I just hope I don’t forget

I wake up to fresh cold air that engulfed this city throughout the year, to a mountain view, to a morning buzz of rover streethawker selling breakfast.

I ride an automatic motorcycle to break the traffic jam that is getting worse everytime I come home. Motorcycle rider is the road owner, sadly.

I calibrate my taste buds, almost in every occasion, from this city of culinary heaven.

I shop at factory outlet or distro, part of creative industry-driven city elements.

I run through the rain that does not recognize any season.

I am served by customer-oriented services.

I am surrounded by soft-speaking, friendly  people.

I just hope that I don’t forget coming back to Doha.

I am now in Bandung, Parijs van Java.

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