Earlier I was so excited to go straight home from work. I usually don't do that, because of the horrible traffic of Friday night. Normally I go home to my tiny apartment room, and go home to my parents' very early on Saturday morning. Peaceful and free of traffic jams. But this I week I just couldn't wait anymore. I want to go home. I want to be home, I want to start working on my art projects and be lost in my own imagination. I want to be surrounded by things that triggers my creativity.

So there I went, half-running to the taxi queue at the west gate of Plaza Indonesia, hoping that the line isn't so long, and the traffic isn't so bad. It took me 2 hours to finally reach home. I was so so so happy to be home, to talk with my parents and sister, to eat home cooked foods, to sleep in my bed. I was just so happy to be home, the 2 hours and 7 dollars trip was worth it.