The sites are endless. The people are endless. The food. The food is endless. I'm standing still looking down on a chalked out map reading BOGOR. The lines whip around my feet endlessly. West, Java. It's drawn out. This shape is home.
I can't imagine a more pure feeling. It's as innocent and pleasant as slurping up ice-cream dripping off a cone. There's this constant tingling and urge to smile and twirl every time I think of West Java. It's the ultimate adventure. We're pioneers they say. The first group to set out and establish a relationship of peace and understanding. These lines will determine my piece of it all.
I stand planted, mesmerized by my placement. It is really real? We're all isolated in these seemingly imaginary places, hovering above a fate we can't yet see. Some are far, others are near, but if I reach out, I can't reach anyone. But then I feel it. I'm on my own again. Just surrounded by these sites. These chalked out lines will wrap me up. They'll lead me to something new.
I know I'll grow to be familiar with what I can see. What I can feel. I feel so much.
