The high tide is slowly taking up space on the beach. The sun is already set and sharing its last brush strokes on a charmingly mellow sky. The sound of waves is crashing on the adjacent temple’s steps and, by no sheer coincidence, rumbles among the tables of people taking a five.

The last surfers are already gone on this Sunday evening. The smell of salt and instant noodle soup as well as freshly lit cigarettes drill the nose. Nobody is in a rush. There are no expectations. The time carries itself among the greedy ocean water.

SAUDADE

reminders keep showing up

drawing more attention

not minding the time 

and calling out

significance

gratitude

memories

longing

values

grief.

###

listen

the messages almost sent

the words almost spoken 

the conversations that

never happened

the feelings

never felt

endings.

nightly explorations

visible or seen,

fearless or fear less,

idle or present.

coincidental encounters

to be hugged require

attention instead of

thought

seeing instead of 

wanting

experiencing instead of

insisting

The blurriness comes when the shades are down and the mind is rushing. Clarity comes from light being shed on what is underneath that rush. 

I’m sitting on the 16th floor of a hotel in Jakarta. I have a thin slice of the city on the palm of my hand. In each corner or a nook wherever I look I find life and a short story. It’s evening. The city takes few last short breaths before awakening the next morning on Monday. 

I hear somewhere near a lonely bakso salesman hitting the spoon on an empty glass to let others know it’s time for the last treat of the day. Traffic is still bustling on the highways somewhere on the horizon yet in a somehow slower manner,  as if the closing night brings a long awaited peace. The business centre before me, in far distance, full of lights, acts as a beacon and reminder to call for the undecided to prepare for a new week.

I sit here yet again after a longer while with a similar view on the city. A different man, a changed man. Jakarta, it’s been a while. I’ve experienced a lot of death and resurrection recently. Both in a literal and figurative meaning.

I stop thinking, take in the dense and wet air in my lungs and continue sitting in silence and gratitude.

Saudade is a feeling that recently dominates my imaginative landscape and parts of my heart. It reminds me of the locations and people I met. 

For those curious of the meaning, the word itself comes from Portugese language and cannot be translated directly. 

Wikipedia makes an effort, to my liking, by describing it as:

”(…) an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone. It is often associated with a repressed understanding that one might never encounter the recipient of longing ever again. It is a recollection of feelings, experiences, places, or events— often illusive — that cause a sense of separation from the exciting, pleasant, or joyous sensations they once caused.” 

Saudade originates from Latin solitās, solitātem which mean “solidude” as if instructing me with the direction I should embark on to understand it.