On the way down the stairs, a kid was selling stiker (stickers) of a cartoon Macan (tiger) riding a Gojek scooter. Farah bought two. One for her laptop, and one to stick on the back of her helmet.

Tomorrow, she had a 7 AM lecture on macroeconomics. But tonight, she was part of a movement that was redefining what it meant to be young and Indonesian: loud, layered, a little bit lost, and absolutely unapologetic about loving both heavy metal and nasi goreng .

As she climbed the rusty stairs, the soundscape changed. The honk of traffic melted into the distorted bass of a funkot (Indonesian funk dangdut) remix of a British drill song. The rooftop was a collage of identities.