The city – albeit imperfectly, where you appreciate the value of co-existence. It always accepted me, all that I had to give, even the bad-rep, and made sure it has a place that I would belong to. There I was in tiny coffee shops, that corner in the library, and dusty secondhand bookshops where I even found my late grandfather’s book dedicated to me.
The city where you can still collect moments without a Rupiah out of your pocket. Beaches and mountains were just a few kilometer motorbike rides away.
The city that incessantly welcomes you each time you come back with open arms, and more lessons to be learned.
However, sometimes I don’t think it’s a city at all.
Jogja is a state of mind. A place you’ll run out of words to describe and be left with nothing but raw emotions.