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About Jakarta

I’m sittin’ there, thinkin’—Mia in “Fish Tank,” she’d be swipin’ too, right? Lost, lookin’ for somethin’ real in a fake-ass world. “There’s nothing behind you,” that’s what sex-dating feels like sometimes—just empty vibes. You match, chat, meet up—then what? Half these clowns don’t even show. Ghostin’ pisses me off! Wasted my damn time. Know your role, jabroni—don’t flake!

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After that fiasco, I needed a pick-me-up. So, I hit up this little café on Jalan Diponegoro. It’s cozy, you know? I order a kopi Kartasura. It’s strong, like, “Whoa, I can see through time” strong. I sit down, and this old guy next to me starts chatting. He’s telling me about the history of Kartasura. Apparently, it used to be a royal city or something. I’m like, “Wow, I had no idea!” But then he goes off on this rant about how the youth today don’t appreciate the past. I’m just nodding, trying not to roll my eyes.

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