I ride on my scooter
with my raincoats on
my vague sight
with the fog around
without my glasses on.
I ride on my scooter
envisaging all the erratic thoughts
the letters which have been left for decades
from Jakarta, Lyon, even Mexico.
I ride on my scooter
Wondering if I leave my parent’s house
Will be they sad or just be proud
I ride on my scooter
I haven’t sent something that he always wants
since a month ago
I don’t know what he had thought
I just assumed he’d fathom
I stop my scooter
under the red light
my fingers start freezing, yet soaked
I ponder how
can I reside somewhere in West Europe,
if the cold tropical weather can’t even make me strong.
A rider behind blew me a honk,
I continue to ride on.
I ride on my scooter
discerning the achievements I got
seems to count zero
I ride on my scooter
digesting the now
with the heavier rain on
slanting my eyes
like it’s not dangerous
to carry on
I ride on my scooter
asking myself
what kind of path should I choose?
I hate myself for being poor
But also,
maybe it’s the risk I should hold
I keep riding on my scooter
Someone is so impetuous
overtakes my lane.
But perhaps,
Am I just too slow?
I pull over my scooter
I see my mom
Standing under the shelter,
holding her phone
Yelling to me, have
my siblings eaten yet.
I say,
Yeah. We’re all good.
I give her a ponceau
She wears her helmet on
And we ride on my scooter
she grips my waistcoat
been silenced by the rain sounds.
And I still ride on my scooter
with an empty hollow thought
Until I come
home.
