I pace the car slowly. This city deserves its famous legendary traffic, I thought. After almost 3 months of daily driving, I realized that traffic does not tend to bring the best in people. Apparently, being stuck incites the feeling of a zero-sum situation. Honks everywhere; some people just cannot realize that loudness does little in ensuring a smoother ride. I sip my coffee in a disguised annoyance from my I heart Jakarta tumbler that the Bear had personalized for me. It is black and bitter, just the way I prefer it.

My brother who sometimes shares the ride with me is vast asleep on the first passenger chair. He reminds me of a cat sleeping in the sun on the porch during the lazy afternoons. I brake and noticed that he too had noticed the simple change in motion. He looks up sleepily, slowly observed the abundance of stationary cars around for 2 seconds before he falls back into another round of sleep.

I feel the Friday morning blues subsiding; I had become increasingly awake and aware of my surroundings. Another honk, another angry driver. Bangsat, he cursed. An intriguing thing about the Indonesians I realized is how they can be incredibly angry at one second and in another shares the most sincere smile when he walks in the office. It’s as if they have two personas, one for traffic mode and another for working mode.

The traffic light turned red and brought an army of street sellers along with it. Various assortments from mints to sweets, energy drinks to water, mangoes to fried tofu, little electric cars and mini whiteboards , faces on covers of the latest daily newspapers and magazines are offered straight to my window to which I politely said no to.

A man walked towards my car. His face looked down, conveying the implicit difficulties he is having through this simple act. He was carrying another man, whose face was dim and eyes demanded my gaze. His legs looked unhealthily thin
Thoughts raced in my head. To give or not to give, that is the question. I did not have any food nor water that I could give. Having grown up in this city, I am aware of the existence of mobs who send kids with babies, along with the disabled to the streets of Jakarta for money, anything, in exchange for nothing more than shelter.

Some of the disabled were not born that way, and wouldn’t more money act as an incentive for such behavior in the first place? I weigh the marginal costs and benefits associated with each act, and found myself back in the same place where I started.

I opened my window and gave me some of my change. The man carried looked at me and smiles, broken and yellowing teeth in full display of sincerity. The man carrying him remained motionless, and the only reaction he gave was to move on. After all, I had bought what he was selling: moral justification.

I have always wondered how the bus system in Jakarta works. And I do not mean the Trans Jakarta ones, but the green shabby ones with a yellowing Kopaja written faithfully; the monsters that I grew up with. Unlike the fixed stops I am used to, I rarely see such points in this city. What I see instead are buses stopping in the middle of the road as they wish, I assume to pick up the passengers. This observation led me to wonder whether no driver nor potential passengers ever complain against this erratic-ness.

This morning the traffic was surprisingly light, and I was finally close to my office when I saw an orange bus with no doors (the perfect specimen to represent its kind) slowing when a guy and a girl raised their hands in unison; the signal to summon I take it. A guy with visible money in his left hand jumped out from the back door while the guy jumped steadily and the girl carefully onto the front door. After ensuring the passengers were safely in, the money guy jumped back in and the doorless bus left in speed leaving no other trail of its presence but a cloud of smoke behind.

I watched the silent 5-seconds affair in a strange excitement while waiting for the red light. A second later a guy on a motorbike infront of me fell when another motorbike ignorantly pushed it on its elusive pursue to move forward amidst all the stationarity. I saw the first guy fell on the ground, accompanied by a loud thump of his vehicle on the concrete. Before I could even blink, 5 other guys rushed off their motorbikes and helped the guy up before attending to his bike. The perpetrator jumped off and apologized with sincerety in his eyes. The victim raised his hand and put on a reassuring face that he is alright.

The light turned green and everyone climbed back on their vehicles and drove on to start their day.

One of the crucial component of effective strategy to get through a working day in Jakarta is to wake up early. Admittedly, waking up early is not a proud trait I possess; I am shamefully not a fully functioning human being prior to my morning caffeine indulgence. This morning was an achievement even to me, to my surprise I drove through my office's gate before the clock struck 8. I smiled to the security squad, a wide smiled good morning hello that they are accustomed to have as much as I am accustomed to exhibit.

I put my engine to rest, a privilege I was deprived from at this early hour when Jakarta is still surprisingly cold. The rain season has started, leaving me amused with the frequency and variety of water falling from the sky.

I opened the door, and saw one of our Office Boys watering the grass. It took me awhile to recognize him outside of his familiar uniform. He was lost in his music, black earphones resting in his ears and evidently kept him happily watering in his own world. His head accompanied his body, swaying to the left and then to the right, sometimes first and later lagged. His steps are guided by the rhythm that only he was aware of while ensuring that the grass is happily fed. His eyes were half-closed, while his smile unabashed, unapologetic; the opposite of the polite smiles that I received daily.

Simple things that make this city special.