What I love about this park after the rain is its peaceful atmosphere. And of course the fresh air that calms down the thick pollution. And the busy people doing their stuff on their own. As if we are being alone, together.
That young man at my eleven o’clock sitting gracefully with his guitar playing some unpopular song I have never heard of. Yet you know how lovely the sound of an acoustic guitar. And you’d stay to hear more and more.
That boy at my three o’clock can’t get off his smartphone, scrolling and sometimes texting. I bet to a group chat. He seems bored of what he sees on the screen.
Those two older men ten meters in front of me sipping their coffee checking on me once in a while. Vice versa.
That dark-skin man with a red tray walking here and there offering hot coffee, tea, or Milo–my favorite. Not so many people around this evening. They blame the rain. Also the Friday night where people are in a rush to come home to their family or to later hit a party.
And oh there is of course that violinist group at my back, playing something in A-minor. Only three of them now, maybe the rest are stuck somewhere in the disgusting Jakarta traffic.
Two girls on my left cheerfully chatting. About their unfulfilling job, about their disappointing boys, about what to do tomorrow, and what to do in the rest of their lives.
That young couple holding and swinging their hands, strolling the park from one end to the other. Smiling and giggling. Enjoying the evening after work, feeling lucky and grateful to be just the two of them.
The writer, well… I, just finished with my running, beat my own record of no longer run like a bear who just woke up from hibernation. Sitting on a bench, observing. While breathing in the wonderful smell of wet grass. Admiring the white pigeons sitting elegantly in their nest. Playing with the familiar cats of white and black and the tortoiseshell. Waiting. For nothing. And just being. Here.