I sometimes wonder why I still choose to stay here in Jakarta. The government is shit, the pollution is thick, the noise is loud and deafening. But deep down, I know why. Indonesians are the kindest people I have ever met.
Because we are kind—we feel another’s pain as our own. And when he was killed by the police in front of our eyes, we raged. Do not mistake our kindness for weakness. Our kindness is pure—just like our anger.
Not someone in government, not someone well known in society. Just an ordinary, working-class man, trying to survive Jakarta’s harsh streets. He wasn’t special—he was one of us, simply human.
So for those who might not understand why we wake up with heaviness in our chest today and why tears form at the corners of our eyes: we are mourning. We are mourning the loss of an Indonesian figure.
Their kindness is pure—you can see it in their eyes, in their actions. No matter how little they have, they still share when they see someone with even less. This is why street cats thrive—because they are fed by the kindness of Jakarta’s people.
I don’t like to post bad reviews publicly because I don’t really like conflicts, but sometimes conflict is needed to make myself heard, especially when being treated unfairly. Here’s my experience with The Meru Hotel Sanur:
And now after 30 years living with us, she finally decided that it was time for her to retire. She said she wanted to go back to her village and do some gardening.