Clara Eclesia Fides/180410150002
She did not think of beauty when she first saw a fragile flower deserted in between bushes as she walked by, she thought of herself instead. The flower was so fragile, a feminine soul behind a masculine figure, soft and sweet, as if it’d break and shatter if she touched it, that reminded her of a woman in her mid 20s, who lived alone in a big city, with a well-paid job as a photographer, but struggling with the life with she thought she wanted. Then Mpit – how her mom that she hadn’t seen for years usually called her instead of Fitri – started to take out her camera and she tried, she really did try to take a picture of the flower, but she seemed couldn’t come to focus. She twirled the lens of the camera round and round, still nothing, it wasn’t like her.
She was shivering and her hands were trembling, unprepared for the biting of the cold evening in Jatinangor that she had never felt since a long time and exhausted after a long bus ride in the morning of rush hour. It had been months since she left, all the warmth she thought she could find out there was nowhere to be found. She remembered the words she read between pages in the bus earlier “home is where the heart feels most at ease”, her loneliness peaked once in a blue moon, she thought she made the right choice. Giant tears escaped her eyes, she put down her camera, she stood up, and through her bleary red eyes she formed a small smile, she finally realized that she had never felt at ease until she came here, because it’s home, the place where she belongs.