Endless Journey of Learning to Let Go

I had a bit of misfortune couple days ago. Well, to say ‘a bit’ might be an understatement. I had a fucking disaster, is the perfect expression.

It was one of those days when I need an escape. Over the past few weeks, I have been researching about Philippines. Hmm, sounds nice. Beautiful beach, quiet island, and a place that I never been to before. I have made the itineraries, and of course, me being me, would not have enough money to afford the trip. So instead, I settle for

Pelabuhan Ratu

Well, that’s quite anti-climax.

But you know, from the website it looks okay. It’s not too far from where I live, and the beach looks good enough, for someone who just want to contemplate, that is. So off I go. With motorbikes.

During the journey, I was holding my phone the whole time, checking if I’m in the right way through the maps. I have the battery pack and the charger on my hoodie pocket, so it’s handy. I have only got my red backpack, the jansport that I have owned since more than 6 years ago when I got my first paycheck. Put all my things in there; clothes, passport, ATM, kindle, books…

And I lost it, I lost the bag, I can’t believe I lost the bag, just literally a kilometer away before I reach my hostel after 4 hours driving.

I was trying to get the bag back, when the people in that crowded street yelled that my bag was dragged by a car. I chased the car. Couldn’t find my bag. And lost it forever.

I was crying. I mean, how can’t I? Everything I love is in there. Especially kindle. And I am crying again now while writing this. It was a gift from someone that is so important to me, and I have had it for about two years now. Always with me everywhere, my companion when I’m waiting for my flight or when I don’t want to be bothered by my surrounding. And now it’s gone. With all the memories I had in there. Gone.

I cry for a good 10 minutes after realizing I couldn’t get my bag back, then I knew I had to do something. There were two choices: I could leave and go back to my parents house and spend the rest of my holiday being miserable…or stayed on my holiday and being miserable on the beach. After all, the hostel has been paid and I have got enough money to survive for two days.

I decided to stay. The hostel I stayed in was called BW Beach Cafe and Villas, owned by a surfer and his family, German-Indonesian couple. The wife is Indonesian, and I told her about my unfortunate incident. She lend me some of her dress, cute summer dresses! My mood surely has elated because of that.

My room was exceptionally comfortable. It was just by the beach, overlooking the sea with bamboo wall. The bed was simple, but makes me like home. No air-con, but the weather was chilly enough I don’t have to sleep in sweat. That night, I was put to bed by the sound of the waves crashing to the sea.

 

I woke up the next day, already forgetting about my lost bag. Nah, I’m kidding. Still think about it, but at least last night I have reported the incident to local police, which located only 2 minutes walk from my hotel. With their letter, I could get my ATM, passport and ID back soon as I return to my home. I’m trying to forget that I lost the kindle. I couldn’t. What do you know? It seems like a sign from the universe somehow.

I was supposed to be staying for only one day because I don’t have enough money. But the owner was very friendly, they talked me into staying for another night. Money is still the problem, so they said I could rent the pavilion by the beach (still inside the property) for only Rp100,000! I was tempted and I said, well, it’s really no harm staying for another day.

They fixed the pavilion to make it a little more cozy for me to sleep in. Put some makeshift curtain to protect me from the strong wind of the sea. And voila, my private beach villa.

This impulsive turns out to be quite all right in the end, despite me losing a lot of things on my pre-departure. I am very lucky to stay in a warm hostel, very friendly owner that helped me a lot. I still have got everything I need, still have my phone. It could have been worse. It really could.

In the absence of book and kindle, I spend a lot of my time just contemplating, taking a really long walk on the beach. It’s cliche af but I was trying to search in my brain the word ‘let go’. Some things, at the end, need to fall apart to make way for better things. Maybe.

I thought I have managed that, until that last morning in Pelabuhan Ratu I sat on one of the boulders on the beach, watching the sunrise. Pink Floyd singing in my ears.

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“Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There’s a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we’ve been so many times”

If it is meant to be, it will be.

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Spending Night in The Border of Indonesia

What is it like to stay at the Indonesia-Malaysia border? Try coming to Entikong, a border town between Indonesia and Malaysia in West Kalimantan.

Entikong is a small village with only one major road. From the gate of Entikong to the border post is only 10 kilometers away by this road. The life of this little town centered on it.

There are only few one-star hotels in Entikong, which is usually used by tourists or bus & truck driver who could not get into the border post. The border post in Entikong is not open all day, it is only open from 07.00 am to 05.00 pm.

Therefore, the life in Entikong depends on the borders.

However, the Entikong border post is a very interesting place. It’s very green, surrounded by small hills makes the atmosphere of the area looks like in the middle of a valley. At the entrance gate, lies a tall monument where Pancasila written on it.

Entikong's Border Post

Entikong’s Border Post

Near the border post you can find Edidas Market. This market only open when the border post is open. When I visited it at 04.30 pm, most of the shops in this market has been closed.

The goods sold in Entikong is mixed product of Indonesia and Malaysia. You can find a pile of rice and gas made in Malaysia with packs of Indonesian branded oil near it.

The diversity of people who live in Entikong is also unique. The majority are Dayak people and Malay, though you can see some migrants from Java.

In the evenings, Entikong is like a ghost town. Almost the entire city was dark, the only lighting you can see is from the home that lies on the side of the road. Not all shops are closed though, several restaurants and cafes are still open. When the border post close, it also shutting down the life in Entikong.