He doesn’t know what to feel. If it’s not anger, then maybe it’s grief.

He already arrived there when the message come. Standing there with all the rain showering at his black umbrella, he gives empty looks at the sloping road. It is the road to her home. He just has to walk for a hundred meters or two, and opens the gate and knocks the door like he used to do. But the sudden arrival of the message anguishes him, makes him feels so desperate just to think about what decision he should make.

Should he continue to walk there, or should he turn his back and crossing the road walking home, he doesn’t know. The first option seems very satisfying for him, but it’s the second one he takes.

So he turns and starts walking. The rain drops madly, and somehow it makes him melancholy. Maybe it’s just the accumulation of the sadness feeling; he used to think but he tries not to think with her.

He tries to think nothing, and he does think nothing, except the sound of Louise Louisa starts playing on his mind. It was the silly companion (no, he doesn’t think it’s silly at all), the comfort and the emotion, and the slow motion moments. It was the overcast room, and the chuckles, and the beating. It was everything.

It is everything.

He remembered how dark the room was, but he could recognize her figure very well. He remembered how she lay down on the bed while he softly whispered the words through her ear:

Stay with me, don’t want to be, alone…

But now, he just walks back home. The heavy rain disturbs him, but not quite to make him hate it. The umbrella shields him from the raindrops. It’s not that big though, his shoulders wet already.

He looks up and watches the back of the umbrella, and thinks about something,

Yeah, it only fits for one person down here…

So he continues walking home, alone.

The Colorful Cinema

We walked passing the food court, the place was very inconvenient with bright orange and green everywhere. They told me why it is very inconvenient – they made it like that. I told you why it is very inconvenient: they made it like that. We walked passing the posters, we entered the cinema lobby.
You asked, ‘What date is it? Is it eight already?’
I looked at the date on the display on my cell phone and answered, ‘Yep, June 8 it is.’
And then you said, ‘Oh, there’s the film.’
And I said, ‘Where?’
You said, ‘Studio 2.’
And I just said, ‘Oh.’

The cinema was quite empty. There wasn't many people there.
‘Shall we buy the ticket?’
I looked at the schedule behind the cashier, ‘It’s still an hour again though.’
You insisted on buying it first, ‘Let’s just buy it and then take a walk outside.’
We bought the ticket, twenty-five thousands each. I gave her the money. She gave me the tickets. I gave you the tickets. But you give it back to me (‘I’m afraid I’ll forget where I put it’). So I put it in my bag, at the back of The Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian.
‘Just remember that it’s at the back of the novel.’
‘I’ve told you that I’m a forgetful person.’
‘We’ll see about that later.’ I smiled.
You smiled. I looked your smile. It was a stunningly gorgeous smile. And I could felt the time abruptly elapsing in slow motion, making me could see your every slight movements from your feet until the hair. The sound suddenly disappeared – I heard nothing except my own heart beating.

This was the time when the dramatic moment comes in film, like when Neo dodging the bullet. I could even amplify it with such black-and-white picture, but I choose it remained in colors. I remember, the lobby was shady red with blue and white signs. Your hooded t-shirt was green. I wore a yellow t-shirt with a beige cardigans on. My pupils were grey while yours were brown. Our jeans were a matching blue. I really enjoyed it until right after you really knocked the sub-consciousness out of me, by simply just saying,

‘Let’s go outside and find a place to sit.’
I sobered. ‘Okay,’ followed with a peculiar act in just a milliseconds time.

Luckily you didn’t notice.

* * *

The Perished Dream

So there we were, outside, trying to find a place to sit. I saw couples walking by holding each other hands. I saw it but think nothing. Did I try to think nothing or did I think nothing, I wasn’t quite sure.

Anyway then you said, ‘How about… there?’
And I said, ‘Where?’
You fingered, ‘There.’
And I just said, ‘Oh.’

We walked into the front of the Japanese restaurant. It has this big log at the façade for the waiting list. But we sat there and people passing by watched us like we were some sort of weird couple smoking there at the display. Maybe they considered us as a part of the unusual display, especially when you put my big headphones on. I wanted you to hear my other band songs. It was semi-acoustic one. I played the bass but sing few songs too.

And you realized, ‘Could this voice be… yours? It’s good…‘

I turned my head around trying to look the other way to keep you from seeing my blushing cheeks. But you realized. You teased me, I blushed. And after me begging you to stop teasing, we talked and talked again.

You talked about your perished dream, ‘Have you watched Great Expectations?’
‘Yes. You like it so much, do you?’
‘I still played the movie every week.’
‘Why are you quitting for just some silly reasons?’
‘I don’t know. I just quitted. I don’t even want to try it again.’

The voice was a soft trembling voice. I saw the look of sorrow in your eyes. You tried to deny yourself how you wanted to paint no more. But you could never lie; when we talked you always talked about the paintings, your paintings. You talked about the smiling faces seeing your paintings.

I gave an empty stare at the fountain in front of us, imagining the smiling faces of them when they look at the picture. I took a glance at your face; there goes the lovely face when you said much about paintings and drawings. So how could you say that you don’t even want to do that again?

You talked about the canvas and the crayon. I stared back at the fountain, listening the rest of the story. Then the gardeners came with a bucket full of flowers. They put the freshly-picked flower blooms into the fountain. I don’t know what the name of the flowers was, maybe you know it. You were the one who always wanted to have a flower shop. Maybe I’ll ask you later.

I wanted to go to the gardener that held the bucket and asking for a flower to give to you. But it was very harsh thing to do in the middle of you talking about your dreams. I considered doing it later and postponed the action. Which later I did and you kept the flower. Do you still keep it today? I don’t know but I hope so.

You talked about the picture of your ex,
‘It was when this meeting, we gathered around in a circle and on that time he was right there in front of me. I was so boring, I started to draw his face on my book unintentionally (I just considered him as a friend that time, though.). Later he asked me out, and so on, and then we were a couple. I gave the picture to him, he was quite happy and put it on the fridge.’

‘Haha, so just give your drawing of my face later, okay?’ I tried to tease you.
‘Well, okay, maybe you’ll become the first one I’ll draw after a long time.’

I turned around, trying to find a joking tone or even a mockery one but couldn’t find it in that sturdy looks in your eyes looking straight to the front. I didn’t know what you stared at, but one thing I did know was you weren’t joking, you weren’t teasing, you weren’t even trying to be cynical or something. Was it a sign, a green light, a candle in the dark that you’re trying to give me? Or it’s just a bundle of your last hope that you’re trying to fortitude?

I answered shortly, ‘…I’ll put it on my fridge.’
And suddenly I felt like I became the teased one.

* * *

We stood back, grabbed the bags, and started to walk inside.
‘Red or white?’ I asked you suddenly.
‘White,‘ you said to me.
So I came to the fountain and picked the one of the white blooms from the fountain.
‘For you,‘ I gave the flower to you.
‘Thank you,’ you opened your right palm, it was dirty, ‘Oh, my hands are so dirty, sorry.’
‘It’s okay. Maybe it’s because of the log. Look at my palm; it’s the same like yours.’

‘What is the flower’s name?’
‘I don’t know any flowers name – you’re the one who wanted to be a florist anyway.’
‘Haha, I don’t know either.’
‘White, huh? Could it be tulips?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘…lilies?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘I don’t know anymore name of white flowers.’
‘If it’s red then you’ll consider it as a rose?’
‘Maybe.’
'Ha ha..'

The automatic doors opened. We walked in and went up by the escalator until the top floor. We walked passing the food court, the place is very inconvenient with bright orange and green everywhere. You told me why it is very inconvenient – they made it like that. I laughed and said, ‘I feel a strong sense of dejavu… could it be we already have been here together on the past life?’

You chuckled. There goes the chuckle again, I said it in my mind. I chuckled.
We walked passing the posters, we entered the cinema lobby. We bought popcorn caramel and ice lemon tea. The cashier gave us the popcorn,
‘…is this it?’
‘Why?’
’They gave much much more at Blitz.’
‘Oh, the popcorn? Haha, you’re a silly popcorn boy..’
‘…but you ate it too before, right?’
‘But I’m not making such mess like the way you ate it.’
‘Okay, I’m not going to share it with you..’
‘Hey, this time I’m the one buying it.’
‘I don’t care.’

It was just a silly childish game we played. The cashier seems to look at us and worried whether we would make a ruckus right in front of the popcorn machine beside her table. Then we laughed.

We waited for a while – the doors hadn’t been opened yet. It wasn’t that much people waited in front of the studio. Even for the premiere of the film.
‘I wonder why there’s just a little people here…’
‘Maybe because of it’s Friday?’
‘Hey, it’s Friday night..’
‘We have six-day work. Luckily my college has five so I could spend the Saturday sleeping for the rest of the day.’
‘You lazy bum.’
‘Can’t help it, sleeping is one of human basic needs.
‘Haha, there’s a good point, clever one.’
‘Thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment.’

The conversation stopped because the door was finally opened. We waited for people getting in for a moment, and got ourselves in after no more people out there. I gave the tickets to the checker. She ripped the half of the tickets. She gave the rest of the tickets to me. I gave one of the tickets to you.
‘Choose one.’
You raised your eyebrows, ‘Why didn’t you keep it?’
‘Be romantic, okay? Keep it as a memorabilia of our date.’
‘Haha, okay.’

You picked the right one. I looked at the ticket, C-8, which meant that you got C-7. Hmm, I wanted to have the number seven, but it was okay anyway.

We looked at each other, smiled. I nodded my head a little to the left, ‘Shall we going in?’
You answered nothing, just smiled pleasingly and going in. It was like such a romantic act - we acted as if you were the Cinderella and I was the Prince Charming asking you to dance down the dancehall.

It wasn’t that much of audience inside the cinema. More than half of the red seats were empty. But I wasn’t surprised about it either. It was Friday afternoon and most of the people still busy in their cubicle working. The audiences there were mostly the teenagers, high school students; maybe they went home first and changing the uniforms right after the school hour was over then came here.

However, I didn’t care if it was empty or full.
As long as you were there with me, I didn’t care if it was empty or full.

* * *

..but it’s okay if you couldn’t go there.

I don’t want to disturb the practice.

No, it’s okay.

But your band rehearsal is at eight, right?
(while mine is tomorrow)

Well, I don’t have anything to do NOW.
Can we just make it at two?

Oh, okay. Two o’clock, right?
(hmm..)

Yes, I’ll met you there.

You sure know the way there?
(hmmmmm...)

I’m at Cisitu. I know the way from here.

Okay then, we’ll met there.
(...what clothes will I wear?)

See you there!

See ya..
(…am I REALLY gonna see you?)

I hang up the phone and pull the pillow underneath my head again.
I try to think for a long time, but I couldn’t come up with a thing on my mind except the sound of the clock’s ticking on the wall and the light from the bulb. The light irritates my eyes.

I buried my head underneath the pillow abruptly, trying to plunge some consciousness into the surface.
I couldn’t think about anything and I realize that I have to accept the fact:

Damn it, I’m on a date.

And I can feel the butterfly flying around in my stomach.

* * *

The taxi takes another left turn at the crossroads. It is a lovely Tuesday afternoon with a bit quite cold air and the fresh after-the-rain smell. The driver keeps his eyes on the road, pretending not to hear us chit-chatting, and trying not to see us doing things at the back even though we just sitting like the usual passenger. Until the next red light, the eyes take a look around to see the car passing by from the right to the left.

You keep talking, and somehow I find it very persuasive. I like the pleasant and friendly tone in your voice, deep inside it makes me really think you as an old friend of mine. You begin mumbling a song, a song I know quite well I don’t even know you know it.

And I don’t know what to do, I think I’m in love with you..
(I don’t know the lyrics this part!)
Dududududududu, dududududududu…

Hey, stop it before my face gets red..

Haha.
The song keeps playing inside my mind. I like it.

Really?

Yep. I like the dudududududu part.

Hmm, fair enough,
considering how your dudubdubdub stays on my mind…

(chuckles)

She has the quality of the chuckles that makes you want to try it. We both chuckles. And suddenly I feel sorry because we're gonna be separated for a while.

* * *

Dengan penuh itikad baik, saya meminta maaf atas teman-teman dan pihak-pihak yang merasa tersinggung dengan postingan sebelumnya. Saya mengaku salah dengan tidak berpikir panjang dan menggunakan kata-kata tertentu yang membuat beberapa pihak merasa dilecehkan, dirugikan, dan dirusak namanya.

Oleh karena itu. saya mengaku salah dan meminta maaf kepada teman-teman dan pihak tersebut dengan penuh penyesalan dan tidak akan mengulanginya lagi. Saya memang orang yang usil, suka mengurusi kehidupan orang lain, pengecut, pecundang, sampah, dan sebagainya.

Terima kasih atas perhatiannya.


End.

PS: Tidak ada komentar untuk post ini,
apabila ada komentar akan saya hapus dengan segera..

You Are What You Eat: You Write What You Read

When I did the usual ritual that can lighten me up a little: I go to the rooftop, just lying there on the roof feel the nocturne breeze on my face. It really calmed me down and made my mind abruptly stated a thing that I didn’t realize before: my lack of reading. Both quantity and quality.

It’s already a year or more since I last read a good novel. Come to think of it, the last novel I bought was A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. It was on April 2006, a year ago. Darn it. I had been too busy to stop by at Tobucil or Omu just to see new books they had on their shelves. Plus since then my (ex)girlfriends didn’t seems like having some good books either.

Indah was an exception. She’s intelligently smart (oh yeah we read Tim Burton’s together). I really enjoy the time when we had the English conversation late at night at her house for hours. Until now, there are only two people I could only have a very comfortable English conversation with: Indah and Maya (it makes me wonder how Maya is doing now, I hope she’s fine though).

My next girlfriend after Indah is smart academically. She, majoring Nursery, had good grades, but I couldn’t seem to find too much similarity in the things we read. All I can think about her books is thick and thicker books about human’s anatomy, or pharmacology, or something like that. She read that every nights, no wonder she had good grades, eh? She had some novels too, she likes reading. But I couldn’t borrow a good novel to read for me. The one and only book I borrow from her is a local-writer’s book about people sending emails, starting to fall in love with each other, and finding themselves couldn’t be together. The book wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t that good either. I wouldn’t recommend it as a one of the books I like.

The same thing happened with my girlfriend after her. She only had the books and magazines about architecture and interior design stuffs. The good thing is I have the same major with her, so we could read the magazines together and discussing the stuffs we read. It was a really good discussion, but only about the architect’s profession. But no novel, even a science-fiction. No novel at all.

So now I’m trying to feed up my mind by reading few novels I bought but haven’t read it.

To gain my touch of writing too, maybe. There are some lack of quality in my writing now, I think. Although some of my friends said that my writings are good; they think I’m a natural born writer. There’s no such things as natural born something, it’s silly. In the end, it all came up with good books and practice. Maybe it’s kind of silly, but to me, really, I write what I read. You write what you read. If you read good writings then you can be a good writer. Sha, a sweet girl I know, could make fine lyrics because when she has read so many lyrics; she differ the good song from the bad one basically by judging the lyrics.

I don’t want to end up with writings about crapping this or yelling those or angry about this or backstabbing (my friends favorite words, haha.) about that. I read that kind of people's writings too much lately, and I don’t think it’s a good one. I mean, it’s a good way to put up your emotions into the writings, but don't write emotionally. You just trying to embarrass yourself by making people laugh at you. You are rubbish because you write rubbish. I mean, if your writings aren’t good enough, then the books you read aren’t good enough.

And suddenly I feel that I miss QB. Really.

...

Oh my God, what the hell am I writing about?