’s even more important to accept yourself as you are now.
