Minggarin, a small park in the south side of Yogyakarta at dusk. Young lovers sit on stone benches circling the park, sharing quiet moments together. There is a small playground, where there are some parents and their children – playing basketball, riding seesaws.
There is a group of older men sitting together, about 8 of them, huddled close under a large banyan tree, huddled intently over a chess board. They sit together on the ground, each one as attentive to the game as the two playing.
There is another group of about 10 younger men, perhaps in their early to mid twenties, and each of them with very dark skin. I assumed they must be from the eastern parts of Indonesia – perhaps Papua or the eastern parts of Nusa Tenggara.
Together, these younger men played football, practicing their corner kicks. Their ball was full of air, but was also flat and lifeless. The field was mostly loose, dry dirt, and where there was grass, it grew in tough bunches, each several inches tall.
Left just outside the park, there was an abandoned Honda. The windows were all broken out, the seats rotting, and the front end looked like it had a survived a fire.
There was a soft, diffused light over the park, over the whole city of Yoyga. The air was still and quiet. Everyone seemed content in the park, quietly taking in their shared experience.