Sitting On A Ticking Bomb

These fine archipelago are my country Indonesia. Since 1512, it had been invaded, in chronological order, by the Portuguese, the Dutch, the British and Japan. It had been robbed, raped, stripped bare to the point where no other country had ever experienced. And by that I mean literally. Every inch of its soil were ravaged by the greed of the invaders. From Aceh in the southern-most part, to Merauke, its eastern counterpart. This beautiful, highly cultured country had been reduced as a sole source of profit by the invaders. Gold, spice, coffee, sugar, tobacco were hauled over centuries to the invaders countries. It was an object of slavery. And by that, I mean the worst kind of slavery, where the slave didn't even own a piece of cloth to cover themselves. No food to eat and no Abe Lincoln to speak for them.

Not only that, recently, its culture are also scraped by the neighboring country. You see that darker green color above the Borneo Island? Sitting there like cancer is the thief I'm talking about. That fascist country has always trying to steal whatever we have just because they don't have anything to call their own. But that's for another ocassion.

Right now, I'm more concerned to the surge of natural disasters that overwhelmed the country. In this month alone, there have been several earthquakes in all over the country. All of which with >5 Richter Scale. It all started with the great earthquake and tsunami that hit Aceh, and several neighboring countries in 2004. Since then, earthquake appeared as a routine to many cities in Indonesia. Having witnessed one major earthquake myself (in Yogyakarta, 2006) and the devastation it caused, I can't help but hope to never experience something of that scale (or bigger!) again.

Located in the Pacific Ring of Fire, like Japan, my country indeed is a ticking bomb, a bomb that I hope never explode in full force while I or anyone sit on it. For once in my life, I really wish God listens to me now.