Ishmael Luna

I’ve been walking around the streets of Indonesia and they are messy like ours. There’s traffic in the sky, traffic on the street, traffic in the shops, traffic up to my ears. Last night, inebriated from sugar cane and rum, decided to walk barefoot and could feel the asphalt roughing the edges of my feet, cracking the thick calluses at the end of my heel. Perhaps, the move away has made me slightly nostalgic but last night as I felt the sharp edges of the cobblestoned street jab the arch of my foot a flood of childhood memories came running back to me. It reminded me of the heaviness of Superga shoes, the chase to the ice-cream parlour and matching twin sets (for my dear cousin and I) during Sunday lunch. And I wonder, and this is my question to you, why do we run far away from Home to only find Home?