Since I moved back to Jayapura, I've developed this habit of looking up at the sky in so many random moments. Simply to enjoy the view of clear night sky dotted with twinkling stars. Or shades of pink and purple staining the twilight sky.
But there was this one time when I had few of my friends came to my house. We were chatting when the electricity suddenly went out, so we decided to move our group chat outside the house. Out of habit, I glanced up at the sky and that was when I saw the most beautiful night sky. The darkness, enhanced by the absence of electricity across town, goaded more stars to make appearances. The sky wasn't just dotted, it was scattered with stars. It was the first time I saw so many stars in the sky, I was awed. So awed that I excitedly told my friends to have a look. It was as if glitters were messily sprinkled across a vast velvet black carpet. I wasn't so eloquent then, using the word chicken-pox to described the starry sky.
Living in a small town has rendered me more appreciative towards things I previously tend to overlook, like the changing colors of the sky, that unique scent that lingers in the break of dawn, the silver water reflecting the sunlight on its surface. You cannot help feeling amazed and belittled at the same time. It is impossible to deny that there are mighty Hands that created this colossal universe and that everything can be encapsulated into one word: miracle.
I now find it ridiculous how we have our own complicated concept of miracles. We demand to see water turns into wine to challenge the existence of God. When every single day there are so many miracles unfolding before our very eyes. And that our lives are series of miracles. You just have to notice and appreciate.
A blackout is occurring as I'm writing. This is just my rhapsody, composed out of disappointment as I found rolls of clouds hanging on the sky, denied me of the stars.