My Jakarta Is Slipping Away

During this Jakarta trip, I asked my cousin to take me to Pasar Burung Barito — a traditional pet market that was always a sight to see. He initially said yes, then later messaged me to say it’s now closed, adding a “lol” emoji — “lol” that felt like a reminder of my interest in being just a little too late.

Each time I come home over the years, I notice that the Jakarta I knew is fading, replaced by a version I don’t care much for.

I’ve lost count of the things that have vanished.
The shortcut to my primary school friend’s house — gone.
Our family tailor, whom I met recently, shared a story of her being the last resident refusing to sell her home in a lane and being pushed out by a big developer. Her tone told me it was inevitable.

My Jakarta is slipping away. That too is inevitable.

I know it’s the price I pay for leaving — the immigrant’s tax of distance and time. This is not new, nor is it profound. But coming home post-COVID, after borders finally reopened, I began seeing Jakarta with a renewed hunger. The people, the hustle, the chaos, the warmth — I want to bottle them, even if I’m late.

My Jakarta is slipping away, and I am painfully aware that I’m late in documenting the things I once ignored. I don’t want to regret that one day.

I do take solace in seeing Jakarta keep holding onto its identity as a chaotic capital city, whether or not that remains true. In its contrasts and contradictions, it still shows me the life I’m drawn to beyond the high-rises. It still gives me what I seek, even if I now see it mostly from behind the lens, in the short pockets of time when I’m home.

Follow me on Instagram @KultureKween for more recent updates.