Travelogue 1: A tropical girl’s month in Scotland (and England)
It’s summertime, they said. / Damn, it was cold. / I tried tomato soup— / blargh, never again. // I needed to smoke. // My cousin wanted an espresso. / He’d never had one and was shocked / when his drink came. / I’m older, so I had to man up, drink his, / and give him my latte. // I sighed because / coffee is best with cigarettes. //
The old café owner thought / we were a cute couple— / two minors on an adorable date. // 22-year-old me had no energy to argue, / and I needed to smoke. //
I loved walking here— / enjoying Glasgow’s fresh suburban air. / The bus fare was sky-high anyway; / better to get a nice pair of shorts / at Salvation Army instead. // I craved a cigarette to face reality / but couldn’t afford it. //
My brother took me to the city center. // It was 19 degrees—summertime hit. / I pitied people who sunbathed in bikinis and shorts; / the peak of heat was only this chillness. / Then a guy greeted me: “Ni hao ma!”// This racist made me fume— / I needed my nicotine pump. //
Cousin and I left the city, / backpacking to the island’s center with wallets so thin. / Our food for days was Sainsbury’s one-pound boxes of muffins / and stolen noodles from our Edgeware guesthouse. // It was survival, / like smoking. // I needed a lit / to have my head cleared. //
The bus arrived when Manchester’s sky was pitch-black. / We decided to sleep on the stairs. / It smelled of alcohol and vomit. / Someone coughed, / and we scurried off, / perched on the metal bench, eyes refusing to close. // All I needed to fight fears and fatigue / was just some puffs, trust me. //
We searched for cheap halal food / and saw a McDonald’s. / I picked the cheapest with goat cheese— / blargh, instant regret. // A single cigarette, please. / I needed to cleanse my palate. // I didn’t stay long enough to use up my visa. / I missed the daily 30 degrees / and food that wasn’t bland. // “Go to school there,” my papa said. / “I’ll think about it,” I lied. //
It all comes down to food and cigarettes, / I swear— / the constants that held me steady / in a world where nothing else made sense. // I already learned a lot there anyway— / about resilience, the value of money, survival instincts, / and homesickness.
(Jiji, still in college)
Travelogue 2: At the end of Jambudvipa
I liked it here— / the smell of spices and incense, / the layered flavor of the food, rich and creamy, / the long tunics these women wear. / I liked you. // We shared cigarettes. //
World-class luxury, the hotel we stayed in— / their story was retold in a Hollywood box office /I would never watch, / for the sake of this beautiful memory. // A desk made of marble, / a window facing the sea and the gate to the country, / where we took pictures on our last morning there: / I of you, / you of me, / but not us. //
Fancy dinner with velvety red wine. / Three of us still wanted to hang out / and slipped into your room. // Our friend and I opened a beer can. / You frowned, saying I shouldn’t be drunk / with two men next to me. / I said, who’d get drunk from a can of beer? / Too bad the city hadn’t released their Sterling Reserve yet // You kept your watch on me / while scrolling through pictures of your daughter. //
Men here are too friendly, I think. // Our tour guide put a toy bindi on my forehead. / The carpenter discreetly handed me a heart-shaped figure. / Everyone tried to strike up a conversation. / You laughed and said / I am their type. // Too bad I am not yours, I thought. //
In that town with the monument of love, / I slipped away to withdraw some money / when a bajaj followed me. / The driver persistently pressed me to get on, / holding a book to show he learned Chinese. // You came from behind / and drove him away. // “You know it’s not safe for girls to walk alone here, right?” / you said, irritated. // Out to get a cigarette, you said / while your perspired forehead told a story / of a frantic search / as I sneaked out of your tacit watch. //
You kept giving me the wrong impression from the start— / when you defended me, saying girls who smoke are alluring. // In the airport, you kept looking back. / “Keep following me / and don’t wander off absent-mindedly, ‘kay?”// I wondered why this witty guy / with a bad boy vibe was so nurturing. //
That was the moment I knew you saw me as a little sister. //I’m used to being called a home-wrecker, / even when I did nothing. // This time, I had my heart wrecked / in just a week. // We said goodbye with a promise to meet again— / a promise I knew we wouldn’t keep. //
(Jiji, in her 24th year)
Photo by Sebastiandoe5, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Travelogue 3: Towards winter
I watch that remarkable red-dot tower from afar / while bubble bathing / in the round, open tub in my room / facing the window, holding red wine and a cigarette. // Another world-class hotel I normally couldn’t afford, / another day of feeling stranded. / I hate traveling, you see, / yet I went places, order-based. // An international port city full of expats this time— / communication shouldn’t be a problem, / unlike us who can never properly talk / about you leaving to another country, pursuing your dream. // Or so I thought until I realized / I needed to use body language / to talk with the concierge and the taxi driver— / but to hell with English when you have head and hands, right? // I stood in line for my coffee at Starbucks downtown. / The girl at the counter took orders from people of different colors, / but she switched to Mandarin when it was my turn. / I’d gotten used to “All Asians look the same” but didn’t expect it here. / She spoke in English when she saw my jaw drop. // I had a brief identity crisis there— / was the gene of the father of my maternal great-grandfather showing or what? // I sat on the bench sipping my hot latte in the park, / my eyes still swollen from crying every day— / from the improper goodbye to how you forgot my birthday a week ago. / I watched fallen red leaves, wishing the distance would break us up. // It wasn’t long before my friend who had settled here came. / A deep hug and lovely conversation— / that was when my heart felt much lighter, / and I noticed how beautiful and breezy the weather was. // He took me around the beautiful park. / I paid my respects to the Karl Marx statue / for the life-changing and utopian thoughts I held dear. // I went to my friend’s English town flat, a cozy attic room. / I met his husband for the first and last time, / before a brain tumor later took him away. // My friend and I hugged as we parted. / He asked me what my plans would be. / Sightseeing, I said, / though I knew I’d only stay in my hotel room, paralyzed with tears, / waiting for your message.
(Jiji, 25, heartbrokenly stranded in Shanghai)
Jiji Lubis is a journalist and columnist based in Jakarta. She is currently the Managing Editor of the Indonesian chapter of a global science communication media network. An occasional hermit with seven cats, she hates traveling but has to go places as a consequence of her professional choice. She can be found on Instagram as @ink.trospective