Mungkin ada seseorang disini yang bisa—kau tahu ia bisa menggantikan seorang yang jauh disana. Yang setiap hari menekuri Lake BG. Apalagi disaat musim semi saat ini, di floriade, blue sky, sunny day, tulip tidak hanya ada di Belanda, katanya dalam sms-sms itu. Ia sedang bahagia, langit begitu biru.
Tapi atas nama kesetiaan, kau menutup kemungkinan-kemungkinan itu, menutup dirimu atas sesuatu yang terjangkau. Seseorang yang bisa ditemui dalam setengah jam, untuk bersama-sama menyusuri tempat apapun di kota ini. Bersama. Tidak lagi dalam kesendirian. Meski kau membawa HP—didalamnya ada sms-sms itu, bahwa kita setia. Tak ada ruang bagi yang lain—karena yang lain menjadi begitu membosankan begitu dibandingkan dengan kamu dan dia.
Inikah yang dinamakan perasaan Cinta itu?
Entahlah.
Kau tahu, ada orang-orang disini yang betul-betul berpotensi, untukmu menjadi teman diskusi—tentang apa saja seperti yang biasa kau diskusikan bersamanya. Namun, ada tembok besar yang malas kau lewati.
Ini namanya apa? perasaan apa?
Entahlah.
(masihkah perlu dinamai?)
Lalu ada masa ketika kau menjadi begitu lelah. Ia menjadi begitu lelah atas hati dan perasaan sendiri, seperti juga kamu. Tidak ada orang yang bisa begitu kuat menjalani semua ini, tidak manusia biasa seperti kau dan dia. Maka, ketika kau menginginkannya hanya untuk makan malam yang sederhana, ia tak ada. Dan ketika ia menginginkanmu pada sebuah sore, untuk dilalui menyusuri deretan pepohonan besar di kota yang selalu disebutnya membosankan, kaupun tak ada. Kau dan dia hanya ada dalam pikiran satu sama lain, namun anehnya, kau tak bisa lupa, ia tak bisa lupa.
Perasaan apakah ini?
Lalu mendadak kau begitu rindu, hidup terasa teramat pahit, ketika kau dan dia dengan kompak merasa tersesat dalam keterpisahan ini. Tangisan. Ada janji-janji, kata-kata manis, senyuman. Dan jikalau kau lebih berani, kau akan meninggalkan duniamu, untuk bergabung dengan dunianya. Namun ternyata tidak bisa begitu, tidak lebih banyak kecocokan dibandingkan yang kau kira. Hidup itu mahal, seperti kata ‘selamanya’.
Setiap hari terbangun, ia terbangun lebih dulu, mengirimkan pesan singkat, ketika kau masih tertidur. Pesan-pesan tak sempat terjawab, meluluhlantakkan dunia, menghancurkan rasa. Kau merasa begitu tersakiti. Ia merasa begitu tersakiti.
(why u dont reply my sms, it really hurts). Kau masih menyimpan sms ini, kau merasa begitu menyayanginya, setiap detik, setiap menit, hari-hari berganti, namun ikatan antara kamu dan dia, ternyata makin kuat. Entah bisa terlepas atau tidak, kau tak mau memikirkan ini. Biarlah waktu yang akan menjawabnya.
Namun, kau diam-diam bersyukur pada Tuhan. Sudah menemukan seseorang untuk dicintai, untuk mencintaimu. Itulah perasaan terhebat. Rasa itu, perjalanan itu, nama itu, negara itu, kalimat-kalimat bernada sayang, kecemburuan, takut kehilangan, dan diinginkan. Kau merasa berarti. Barangkali untuk pertama kalinya sepanjang hidupmu. Ketika ia menjadi terang dalam gelap duniamu.
And nothing else matters.
Selasa, 15 Februari 2011
TWO LADIES IN ONE NIGHT
The first occasion was when I had dinner with my friend in some Japanese restaurant. We talked about some business while having our meal, and after I finished mine I put my dishes innocently at the table besides me. I actually did aware that there was a lady sitting there alone, enjoying her dinner, but I couldn’t figure out why I did such a very impolite action. Off course, she reacted angrily. “Why did you put your dishes here (on her table), I am still here,” said the disturbed lady. I felt sorry and was so regretful, even my friend questioned me about that and suggested me to call a waiter to take away the dishes.
We continued our conversation but I kept my mind upon the lady. She might be feeling interrupted but I couldn’t find anything to do to express how much I feel like I just killed an ant. I even thought she hated me at that time, and when she met her friends, she might have share the night when a boy just put his dishes in her table, as if nobody was there. Or she might have recognized me, and when we met at some unfathomable way, she will put her unfriendly face on me. I just hope that I will recall her face at that time.
The second lady was in my yoga class, 30 minutes after the dinner. I already knew that Yoga is not some kind of popular activity, and last night there was only about 10 people attending the class—there was only two male on the class: me and the other was an older guy. I stood there following the instructor practicing sun salutation etc, when I realized a lady stand besides me was doing it with some consistent moan,”uh…uh” such that moan.
I felt kind of disturbed that her voice could weaken my concentration, but I didn’t know how to tell her that I was disturbed. I looked for the class; nobody seemed to be disturbed by her voice. So I just close my eyes trying the best to escape from the class, and my ear only listen to the only voice: my instructor’s voice. But I wasn’t that expert so her moan was on my ear, made my imagination flew away everywhere (we’re always had imagination when we hear all kind of moan, did we?).
I didn’t know why, but I felt dirty. I joined Yoga by some reasons, one of them is to purify my mind—but the lady’s moan….
I wanted to tell her that this was ‘just’ a yoga class. She didn’t required to lift some weight at all, and it was not a correct breathing technique either. So, when I was doing my headstand, my mind keep questioning about the lady. Somebody has to tell her about her moan, or some people will try to kill her, (remember when a fan stab Monica Seles in the 1990’s). You can moan in any place and occasion, but you can’t moan in a yoga class. You just can’t.
At my room, I felt surreal afterward. This was such a novelic night. Haruki could write something like this. I felt awkward when i try to figure out the connection between those two ladies. They might have some kind of relation, or might have not. Or maybe this wasn’t important. So i took my “Norwegian Wood”, read it for a while, and get some sleep.
We continued our conversation but I kept my mind upon the lady. She might be feeling interrupted but I couldn’t find anything to do to express how much I feel like I just killed an ant. I even thought she hated me at that time, and when she met her friends, she might have share the night when a boy just put his dishes in her table, as if nobody was there. Or she might have recognized me, and when we met at some unfathomable way, she will put her unfriendly face on me. I just hope that I will recall her face at that time.
The second lady was in my yoga class, 30 minutes after the dinner. I already knew that Yoga is not some kind of popular activity, and last night there was only about 10 people attending the class—there was only two male on the class: me and the other was an older guy. I stood there following the instructor practicing sun salutation etc, when I realized a lady stand besides me was doing it with some consistent moan,”uh…uh” such that moan.
I felt kind of disturbed that her voice could weaken my concentration, but I didn’t know how to tell her that I was disturbed. I looked for the class; nobody seemed to be disturbed by her voice. So I just close my eyes trying the best to escape from the class, and my ear only listen to the only voice: my instructor’s voice. But I wasn’t that expert so her moan was on my ear, made my imagination flew away everywhere (we’re always had imagination when we hear all kind of moan, did we?).
I didn’t know why, but I felt dirty. I joined Yoga by some reasons, one of them is to purify my mind—but the lady’s moan….
I wanted to tell her that this was ‘just’ a yoga class. She didn’t required to lift some weight at all, and it was not a correct breathing technique either. So, when I was doing my headstand, my mind keep questioning about the lady. Somebody has to tell her about her moan, or some people will try to kill her, (remember when a fan stab Monica Seles in the 1990’s). You can moan in any place and occasion, but you can’t moan in a yoga class. You just can’t.
At my room, I felt surreal afterward. This was such a novelic night. Haruki could write something like this. I felt awkward when i try to figure out the connection between those two ladies. They might have some kind of relation, or might have not. Or maybe this wasn’t important. So i took my “Norwegian Wood”, read it for a while, and get some sleep.
Rasa Keterancaman yang terancam pada film The Omen
Tahukah anda bahwa hari minggu dipilih sebagai hari preview film The Omen (1976)? Konon alasannya berhubungan dengan pandangan bernuansa keagamaan. Disisi lain, pilihan untuk menghindari isu aborsi seolah menjadi sebuah usaha penghindaran kesan penghujatan terhadap agama yang terlalu dalam.
Sebab bagi pemeluk kristen yang taat, tentunya hari minggu adalah hari bernilai religius, ketika umat berbondong-bondong mendatangi gereja, mengagungkan kristus. The Omen sendiri, pada original skripnya diberi titel “The Anti-Christ” oleh penulis David Seltzer. Kemudian saat dimulai masa produksi diubah menjadi “The Birthmark”, untuk kemudian berjudul “The Omen”.
Perubahan judul ini seolah menegaskan premise film yang dengan berani menawarkan konsep ramalan akhir jaman dari kristus, seiring kelahiran sang antikristus, pada bocah bernama Damien yang kemudian menjadi pusat konflik film karya Richard Donner ini. Ada sebuah rasa yang melunak disini, judul film yang telah menjadi tidak se-provokatif awalnya, terlihat dari judul yang berubah menjadi “tanda lahir”, sampai hanya menjadi ‘pertanda’—walau bagaimanapun judul “Antikristus” terasa lebih ‘menyengat’.
Namun terlepas dari konten yang bertendensi untuk melahirkan histeria ini, ada segi menarik dari intrepretasi penceritaan kelahiran antikristus, dengan menghindari pilihan aborsi sebagai upaya menggagalkan kelahiran putra asli tokoh utama yang diperankan Gregory Peck, Robert Thorn. Sang putra asli dibunuh sesudah dilahirkan dan oleh pihak-pihak tertentu digantikan dengan bayi Damien.
Kelahiran adalah suatu karunia yang tidak bisa ditepis, sementara aborsi adalah hal yang ditolak agama; setting cerita di Roma seolah memperkuat pandangan itu: bahwa lebih baik membunuh bayi yang baru lahir daripada membunuhnya sejak dalam kandungan. Lagi-lagi, sebuah pilihan yang terasa melunakkan rasa atau esensi keterancaman yang lazim pada sebuah film horor.
Yang menarik, The Omen menggunakan Kitab Wahyu sebagai ‘tinjauan pustaka’ ketika membicarakan kelahiran anak setan—tercermin pada tanda lahir, angka setan: 666. Angka inilah yang kemudian ditemukan Robert tercetak pada batok kepala Damien. Penemuan ini akhirnya membungkam semua keraguan Robert mengenai siapa sesungguhnya Damien, dan Robert kemudian menemukan dirinya pada posisi Ibrahim yang diminta untuk mengorbankan anakNya.
Sampai adegan klimaks ini, The Omen mewujudkan harapan akan keterancaman, mungkinkah kisah yang sebenarnya berfokus pada hubungan konflik ayah dan anak ini menemui titik kulminasinya pada dua peran yang paling hakiki ini? Jadi bukan keterancaman ketika penonton melihat adegan bunuh diri atau adegan terbunuh yang dengan mencekam bertebaran di sepanjang durasi film ini. Namun, ‘sayangnya’ keterancaman itu terobek kembali seketika Robert terbunuh oleh sebutir peluru—penonton dibungkam dari kemungkinan Damien dibunuh oleh Robert, sekaligus menutup adanya sekuel-sekuel.
The Omen bersama-sama dengan The Exorcist dan Rosemary’s Baby adalah dua film yang menyentuh tema perasukan setan yang kelak menjadi klasik. Namun pada The Omen khususnya, kesan keterancaman ini untungnya dikuatkan pada unsur scoring, serta nyanyian gereja yang memuja setan, seolah sebuah pemberontakan pada Kristus, sekaligus memuja antikristus itu sendiri. Jerry Goldsmith—sang composer menulis refrain sebagai berikut: “Sanguis bibimus, corpus edimus, tolle corpus Satani” (Latin, “Kami meminum darah, kami memakan daging, hiduplah Setan”), yang dicampuradukkan dengan teriakan: “Ave Satani!” dan “Ave Versus Christus!” (Latin, “Hidup, Setan!” dan “Hidup, Antikristus!”)
Sebab bagi pemeluk kristen yang taat, tentunya hari minggu adalah hari bernilai religius, ketika umat berbondong-bondong mendatangi gereja, mengagungkan kristus. The Omen sendiri, pada original skripnya diberi titel “The Anti-Christ” oleh penulis David Seltzer. Kemudian saat dimulai masa produksi diubah menjadi “The Birthmark”, untuk kemudian berjudul “The Omen”.
Perubahan judul ini seolah menegaskan premise film yang dengan berani menawarkan konsep ramalan akhir jaman dari kristus, seiring kelahiran sang antikristus, pada bocah bernama Damien yang kemudian menjadi pusat konflik film karya Richard Donner ini. Ada sebuah rasa yang melunak disini, judul film yang telah menjadi tidak se-provokatif awalnya, terlihat dari judul yang berubah menjadi “tanda lahir”, sampai hanya menjadi ‘pertanda’—walau bagaimanapun judul “Antikristus” terasa lebih ‘menyengat’.
Namun terlepas dari konten yang bertendensi untuk melahirkan histeria ini, ada segi menarik dari intrepretasi penceritaan kelahiran antikristus, dengan menghindari pilihan aborsi sebagai upaya menggagalkan kelahiran putra asli tokoh utama yang diperankan Gregory Peck, Robert Thorn. Sang putra asli dibunuh sesudah dilahirkan dan oleh pihak-pihak tertentu digantikan dengan bayi Damien.
Kelahiran adalah suatu karunia yang tidak bisa ditepis, sementara aborsi adalah hal yang ditolak agama; setting cerita di Roma seolah memperkuat pandangan itu: bahwa lebih baik membunuh bayi yang baru lahir daripada membunuhnya sejak dalam kandungan. Lagi-lagi, sebuah pilihan yang terasa melunakkan rasa atau esensi keterancaman yang lazim pada sebuah film horor.
Yang menarik, The Omen menggunakan Kitab Wahyu sebagai ‘tinjauan pustaka’ ketika membicarakan kelahiran anak setan—tercermin pada tanda lahir, angka setan: 666. Angka inilah yang kemudian ditemukan Robert tercetak pada batok kepala Damien. Penemuan ini akhirnya membungkam semua keraguan Robert mengenai siapa sesungguhnya Damien, dan Robert kemudian menemukan dirinya pada posisi Ibrahim yang diminta untuk mengorbankan anakNya.
Sampai adegan klimaks ini, The Omen mewujudkan harapan akan keterancaman, mungkinkah kisah yang sebenarnya berfokus pada hubungan konflik ayah dan anak ini menemui titik kulminasinya pada dua peran yang paling hakiki ini? Jadi bukan keterancaman ketika penonton melihat adegan bunuh diri atau adegan terbunuh yang dengan mencekam bertebaran di sepanjang durasi film ini. Namun, ‘sayangnya’ keterancaman itu terobek kembali seketika Robert terbunuh oleh sebutir peluru—penonton dibungkam dari kemungkinan Damien dibunuh oleh Robert, sekaligus menutup adanya sekuel-sekuel.
The Omen bersama-sama dengan The Exorcist dan Rosemary’s Baby adalah dua film yang menyentuh tema perasukan setan yang kelak menjadi klasik. Namun pada The Omen khususnya, kesan keterancaman ini untungnya dikuatkan pada unsur scoring, serta nyanyian gereja yang memuja setan, seolah sebuah pemberontakan pada Kristus, sekaligus memuja antikristus itu sendiri. Jerry Goldsmith—sang composer menulis refrain sebagai berikut: “Sanguis bibimus, corpus edimus, tolle corpus Satani” (Latin, “Kami meminum darah, kami memakan daging, hiduplah Setan”), yang dicampuradukkan dengan teriakan: “Ave Satani!” dan “Ave Versus Christus!” (Latin, “Hidup, Setan!” dan “Hidup, Antikristus!”)
Excerpt from Tao Teh Cing
Tao can be talked about, but not the eternal Tao
Names can be named, but not the eternal name
As the origin of heaven and earth, it is nameless
As the Mother of all things, it is nameable
So as ever hidden, we should look at its inner essence
As always manifest, we should look at its outer aspects
These two flow from the same source, though differently named;
And both are called mysteries
The mystery of mysteries is the Door of all essence.
By not exalting the talented you will cause the people to cease from rivalry and contention
By not prizing goods hard to get, you will cause the people to cease from robbing and stealing
By not displaying what is desirable, you will cause the people’s heart to remain undisturbed
Heaven lasts long, and Earth abides
What is the secret of their durability?
Is it not because they do not live for themselves
That they can live so long?
As far holding to fullness,
Far better were it to stop in time!
Keep on beating and sharpening a sword
And the edge cannot be preserved for long
Fill your house with gold and jade,
And it can no longer be guarded
Set store by your riches and honour
And you will only reap a crop of calamities
Here is the way of Heaven:
When you have done your work, retire!
Names can be named, but not the eternal name
As the origin of heaven and earth, it is nameless
As the Mother of all things, it is nameable
So as ever hidden, we should look at its inner essence
As always manifest, we should look at its outer aspects
These two flow from the same source, though differently named;
And both are called mysteries
The mystery of mysteries is the Door of all essence.
By not exalting the talented you will cause the people to cease from rivalry and contention
By not prizing goods hard to get, you will cause the people to cease from robbing and stealing
By not displaying what is desirable, you will cause the people’s heart to remain undisturbed
Heaven lasts long, and Earth abides
What is the secret of their durability?
Is it not because they do not live for themselves
That they can live so long?
As far holding to fullness,
Far better were it to stop in time!
Keep on beating and sharpening a sword
And the edge cannot be preserved for long
Fill your house with gold and jade,
And it can no longer be guarded
Set store by your riches and honour
And you will only reap a crop of calamities
Here is the way of Heaven:
When you have done your work, retire!
IS CHINESENESS IDENTITY STILL CONSIDERED AS AN OTHERNESS FOR MANY INDONESIANS?
Suatu hari, teman se-kost gue—asal Bandung, kedatangan kedua orangtuanya. Gue papasan ama mereka di pintu gerbang, lalu menganggukkan kepala pada mereka. Sesudah mereka pulang gue menyempatkan nanya ama teman gue, “itu bokap nyokap lo?”
Teman gue nggak langsung jawab, tapi gue berhasil mencuri jawaban ‘ya’ dari tatapan matanya. Gue bengong kali ya, sampai dia nanya, “kenapa lo? Heran? Gue juga chinese tahu!”
Ingatan gue terus melayang ke tampilan bonyok teman gue itu yang chinese banget: mata sipit, kulit terang. Tapi, teman gue ini nggak ada chinese-chinesenya sama sekali sampai gue nggak kepikiran sama sekali kalau dia chinese, dan selama ini gue pikir dia indo origin (harus diketahui bahwa gue bukan seorang rasis, gue berteman dengan seseorang dengan alasan simpel: are we match to each other?).
Teman gue menjelaskan tanpa diminta, bahwa akibat akulturasi, banyak chinese yang seolah luntur identitas kechineseannya, misalnya warna kulit, sampai mata sipit. Gue percaya karena gue sempat datang ke sebuah acara seminar ‘creative writing”, ada seorang cewek memperkenalkan diri dan sempat bilang:”Gue hitaci”. Di kemudian hari, gue tahu itu artinya adalah hitam tapi chinese.
Maksudnya, sekarang mulai banyak chinese yang sama saja dari segi tampilan dibandingkan orang dari suku manapun, atau sebaliknya ada orang-orang yang bisa lebih terlihat chinese dibandingkan chinese sendiri. Karena, mungkin akulturasi menyebabkan percampuran gen, atau bisa juga ada perlompatan gen, sehingga menyebabkan penampilan fisik yang makin beragam dan berbeda-beda dalam satu keluarga, dalam satu generasi.
Tapi gara-gara menyinggung chineseness identity itu, teman gue malah jadi curhat colongan. Sempat gue menangkap nada resah dalam cerita-ceritanya itu. Seperti yang sudah disebutkan bahwa teman gue adalah seseorang yang tidak akan jelas terlihat kechineseanya dari luar, dan juga bukan seseorang yang jika tidak ditanya akan bercerita, jadi tak ada seorangpun di kantornya yang tahu bahwa dia chinese.
Hal ini ditambah dengan faktor namanya yang tidak berbau chinese sama sekali. Seseorang bernama Wijaya, kemungkinan adalah derivatif dari Oei, seperti Liem yang akibat peraturan tahun 1966 diadaptasi menjadi Salim, atau Halim. (Perihal pergantian nama ini akan sangat menarik untuk menonton film “Sugiharti Halim” karya Ariani Darmawan). Pergantian nama konon menjadi isu tersendiri, karena ternyata berlaku term and condition berbeda untuk tiap daerah. Di Jawa, nama nasional dianjurkan, tetapi di luar jawa, misalnya Sumatera, konon yang dianjurkan adalah nama muslim, entah siapa yang menganjurkan. Oleh karena itu, di beberapa daerah seperti Bangka, atau Palembang bisa ditemukan seseorang bernama Muhammad tapi makan daging babi.
Back to my friend. Paket indonesia origin yang menjadi atributnya—dengan tampilan fisik dan nama, membuatnya diterima dan diperlakukan sebagai Indonesia origin, di tengah komunitas Indonesia origin. (Tetapi, apakah “pribumi” itu? Bukankah sudah sejak ratusan tahun silam, bangsa-bangsa di dunia sudah banyak eksodus kesana kemari? Colombus berlayar separuh bumi, para kafilah, pedagang jalur sutera, dan lain-lain. Tentu saja mereka kemudian mampir ke Indonesia, menetap dan melahirkan generasi-generasi yang menjadi nenek moyang kita sejak berabad-abad lampau. Dengan demikian, otherness harusnya tidak lagi menjadi issue Indonesia modern, mengingat akarnya sudah ada mungkin sejak 4000 tahun sebelum masehi ketika suku Yunan mengembara sampai nusantara dan menjadi nenek moyang bangsa ini).
Anyway, teman gue terus cerita bahwa menurut dia chineseness identity masih dianggap otherness pada sebagian masyarakat Indonesia. Apa buktinya? Dia jawab: “seseorang menganggap lo tidur, padahal lo nggak tidur, dan dia ngomongin lo dengan bebas; lo ikut dengar apa yang dia omongin tentang lo.” Gue menggeleng, nggak ngerti.
Tapi dia bilang itulah yang dia rasakan tiap hari di kantor. Gue menunggu penjelasan lebih lanjut. Dia bercerita bahwa suatu hari kantor kedatangan seseorang yang physically obviously a chinese. Saat itu yang terjadi adalah—menurut pengamatannya, topik obrolan menyangkut ‘chinese’ atau ‘orang-orang chinese’, akan disampaikan dengan hati-hati, bahkan ditiadakan sama sekali. “Karena sedang ada orang chinese disitu,” kata teman gue menambahkan.
“Karena mereka nggak tahu gue chinese, seorang teman—saat mengobrol makan siang, menunjuk foto di sebuah koran, dan bilang kok banyak chinese ya atau kok chinese semua ya?”.
Hening sejenak. Gue membayangkan ada di posisi teman gue saat itu.
Lain waktu, kalau misalnya ada yang bertanya dan merujuk ke seorang figur, gampangnya adalah dengan mengatakan “Oh yang cina itu ya?”. Menurut teman gue, orang-orang di kantornya nggak membicarakan suku-suku lain dengan cara yang sama seperti mereka membicarakan chinese, dan karena inilah ide tentang kesan otherness itu makin subur di benaknya.
Ada kejadian menggelikan yang sempat teman gue alami. Waktu itu di sebuah pertemuan teman kantornya mengobrol dengan seseorang, dan ketika orang itu pergi, dia—si teman sekantor, berbisik pada teman gue:”Chinese tuh.”
Kebayang nggak sih kuping panas tiap hari kayak gitu.
Tapi, sebagai teman, gue mencoba menghibur dengan bilang bahwa mungkin dia terlalu sensitif. Banyak kok orang yang becanda dengan membawa-bawa ras, misalnya: “si batak”, “si jawa”. Tapi gue sendiri lalu menjadi ragu, karena when it comes to chinese, rasanya jadi beda.
Jadi percakapan malam itu ditutup begitu saja, nggak ada kesimpulan atau apa gitu (mungkin karena kami kurang ‘intelek’ untuk mencerna persoalan seperti ini), dan masing-masing kembali ke sikap pragmatis seperti biasa. Sebelum tidur, gue ingat teman gue, seorang WNA yang sempat melakukan penelitian di Indonesia—seseorang yang tergila-gila pada Indonesia. Apa yang paling dirindukannya dari Indonesia? Jawabnya; satu, busway, dan kedua orang-orang Indonesia yang dinamik.
Jika orang luar melihat kita dinamik, maka dinamika itu menjadi milik semua yang berperan di dalamnya. Mereka hanya melihat Indonesia, sebagai Indonesia, tidak ada otherness, jarak, kesan memarginalkan, kesan menempatkan pada tataran yang berbeda baik secara ide maupun secara perbuatan pada semua elemen yang ada.
Di masa dimana bumi tak berbatas seperti sekarang, gue sendiri merasa otherness yang masih terlihat simptomnya menjadi sudah tidak relevan lagi!
Teman gue nggak langsung jawab, tapi gue berhasil mencuri jawaban ‘ya’ dari tatapan matanya. Gue bengong kali ya, sampai dia nanya, “kenapa lo? Heran? Gue juga chinese tahu!”
Ingatan gue terus melayang ke tampilan bonyok teman gue itu yang chinese banget: mata sipit, kulit terang. Tapi, teman gue ini nggak ada chinese-chinesenya sama sekali sampai gue nggak kepikiran sama sekali kalau dia chinese, dan selama ini gue pikir dia indo origin (harus diketahui bahwa gue bukan seorang rasis, gue berteman dengan seseorang dengan alasan simpel: are we match to each other?).
Teman gue menjelaskan tanpa diminta, bahwa akibat akulturasi, banyak chinese yang seolah luntur identitas kechineseannya, misalnya warna kulit, sampai mata sipit. Gue percaya karena gue sempat datang ke sebuah acara seminar ‘creative writing”, ada seorang cewek memperkenalkan diri dan sempat bilang:”Gue hitaci”. Di kemudian hari, gue tahu itu artinya adalah hitam tapi chinese.
Maksudnya, sekarang mulai banyak chinese yang sama saja dari segi tampilan dibandingkan orang dari suku manapun, atau sebaliknya ada orang-orang yang bisa lebih terlihat chinese dibandingkan chinese sendiri. Karena, mungkin akulturasi menyebabkan percampuran gen, atau bisa juga ada perlompatan gen, sehingga menyebabkan penampilan fisik yang makin beragam dan berbeda-beda dalam satu keluarga, dalam satu generasi.
Tapi gara-gara menyinggung chineseness identity itu, teman gue malah jadi curhat colongan. Sempat gue menangkap nada resah dalam cerita-ceritanya itu. Seperti yang sudah disebutkan bahwa teman gue adalah seseorang yang tidak akan jelas terlihat kechineseanya dari luar, dan juga bukan seseorang yang jika tidak ditanya akan bercerita, jadi tak ada seorangpun di kantornya yang tahu bahwa dia chinese.
Hal ini ditambah dengan faktor namanya yang tidak berbau chinese sama sekali. Seseorang bernama Wijaya, kemungkinan adalah derivatif dari Oei, seperti Liem yang akibat peraturan tahun 1966 diadaptasi menjadi Salim, atau Halim. (Perihal pergantian nama ini akan sangat menarik untuk menonton film “Sugiharti Halim” karya Ariani Darmawan). Pergantian nama konon menjadi isu tersendiri, karena ternyata berlaku term and condition berbeda untuk tiap daerah. Di Jawa, nama nasional dianjurkan, tetapi di luar jawa, misalnya Sumatera, konon yang dianjurkan adalah nama muslim, entah siapa yang menganjurkan. Oleh karena itu, di beberapa daerah seperti Bangka, atau Palembang bisa ditemukan seseorang bernama Muhammad tapi makan daging babi.
Back to my friend. Paket indonesia origin yang menjadi atributnya—dengan tampilan fisik dan nama, membuatnya diterima dan diperlakukan sebagai Indonesia origin, di tengah komunitas Indonesia origin. (Tetapi, apakah “pribumi” itu? Bukankah sudah sejak ratusan tahun silam, bangsa-bangsa di dunia sudah banyak eksodus kesana kemari? Colombus berlayar separuh bumi, para kafilah, pedagang jalur sutera, dan lain-lain. Tentu saja mereka kemudian mampir ke Indonesia, menetap dan melahirkan generasi-generasi yang menjadi nenek moyang kita sejak berabad-abad lampau. Dengan demikian, otherness harusnya tidak lagi menjadi issue Indonesia modern, mengingat akarnya sudah ada mungkin sejak 4000 tahun sebelum masehi ketika suku Yunan mengembara sampai nusantara dan menjadi nenek moyang bangsa ini).
Anyway, teman gue terus cerita bahwa menurut dia chineseness identity masih dianggap otherness pada sebagian masyarakat Indonesia. Apa buktinya? Dia jawab: “seseorang menganggap lo tidur, padahal lo nggak tidur, dan dia ngomongin lo dengan bebas; lo ikut dengar apa yang dia omongin tentang lo.” Gue menggeleng, nggak ngerti.
Tapi dia bilang itulah yang dia rasakan tiap hari di kantor. Gue menunggu penjelasan lebih lanjut. Dia bercerita bahwa suatu hari kantor kedatangan seseorang yang physically obviously a chinese. Saat itu yang terjadi adalah—menurut pengamatannya, topik obrolan menyangkut ‘chinese’ atau ‘orang-orang chinese’, akan disampaikan dengan hati-hati, bahkan ditiadakan sama sekali. “Karena sedang ada orang chinese disitu,” kata teman gue menambahkan.
“Karena mereka nggak tahu gue chinese, seorang teman—saat mengobrol makan siang, menunjuk foto di sebuah koran, dan bilang kok banyak chinese ya atau kok chinese semua ya?”.
Hening sejenak. Gue membayangkan ada di posisi teman gue saat itu.
Lain waktu, kalau misalnya ada yang bertanya dan merujuk ke seorang figur, gampangnya adalah dengan mengatakan “Oh yang cina itu ya?”. Menurut teman gue, orang-orang di kantornya nggak membicarakan suku-suku lain dengan cara yang sama seperti mereka membicarakan chinese, dan karena inilah ide tentang kesan otherness itu makin subur di benaknya.
Ada kejadian menggelikan yang sempat teman gue alami. Waktu itu di sebuah pertemuan teman kantornya mengobrol dengan seseorang, dan ketika orang itu pergi, dia—si teman sekantor, berbisik pada teman gue:”Chinese tuh.”
Kebayang nggak sih kuping panas tiap hari kayak gitu.
Tapi, sebagai teman, gue mencoba menghibur dengan bilang bahwa mungkin dia terlalu sensitif. Banyak kok orang yang becanda dengan membawa-bawa ras, misalnya: “si batak”, “si jawa”. Tapi gue sendiri lalu menjadi ragu, karena when it comes to chinese, rasanya jadi beda.
Jadi percakapan malam itu ditutup begitu saja, nggak ada kesimpulan atau apa gitu (mungkin karena kami kurang ‘intelek’ untuk mencerna persoalan seperti ini), dan masing-masing kembali ke sikap pragmatis seperti biasa. Sebelum tidur, gue ingat teman gue, seorang WNA yang sempat melakukan penelitian di Indonesia—seseorang yang tergila-gila pada Indonesia. Apa yang paling dirindukannya dari Indonesia? Jawabnya; satu, busway, dan kedua orang-orang Indonesia yang dinamik.
Jika orang luar melihat kita dinamik, maka dinamika itu menjadi milik semua yang berperan di dalamnya. Mereka hanya melihat Indonesia, sebagai Indonesia, tidak ada otherness, jarak, kesan memarginalkan, kesan menempatkan pada tataran yang berbeda baik secara ide maupun secara perbuatan pada semua elemen yang ada.
Di masa dimana bumi tak berbatas seperti sekarang, gue sendiri merasa otherness yang masih terlihat simptomnya menjadi sudah tidak relevan lagi!
Senin, 14 Februari 2011
The Lady in Blue (part 3 of trilogy)
Bali
The first time I saw the lady in blue was when my friend and I went to Bali for some silly holiday—there were no such term as backpacking at that time. I created such nickname for the lady simply because she’d always wearing blue dress every time I saw her. Arya, my friend, was sure that the lady was so drunk to wear such a blue gown to the Nusa Dua beach in the middle of sunny day.
I argued him. “She doesn’t look like a drunken woman at all. She walked and acted normally, except for the dress.”
Arya responded cynically. “She might be an insane woman, then.”
We starred at the lady who was standing facing the blue sea. She didn’t wear any slipper, just a gown most ladies wearing to some party. It was beautiful gown, blue and I believe it was from satin.
“You like her?” Arya caught me starring the lady. “Ok. Get her. She is really your type.”
“Damned you,” I answered and punched Arya’s arm, but he evaded and run to the beach and swimming. I came after him, swam, and forgot the lady for a moment. However, as we enjoy our coconut ice when the sun started to slide to the west, I saw her again. She was like merely had one step movement from her previous place.
“Jeez, how long has she’s been standing there?”
“Oh, you fall in love with her? Already?” said Arya, Again with his annoying sense of humor.
I keep looking at the lady, who didn’t even wear sun glasses. She looked focus on some point of the sea. Her dress was wet by the wave coming to the shore. Her bare foot was full of sands. Her eyes looked sad, as if she was just experienced some terrible event or maybe has running away from a funeral.
“She looked lonely,” I said vaguely.
“Why do you always attracted to older woman?” Arya laughed.
The wind blew stiffly. It might give me clue to answer. “Do I?”
“Yes, Absolutely.”
I didn’t really agree with Arya, but I find it hard to explain to him about my objection.
“But it’s all right, I will never make fun of it, if you really serious with her.”
I responded with a glance. “What are you talking about?”
“You two will make perfect couple,” Arya said it seriously. “Look, we are 17. Between the two of us, you’re the one who never get laid until now. So, you’re practically a virgin. Don’t you think it’s kind of cool to sleep with a beautiful mature woman as your first experience? Don’t you think it is such redemption?”
“Arya,” I said. “This is 1990’s. It is ok to be a virgin at 17 and to wait until married for your first sex.”
He paused. I knew he couldn’t buy the idea to relate sex and marriage.
When the night came, we back to the hotel, had a very splurge dinner and went to the some clubs afterwards.
Arya could easily attract many girls as usual. I hate to admit, but he was a very good looking guy, with such personality, and a lot of money. I feel lucky to be his best friend, but many times I feel like his co-star or even his shadow, and for the lady part, oh I feel more than a looser every time he brings lady to hotel, asked me to exit the room. “The girl wanted to educate me biology,” he said to me, smiling decently.
“Is it because my glasses?” once I asked him.
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s about how brave you are. It’s about your manhood. It’s about how do you want it or not. Life is nothing but experiencing. As for me, I want to experience as many things I could.”
That night, he left me at the club with some UB40 song. I try to enjoy myself. I bring a novel, but nobody here was reading, so I keep in on my backpack. I started to feel sleepy when I saw that lady in blue entering the club. I was almost jumping on my seat as I saw her. She walked and sat at the very corner of the club where the lights couldn’t reach there properly.
There some tourist staring at her. They might be amaze on the lady’s appearance while they just wearing some short pants and armless shirt. But, the lady didn’t even notice. She was just there, staring at some point almost without blinking. Her face looked so intense, and I guess she hasn’t take a bath, or change.
At some table not far away from her, some bule was making a porn joke and pointing at her. I feel so sorry for the lady, so I stood, walking headed to her. In my mind was Arya’s spell, “life is about experience.”
So, I stood there, asked to join the lady. “Excuse me, can I sit here, while waiting my friend?” I asked her. “All the chairs are occupied.”
She nodded.
I sat carefully as she is starred at me. “Are you Indonesian?”
“Yes. Why?”
She sighed.
“I actually saw you on the beach today.”
“What? You saw me?”
I nodded. She looked shy.
“But I won’t think you are nuts or something. We can wear anything we want to go to beach. I even plan to wear some koteka and go sun bathing.”
“What is koteka?”
“It’s a….” I tried to describe it, but it’s not easy to explain about koteka to a lady right?
“Koteka is Indonesian traditional wardrobe.”
We went on and she introduced herself. Her name was Nicole, she was 40 years old, a novelist, and came from Australia.
“How old are you, Ricky?” she asked me.
“I am 25.” I lied.
“Uh-uh”
“Ok, I am 22.”
“Uh-uh”
“Ok. The truth is, I’ll turn to be 20 this year.” I still lied.
She starred at me, for some reason, I feel as she was examining me.
“So tell me, how do you come with those dress to the beach?” I asked her.
“It’s a long story,” she answered reluctantly. And then we move on, and I surprised that it wasn’t as scary as I think before. Nicole was quite talkative, she told me about her journey to Uluwatu to watch Kecak Dance. Her eyes sparkled as she tries to recall her experience as something spiritual. “It was amazing to watch such a very sacred dance with the sunset as the background,” said Nicole.
“You go there alone?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. The light on her face faded.
“I’m sorry for being impolite,” I said regretfully. “I just want to know you better.”
She looks at some point, stood up, and said, “I need to go back to my room and write.”
“Can i… come?”
Nicole unlocked the door. She went to get her laptop that looked very heavy and bring it to the bed, and turned it on. I sat on a chair, at the floor I saw a man’s shoes that I was sure it was not hers. “Whose shoes is it?”
She glanced. She wake up and put the shoes on a bag, she looked shy. She went to a table, get Pall Mall and throw it to the trash can. At the table, there was an ashtray full of smoke dust.
It was obvious that there was a man in this room, but I hesitate to ask as I don’t want to interrupt her privacy. Nicole was typing I can hear the sound of her finger upon the keyboard. She looks busy and vigilant.
“Do I disturb you?”
“No, you don’t. Please suit yourself. There are some drinks in the fridge. I just need to continue my novel. But if you feel bored, you are free to go.”
So I just sat there and accompany her. Sometime she talked to herself, and her lips spelled dubiously. For hours, I was just staring at her until she turned of the laptop.
She went to the restroom, as I eat some snacks. She back with water drops from her face. But she’s still wearing the blue gown.
“What story you wrote?” I asked.
“Just some stupid love story.”
“Why is it stupid?”
She paused for second.
“Love for many times made people stupid.” She answered as she open the window. “I was stupid.”
“You want to tell me about it?” I asked her. I join her at the wide window. We watched the dark night at the outside. Feel so silence, there were sounds of wave at the distance, but above all the place was really quite.
“I guess it was my faith to be a writer, so I could inspire people not to do the same stupidity,” said Nicole.
I answered her. “I guess you had a very sad past.”
She answered vaguely. “Maybe.”
I feel awkward, did I just seduce her?
She walked to the mirror, sat on the chair in front of it.
“You are not going to change?” I asked her.
She looked at me; her eyes reach inside of me, as if she was watching the dark side of the moon. “Would you like to help me to get… change?” she asked.
The sun wasn’t rising yet. I walked fast in a narrow and silence road. At the east, the sky was preparing to have the sun rising. It was beautiful morning to enjoy sunrise, but I kind of feel tired, I need to get some sleep.
I entered the magnetic card to unlock the door. I found Arya waking up as I entered the room. He looked at me vigilantly, he woke up and step closer at me. Then, he put his nose on my cheek. “What the hell you’re doing?” I asked him as I pushed him to the bed.
He smiled widely. “Finally you get laid!”
“What the fuck you are talking about?”
“I knew it.” He answered. “I still could smell the girl’s perfume on your body.”
I shut my mouth, put my glasses on the table, and lie down on the bed.
“No need to be ashamed. I fucked a girl too last night and it was so nice!”
I started to close my eyes, feel my body relaxed.
“Ricky, I am so damned proud of you,” he said.
“You evil,” I answered while I was closing my eyes.
“So, tell me, who was the lucky girl you fucked all night long?”
I sighed.
Jakarta
I starred at the mirror in the restroom, touch my long blonde hair and feel so weird. I guess I was having a bad hair day now. I hate every time this happens. But there’s nothing I can’t do. Hate it. Hate it. I exit the restroom as I said to myself, “I still am a beautiful girl.”
And I couldn’t call anybody because I my cell phone is dead. Oh, the day is complete. Where the hell is Gina? I can’t see her anywhere in this mall.
So, I sat a sofa, near the stairs. It still a morning at 10.00 pm, there are only few people around. The shop, the cafes, begins their day. I saw some waiter put menus on a table, the others turn on the payment machine, I kind of like the café which sells pancake. Now, that I am hungry, but I still have to wait for Gina. I can’t go inside the pancake café, she will difficult to find me. But there’s another café, beside the pancake café. Typical café with coffee and muffin, I don’t really like it though it more open and Gina will easily find me there.
I shook my head. The music started to play. It was Jason Mraz’s. I didn’t like him, but Gina did. So, I guess I will sit in this couch, where people could see me. Sitting, alone, and they are always staring at me. I hate coffee, caffeine will make me die. I hate people who staring at me. I know this is because I am a beautiful, but when the saw the way they was me, it was like, “you have to pay to look at me like that”.
Call me snob, but I don’t want to be seen by someone I don’t want to see!
So, I grab my bag, fetch the novel I brought, oh where was I? I continue reading it, and it was like I can feel Reiko’s feeling about the piano, about the man. He sad that he didn’t care, that he didn’t just want to sleep with me. He wanted to marry me.
I continue reading; my face almost touches the book. But I couldn’t maintain my concentration, there were so many distractions. Arggg! Where’s Gina? She was 15 minutes late. I took a magazine from my bag, and found an article “My Name Is Sally, and My Brand isn’t Built Mediocrily”. I love the title—in fact I could only understand the title. The article, however related to campus assignment, that’s why I need Gina for. She is always helpful.
When I feel very confuse about Gina, a man walking to the café in front of me. I could smell his perfume vaguely. I think it was Hugo’s, very typical, and he wore a blue shirt, with black trousers, a typical uniform for worker in Jakarta. You could find man with blue shirt and black trousers anywhere in Jakarta.
However, as the man sat on the couch, facing to outside and I could see his face, he looked ok to me. I believe he’s in the middle of thirty. And he wears glasses. It was a good point; I always love man with glasses. They are always smarter, smells good. Oh what the hell I am thinking about? Gina!
But this is not even lunch hour. What is he doing in the café? He looks sad, though. He turns on his net book, full concentration on it. I kind of feel free to enjoy his expression, without any interrupting. He’s not bad, he’s cute, and he didn’t aware that I was staring at him by this 5 meters distance. Oh, I love man in glasses!
As I enjoying him, someone called my name, and it was Gina. She smiled very wide and hugged me. “Sorry to be late, but I got this task done for us.”
“Ohya?”
She nodded. “Why don’t we go to the pancake café and discuss about it.”
I saw the man. “No, I think this café will be all right.
Gina saw to my direction.
“They have better view,” I added.
So, we enter the café, I sit on a chair near the man, smile on my heart. Gina order some drinks for us, as I stare at the man just beside me. How does he have to be so cute, so serious? And didn’t aware on me? The beautiful, indo girl sat beside him?
Gina caught me staring at him. She whispered, “You slut.”
I smiled.
I got my book and pen, write on it. “He wears glasses.”
Gina read it, and looked at the man.
“So?”
I didn’t explain anything. She must have known that I always falling in love with man in glasses.
Gina put the magazine on the table, we start to discuss about the task. Waiter come and put our drinks.
“You know what? I just met the writer of this article. He explains anything about the branding strategy.”
“Oh ya?”
“Ya. He is such a very nice guy, and you are going to like him.”
“Cause he wore glasses?”
“Cause he wore glasses.
“Perfect.”
Gina wrote the answer on her apple. For minutes, the man in glasses is kind of forgotten. However, when I was really into the task with Gina, the man knocked our table with his fingers.
“Excuse me,” he said. He is standing with her laptop case.
“Yes?” I asked him. I feel very excited, thinking that he might want to know my name. “My name is Tracy,” I said to him.
He grabbed my hand, and Gina’s.
“My name is Ricky.”
He smiled. “I am over 30.”
“We didn’t care as long as you single,” added Gina.
“No,” I said. “We are just joking”.
He smiled wider, and still standing, he was ready to go.
“Yes, Pak Ricky. Since I have indo friend like Tracy, I get used to moments when guys come into her, and even ask for her phone.” Gina gave a jealous tone on her voice.
“So, Tracy, you’re indo?”
I nodded. He looked at me profoundly; I feel he tried to recall some thing.
“What?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “No, you just remind me to some lady, but never mind.”
“Great,” I said.
“Anyway, I wasn’t going to ask your name. But I just want to ask about the photograph you might be dropped,” he said.
“What photograph?” I asked.
“Under the table, Tracy.” He said.
And he walked out of the café.
I looked at under the table and found the photograph on the floor. It was a mess. I want to thank Pak Ricky but he already disappears.
Gina helped me to take the old photograph.
“Oh, I am really careless today.”
Gina took one photograph, and examines it. “Who is she?”
I look at the pic. She grabbed picture of lady wearing blue gown in the beach.
“She is very beautiful,” Gina added.
“She is my mom,” I said.
The first time I saw the lady in blue was when my friend and I went to Bali for some silly holiday—there were no such term as backpacking at that time. I created such nickname for the lady simply because she’d always wearing blue dress every time I saw her. Arya, my friend, was sure that the lady was so drunk to wear such a blue gown to the Nusa Dua beach in the middle of sunny day.
I argued him. “She doesn’t look like a drunken woman at all. She walked and acted normally, except for the dress.”
Arya responded cynically. “She might be an insane woman, then.”
We starred at the lady who was standing facing the blue sea. She didn’t wear any slipper, just a gown most ladies wearing to some party. It was beautiful gown, blue and I believe it was from satin.
“You like her?” Arya caught me starring the lady. “Ok. Get her. She is really your type.”
“Damned you,” I answered and punched Arya’s arm, but he evaded and run to the beach and swimming. I came after him, swam, and forgot the lady for a moment. However, as we enjoy our coconut ice when the sun started to slide to the west, I saw her again. She was like merely had one step movement from her previous place.
“Jeez, how long has she’s been standing there?”
“Oh, you fall in love with her? Already?” said Arya, Again with his annoying sense of humor.
I keep looking at the lady, who didn’t even wear sun glasses. She looked focus on some point of the sea. Her dress was wet by the wave coming to the shore. Her bare foot was full of sands. Her eyes looked sad, as if she was just experienced some terrible event or maybe has running away from a funeral.
“She looked lonely,” I said vaguely.
“Why do you always attracted to older woman?” Arya laughed.
The wind blew stiffly. It might give me clue to answer. “Do I?”
“Yes, Absolutely.”
I didn’t really agree with Arya, but I find it hard to explain to him about my objection.
“But it’s all right, I will never make fun of it, if you really serious with her.”
I responded with a glance. “What are you talking about?”
“You two will make perfect couple,” Arya said it seriously. “Look, we are 17. Between the two of us, you’re the one who never get laid until now. So, you’re practically a virgin. Don’t you think it’s kind of cool to sleep with a beautiful mature woman as your first experience? Don’t you think it is such redemption?”
“Arya,” I said. “This is 1990’s. It is ok to be a virgin at 17 and to wait until married for your first sex.”
He paused. I knew he couldn’t buy the idea to relate sex and marriage.
When the night came, we back to the hotel, had a very splurge dinner and went to the some clubs afterwards.
Arya could easily attract many girls as usual. I hate to admit, but he was a very good looking guy, with such personality, and a lot of money. I feel lucky to be his best friend, but many times I feel like his co-star or even his shadow, and for the lady part, oh I feel more than a looser every time he brings lady to hotel, asked me to exit the room. “The girl wanted to educate me biology,” he said to me, smiling decently.
“Is it because my glasses?” once I asked him.
“No,” he shook his head. “It’s about how brave you are. It’s about your manhood. It’s about how do you want it or not. Life is nothing but experiencing. As for me, I want to experience as many things I could.”
That night, he left me at the club with some UB40 song. I try to enjoy myself. I bring a novel, but nobody here was reading, so I keep in on my backpack. I started to feel sleepy when I saw that lady in blue entering the club. I was almost jumping on my seat as I saw her. She walked and sat at the very corner of the club where the lights couldn’t reach there properly.
There some tourist staring at her. They might be amaze on the lady’s appearance while they just wearing some short pants and armless shirt. But, the lady didn’t even notice. She was just there, staring at some point almost without blinking. Her face looked so intense, and I guess she hasn’t take a bath, or change.
At some table not far away from her, some bule was making a porn joke and pointing at her. I feel so sorry for the lady, so I stood, walking headed to her. In my mind was Arya’s spell, “life is about experience.”
So, I stood there, asked to join the lady. “Excuse me, can I sit here, while waiting my friend?” I asked her. “All the chairs are occupied.”
She nodded.
I sat carefully as she is starred at me. “Are you Indonesian?”
“Yes. Why?”
She sighed.
“I actually saw you on the beach today.”
“What? You saw me?”
I nodded. She looked shy.
“But I won’t think you are nuts or something. We can wear anything we want to go to beach. I even plan to wear some koteka and go sun bathing.”
“What is koteka?”
“It’s a….” I tried to describe it, but it’s not easy to explain about koteka to a lady right?
“Koteka is Indonesian traditional wardrobe.”
We went on and she introduced herself. Her name was Nicole, she was 40 years old, a novelist, and came from Australia.
“How old are you, Ricky?” she asked me.
“I am 25.” I lied.
“Uh-uh”
“Ok, I am 22.”
“Uh-uh”
“Ok. The truth is, I’ll turn to be 20 this year.” I still lied.
She starred at me, for some reason, I feel as she was examining me.
“So tell me, how do you come with those dress to the beach?” I asked her.
“It’s a long story,” she answered reluctantly. And then we move on, and I surprised that it wasn’t as scary as I think before. Nicole was quite talkative, she told me about her journey to Uluwatu to watch Kecak Dance. Her eyes sparkled as she tries to recall her experience as something spiritual. “It was amazing to watch such a very sacred dance with the sunset as the background,” said Nicole.
“You go there alone?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. The light on her face faded.
“I’m sorry for being impolite,” I said regretfully. “I just want to know you better.”
She looks at some point, stood up, and said, “I need to go back to my room and write.”
“Can i… come?”
Nicole unlocked the door. She went to get her laptop that looked very heavy and bring it to the bed, and turned it on. I sat on a chair, at the floor I saw a man’s shoes that I was sure it was not hers. “Whose shoes is it?”
She glanced. She wake up and put the shoes on a bag, she looked shy. She went to a table, get Pall Mall and throw it to the trash can. At the table, there was an ashtray full of smoke dust.
It was obvious that there was a man in this room, but I hesitate to ask as I don’t want to interrupt her privacy. Nicole was typing I can hear the sound of her finger upon the keyboard. She looks busy and vigilant.
“Do I disturb you?”
“No, you don’t. Please suit yourself. There are some drinks in the fridge. I just need to continue my novel. But if you feel bored, you are free to go.”
So I just sat there and accompany her. Sometime she talked to herself, and her lips spelled dubiously. For hours, I was just staring at her until she turned of the laptop.
She went to the restroom, as I eat some snacks. She back with water drops from her face. But she’s still wearing the blue gown.
“What story you wrote?” I asked.
“Just some stupid love story.”
“Why is it stupid?”
She paused for second.
“Love for many times made people stupid.” She answered as she open the window. “I was stupid.”
“You want to tell me about it?” I asked her. I join her at the wide window. We watched the dark night at the outside. Feel so silence, there were sounds of wave at the distance, but above all the place was really quite.
“I guess it was my faith to be a writer, so I could inspire people not to do the same stupidity,” said Nicole.
I answered her. “I guess you had a very sad past.”
She answered vaguely. “Maybe.”
I feel awkward, did I just seduce her?
She walked to the mirror, sat on the chair in front of it.
“You are not going to change?” I asked her.
She looked at me; her eyes reach inside of me, as if she was watching the dark side of the moon. “Would you like to help me to get… change?” she asked.
The sun wasn’t rising yet. I walked fast in a narrow and silence road. At the east, the sky was preparing to have the sun rising. It was beautiful morning to enjoy sunrise, but I kind of feel tired, I need to get some sleep.
I entered the magnetic card to unlock the door. I found Arya waking up as I entered the room. He looked at me vigilantly, he woke up and step closer at me. Then, he put his nose on my cheek. “What the hell you’re doing?” I asked him as I pushed him to the bed.
He smiled widely. “Finally you get laid!”
“What the fuck you are talking about?”
“I knew it.” He answered. “I still could smell the girl’s perfume on your body.”
I shut my mouth, put my glasses on the table, and lie down on the bed.
“No need to be ashamed. I fucked a girl too last night and it was so nice!”
I started to close my eyes, feel my body relaxed.
“Ricky, I am so damned proud of you,” he said.
“You evil,” I answered while I was closing my eyes.
“So, tell me, who was the lucky girl you fucked all night long?”
I sighed.
Jakarta
I starred at the mirror in the restroom, touch my long blonde hair and feel so weird. I guess I was having a bad hair day now. I hate every time this happens. But there’s nothing I can’t do. Hate it. Hate it. I exit the restroom as I said to myself, “I still am a beautiful girl.”
And I couldn’t call anybody because I my cell phone is dead. Oh, the day is complete. Where the hell is Gina? I can’t see her anywhere in this mall.
So, I sat a sofa, near the stairs. It still a morning at 10.00 pm, there are only few people around. The shop, the cafes, begins their day. I saw some waiter put menus on a table, the others turn on the payment machine, I kind of like the café which sells pancake. Now, that I am hungry, but I still have to wait for Gina. I can’t go inside the pancake café, she will difficult to find me. But there’s another café, beside the pancake café. Typical café with coffee and muffin, I don’t really like it though it more open and Gina will easily find me there.
I shook my head. The music started to play. It was Jason Mraz’s. I didn’t like him, but Gina did. So, I guess I will sit in this couch, where people could see me. Sitting, alone, and they are always staring at me. I hate coffee, caffeine will make me die. I hate people who staring at me. I know this is because I am a beautiful, but when the saw the way they was me, it was like, “you have to pay to look at me like that”.
Call me snob, but I don’t want to be seen by someone I don’t want to see!
So, I grab my bag, fetch the novel I brought, oh where was I? I continue reading it, and it was like I can feel Reiko’s feeling about the piano, about the man. He sad that he didn’t care, that he didn’t just want to sleep with me. He wanted to marry me.
I continue reading; my face almost touches the book. But I couldn’t maintain my concentration, there were so many distractions. Arggg! Where’s Gina? She was 15 minutes late. I took a magazine from my bag, and found an article “My Name Is Sally, and My Brand isn’t Built Mediocrily”. I love the title—in fact I could only understand the title. The article, however related to campus assignment, that’s why I need Gina for. She is always helpful.
When I feel very confuse about Gina, a man walking to the café in front of me. I could smell his perfume vaguely. I think it was Hugo’s, very typical, and he wore a blue shirt, with black trousers, a typical uniform for worker in Jakarta. You could find man with blue shirt and black trousers anywhere in Jakarta.
However, as the man sat on the couch, facing to outside and I could see his face, he looked ok to me. I believe he’s in the middle of thirty. And he wears glasses. It was a good point; I always love man with glasses. They are always smarter, smells good. Oh what the hell I am thinking about? Gina!
But this is not even lunch hour. What is he doing in the café? He looks sad, though. He turns on his net book, full concentration on it. I kind of feel free to enjoy his expression, without any interrupting. He’s not bad, he’s cute, and he didn’t aware that I was staring at him by this 5 meters distance. Oh, I love man in glasses!
As I enjoying him, someone called my name, and it was Gina. She smiled very wide and hugged me. “Sorry to be late, but I got this task done for us.”
“Ohya?”
She nodded. “Why don’t we go to the pancake café and discuss about it.”
I saw the man. “No, I think this café will be all right.
Gina saw to my direction.
“They have better view,” I added.
So, we enter the café, I sit on a chair near the man, smile on my heart. Gina order some drinks for us, as I stare at the man just beside me. How does he have to be so cute, so serious? And didn’t aware on me? The beautiful, indo girl sat beside him?
Gina caught me staring at him. She whispered, “You slut.”
I smiled.
I got my book and pen, write on it. “He wears glasses.”
Gina read it, and looked at the man.
“So?”
I didn’t explain anything. She must have known that I always falling in love with man in glasses.
Gina put the magazine on the table, we start to discuss about the task. Waiter come and put our drinks.
“You know what? I just met the writer of this article. He explains anything about the branding strategy.”
“Oh ya?”
“Ya. He is such a very nice guy, and you are going to like him.”
“Cause he wore glasses?”
“Cause he wore glasses.
“Perfect.”
Gina wrote the answer on her apple. For minutes, the man in glasses is kind of forgotten. However, when I was really into the task with Gina, the man knocked our table with his fingers.
“Excuse me,” he said. He is standing with her laptop case.
“Yes?” I asked him. I feel very excited, thinking that he might want to know my name. “My name is Tracy,” I said to him.
He grabbed my hand, and Gina’s.
“My name is Ricky.”
He smiled. “I am over 30.”
“We didn’t care as long as you single,” added Gina.
“No,” I said. “We are just joking”.
He smiled wider, and still standing, he was ready to go.
“Yes, Pak Ricky. Since I have indo friend like Tracy, I get used to moments when guys come into her, and even ask for her phone.” Gina gave a jealous tone on her voice.
“So, Tracy, you’re indo?”
I nodded. He looked at me profoundly; I feel he tried to recall some thing.
“What?” I asked him.
He shook his head. “No, you just remind me to some lady, but never mind.”
“Great,” I said.
“Anyway, I wasn’t going to ask your name. But I just want to ask about the photograph you might be dropped,” he said.
“What photograph?” I asked.
“Under the table, Tracy.” He said.
And he walked out of the café.
I looked at under the table and found the photograph on the floor. It was a mess. I want to thank Pak Ricky but he already disappears.
Gina helped me to take the old photograph.
“Oh, I am really careless today.”
Gina took one photograph, and examines it. “Who is she?”
I look at the pic. She grabbed picture of lady wearing blue gown in the beach.
“She is very beautiful,” Gina added.
“She is my mom,” I said.
The Moaning Mongolian Lady (M2L) -- part2 of trilogy
and again: inspired by true event)
F***! I shouted vaguely as I opened the glass door and saw the moaning lady and empty space besides her—as if it was dedicated for me. That night, the class was already started and I was late consistently on the second part of sun salutation. I put the mattress unwillingly besides her, and I swore again in heart. “Shit, not again.”
Ok. I’d be gentle and as I follow my lovely instructor, I kept saying to myself to accept the reality: two weeks in a row that moaning lady was besides me in a yoga class. And that night was the real challenge for me to leave every noise, and I won’t even open my eyes. Sure, I already get used to its movement so there shouldn’t be any problem.
So I close my eyes, feel the energy and I guess it works because I could focus, and the lady was in a total silence. I open my eyes slightly, sneak on her suspiciously, she looked calm, and there’s something on her that really different (I couldn’t figure out that soon).
But, why she didn’t moan? I started to curious after several minutes. As I practice my crawl pose, I wonder what was happened to her and where did the moaning voice go? Is there something terrible happened to her throat? I was strangely loosed my concentration worst than last week, when she moaned clearly. I keep breathing and most of all the time I keep my eye upon her, totally looking for any voice from her. But, I couldn’t hear anything, not even a sigh, or when we reach some difficult pose she just in her silence.
I was thinking that it was actually normal to moan when we doing sport instead of sex. I feel guilty to have such a dislike feeling on her, and now when she didn’t moan anymore, I feel kind of missing it badly that I couldn’t find balance when I did my Arda Banda. I fell, my nose was the first touching the floor. Luckily, nobody laugh.
As the session over, I put my bottle and had a drink. I still keep my eyes on her. She still at her lotus pose, the eyes still shut, breathing deeply, until nobody else was on the class. I lay my body on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and for some unclear reason, waiting for her.
She open her eyes, looked at me, smile slightly. I wake up, get close to her. She put the mattress on the cabinet, when I asked her. “Why didn’t you moan tonight?”
“What?”
I never hear such a very strange accent like that even in a short word.
“You looked very calm tonight, and why you didn’t moan tonight?”
“What do you mean? What’s moan?” she asked.
“You know the voice, maybe you produce it unconsciously. But tonight you didn’t produce any voice at all.”
We paused for seconds.
“Last week I was beside you too, and you moan.”
“I don’t think I understand. Listen, if you want to continue this conversation, please wait up at the lounge. I need to get shower now,” she said.
“Sure,” I answered truthfully.
I got shower, dried my body, and gone to the lounge, to find the lady was reading a magazine. She put her gym bag as she saw me. She walked in front of me, headed to the elevator. She walked too fast, I could hardly follow her. When the elevator door closed, I asked her,” where do we go?”
“To my apartment.”
“What?” I asked her.
The elevator opened. We arrived at the basement. I still confuse watching her walk so fast. “Hey,” she shouted. “You said you want to continue the conversation?”
“Yeah.”
“So, come on.”
I had my motorcycle parked on the other side of the basement, but I couldn’t refuse her. So, I left it, and enter her car. She drove her car in moderate speed, the car was a luxury, she must be so rich or her husband is a very successful businessman or something.
“You know what, I had my new haircut.”
“Ohya? That’s why you looked different today.”
She smiled, and put the safety belt as we exit the mall. “Please wear your safety belt. It’s very important.”
So, I wear the safety belt.
I feel so awkward to be in a lady’s car, and I didn’t drive her, but she looked okay.
“Maybe I colored my hair next week, since I am single, I am as free as birds,” she said.
“So you’re single?”
She nodded.
“I am sorry,” she said regretfully. “Such a manner. I haven’t introduce myself either.”
“Me too. My name is Ricky.”
“I am Lan.” She grabbed my hand.
“What?”
“My full name is not Lan. But since people could hardly recall my full name, so I just introduce my nickname.”
I looked at her, and her sparkling eyes.
“How old are you?”
“21. You?”
“I am 37. Bit old, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Are you married?”
I shook my head. “No, off course not,” I answered.
“Any girlfriend?” she asked.
“No. it’s complicated.”
“Why it is complicated?’
I sighed. “The thing is when I like a particular girl, that girl don’t like me. But when some girl like me, that’s when I didn’t feel kind of chemistry with her.”
I sighed again. “That was happened too many times.”
“Poor Ricky.” She said with a glance. “Maybe it’s not the time. I think you are quite cute, there must be many girls attracted to you. Just don’t be too picky.”
And then I realized that I was with a stranger in her car. Talking about my private life, which didn’t happen everyday. I don’t have any idea where she would drive me. She could be some lunatic who collect skeleton.
“So, Miss Lan. Where you from?” I asked her when we arrived safely at her apartment. I sat on sofa, watching some cable, and she got me some drinks.
She put the soft drink on the table and grab one. She sat next to me, I could smell her perfume. “I am Mongolian.”
“What? You kidding me?”
“What’s with your reaction?”
“I never knew someone from Mongolia before.”
“Now you knew one.”
“And I don’t even know that my country have diplomatic relation with yours.”
“We have.”
“Such an invention,” I whispered. “Actually, I knew someone from Mongolia. The famous emperor.”
“Which emperor?” Lan put a Marlboro between her lips and lit it. I just staring at her.
“Kubilai Khan.”
“Who?”
“The emperor who attack java on some war hundred years ago. It was on history lesson when I was an elementary student.”
I realized the lady was smoking red Marlboro, and I don’t even a smoker.
“What war? When did it happen? How can I don’t know anything about some Mongolian emperor who attack Java?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your government changes the history. They can do anything you know. “
She went on her second cigarette. I become nervous.
“Besides, I don’t have strong memory to recall dates. In fact, the only war I can remember is Diponegoro war that happened from 1825 to 1830. It’s kind of easy to remembered. The war only took place in 5 years.
“What war?”
“Diponegoro.:”
“Dipo what?”
“Never mind. When I was in elementary school, my dad gave me map, history book, encyclopedia, from there I know many thing including war, the winner of all England, history of Yuri Gagarin, Mars, and there were always a light competition with my friends to recall capital cities around the world, as much as we can. Hmmm, Is Ulan Bator still your capital city?”
She smiled. “Yes, it’s still.”
Then, I starred at her and smoking style, remind me to my fat uncle.
“What?” she asked.
“You smoke, and you smoke Marlboro Red. And I don’t even smoke. This is weird.”
“I know you don’t smoke.”
“How do you know?”
‘I just know.”
“But anyway, you’re remind me to Midori.”
“Who’s Midori? Your ex girlfriend?’
“No. She’s a…”
“Who is she?”
“She smokes Marlboro Red too”, I answered.
“But who’s Midori?”
“Never mind.”
“Don’t ‘never mind’ me. Do explain.”
“Midori is a girl from novel. Its Haruki’s.”
“Who is Haruki?” she asked lightly.
“Haruki Murakami. Japanese author. Very famous.”
She come to the third Marlboro. “I never heard about her.”
“Him. Haruki is a guy.”
“Oh.”
“Fine for me,” I said. “But i have a friend—his name is Ronald. He could kill somebody who didn’t know Haruki.”
“Kill me. Do you think I am beautiful?” The lady changed the topic—she doesn’t want me to control her.
“What?”
“Do you think I am attractive?”
I looked at her. She’s not that fat, she has oriental looks, and she reminds me to some Chinese badminton athlete. “Sort of,” I said.
And then she said I must be thinking she’s ugly.
I shook my head. We starred at each other profoundly for minutes.
“You live here alone?”
“I divorced. My ex husband was from Bostwana.”
“Wow, tonight I feel like in a geography class for some infamous country section. What’s next, grand mother from Liechenstein?”
She laughed.
“Am I funny?” I asked.
“Sometime. But you are cute.”
“I am only 21.”
“So what? Have you watched The Reader? Its Kate Winslet movie. It’s a love story about a boy who love a much older lady.”
“But its only a movie,” I cut her word. “Look, I got to go. My mom will start worry. I just want to ask a question.”
“Which one? You haven’t had enough? You asked so many question tonight. Don’t you realize?”
“Why didn’t you moan at the Yoga Class?”
“Oh that question.”
She stood. She walked to her room, and she came up only wearing a blanket. She stood in front of me.
“I saved it for now,” she said.
And she drops the blanket
F***! I shouted vaguely as I opened the glass door and saw the moaning lady and empty space besides her—as if it was dedicated for me. That night, the class was already started and I was late consistently on the second part of sun salutation. I put the mattress unwillingly besides her, and I swore again in heart. “Shit, not again.”
Ok. I’d be gentle and as I follow my lovely instructor, I kept saying to myself to accept the reality: two weeks in a row that moaning lady was besides me in a yoga class. And that night was the real challenge for me to leave every noise, and I won’t even open my eyes. Sure, I already get used to its movement so there shouldn’t be any problem.
So I close my eyes, feel the energy and I guess it works because I could focus, and the lady was in a total silence. I open my eyes slightly, sneak on her suspiciously, she looked calm, and there’s something on her that really different (I couldn’t figure out that soon).
But, why she didn’t moan? I started to curious after several minutes. As I practice my crawl pose, I wonder what was happened to her and where did the moaning voice go? Is there something terrible happened to her throat? I was strangely loosed my concentration worst than last week, when she moaned clearly. I keep breathing and most of all the time I keep my eye upon her, totally looking for any voice from her. But, I couldn’t hear anything, not even a sigh, or when we reach some difficult pose she just in her silence.
I was thinking that it was actually normal to moan when we doing sport instead of sex. I feel guilty to have such a dislike feeling on her, and now when she didn’t moan anymore, I feel kind of missing it badly that I couldn’t find balance when I did my Arda Banda. I fell, my nose was the first touching the floor. Luckily, nobody laugh.
As the session over, I put my bottle and had a drink. I still keep my eyes on her. She still at her lotus pose, the eyes still shut, breathing deeply, until nobody else was on the class. I lay my body on the floor, staring at the ceiling, and for some unclear reason, waiting for her.
She open her eyes, looked at me, smile slightly. I wake up, get close to her. She put the mattress on the cabinet, when I asked her. “Why didn’t you moan tonight?”
“What?”
I never hear such a very strange accent like that even in a short word.
“You looked very calm tonight, and why you didn’t moan tonight?”
“What do you mean? What’s moan?” she asked.
“You know the voice, maybe you produce it unconsciously. But tonight you didn’t produce any voice at all.”
We paused for seconds.
“Last week I was beside you too, and you moan.”
“I don’t think I understand. Listen, if you want to continue this conversation, please wait up at the lounge. I need to get shower now,” she said.
“Sure,” I answered truthfully.
I got shower, dried my body, and gone to the lounge, to find the lady was reading a magazine. She put her gym bag as she saw me. She walked in front of me, headed to the elevator. She walked too fast, I could hardly follow her. When the elevator door closed, I asked her,” where do we go?”
“To my apartment.”
“What?” I asked her.
The elevator opened. We arrived at the basement. I still confuse watching her walk so fast. “Hey,” she shouted. “You said you want to continue the conversation?”
“Yeah.”
“So, come on.”
I had my motorcycle parked on the other side of the basement, but I couldn’t refuse her. So, I left it, and enter her car. She drove her car in moderate speed, the car was a luxury, she must be so rich or her husband is a very successful businessman or something.
“You know what, I had my new haircut.”
“Ohya? That’s why you looked different today.”
She smiled, and put the safety belt as we exit the mall. “Please wear your safety belt. It’s very important.”
So, I wear the safety belt.
I feel so awkward to be in a lady’s car, and I didn’t drive her, but she looked okay.
“Maybe I colored my hair next week, since I am single, I am as free as birds,” she said.
“So you’re single?”
She nodded.
“I am sorry,” she said regretfully. “Such a manner. I haven’t introduce myself either.”
“Me too. My name is Ricky.”
“I am Lan.” She grabbed my hand.
“What?”
“My full name is not Lan. But since people could hardly recall my full name, so I just introduce my nickname.”
I looked at her, and her sparkling eyes.
“How old are you?”
“21. You?”
“I am 37. Bit old, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Are you married?”
I shook my head. “No, off course not,” I answered.
“Any girlfriend?” she asked.
“No. it’s complicated.”
“Why it is complicated?’
I sighed. “The thing is when I like a particular girl, that girl don’t like me. But when some girl like me, that’s when I didn’t feel kind of chemistry with her.”
I sighed again. “That was happened too many times.”
“Poor Ricky.” She said with a glance. “Maybe it’s not the time. I think you are quite cute, there must be many girls attracted to you. Just don’t be too picky.”
And then I realized that I was with a stranger in her car. Talking about my private life, which didn’t happen everyday. I don’t have any idea where she would drive me. She could be some lunatic who collect skeleton.
“So, Miss Lan. Where you from?” I asked her when we arrived safely at her apartment. I sat on sofa, watching some cable, and she got me some drinks.
She put the soft drink on the table and grab one. She sat next to me, I could smell her perfume. “I am Mongolian.”
“What? You kidding me?”
“What’s with your reaction?”
“I never knew someone from Mongolia before.”
“Now you knew one.”
“And I don’t even know that my country have diplomatic relation with yours.”
“We have.”
“Such an invention,” I whispered. “Actually, I knew someone from Mongolia. The famous emperor.”
“Which emperor?” Lan put a Marlboro between her lips and lit it. I just staring at her.
“Kubilai Khan.”
“Who?”
“The emperor who attack java on some war hundred years ago. It was on history lesson when I was an elementary student.”
I realized the lady was smoking red Marlboro, and I don’t even a smoker.
“What war? When did it happen? How can I don’t know anything about some Mongolian emperor who attack Java?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your government changes the history. They can do anything you know. “
She went on her second cigarette. I become nervous.
“Besides, I don’t have strong memory to recall dates. In fact, the only war I can remember is Diponegoro war that happened from 1825 to 1830. It’s kind of easy to remembered. The war only took place in 5 years.
“What war?”
“Diponegoro.:”
“Dipo what?”
“Never mind. When I was in elementary school, my dad gave me map, history book, encyclopedia, from there I know many thing including war, the winner of all England, history of Yuri Gagarin, Mars, and there were always a light competition with my friends to recall capital cities around the world, as much as we can. Hmmm, Is Ulan Bator still your capital city?”
She smiled. “Yes, it’s still.”
Then, I starred at her and smoking style, remind me to my fat uncle.
“What?” she asked.
“You smoke, and you smoke Marlboro Red. And I don’t even smoke. This is weird.”
“I know you don’t smoke.”
“How do you know?”
‘I just know.”
“But anyway, you’re remind me to Midori.”
“Who’s Midori? Your ex girlfriend?’
“No. She’s a…”
“Who is she?”
“She smokes Marlboro Red too”, I answered.
“But who’s Midori?”
“Never mind.”
“Don’t ‘never mind’ me. Do explain.”
“Midori is a girl from novel. Its Haruki’s.”
“Who is Haruki?” she asked lightly.
“Haruki Murakami. Japanese author. Very famous.”
She come to the third Marlboro. “I never heard about her.”
“Him. Haruki is a guy.”
“Oh.”
“Fine for me,” I said. “But i have a friend—his name is Ronald. He could kill somebody who didn’t know Haruki.”
“Kill me. Do you think I am beautiful?” The lady changed the topic—she doesn’t want me to control her.
“What?”
“Do you think I am attractive?”
I looked at her. She’s not that fat, she has oriental looks, and she reminds me to some Chinese badminton athlete. “Sort of,” I said.
And then she said I must be thinking she’s ugly.
I shook my head. We starred at each other profoundly for minutes.
“You live here alone?”
“I divorced. My ex husband was from Bostwana.”
“Wow, tonight I feel like in a geography class for some infamous country section. What’s next, grand mother from Liechenstein?”
She laughed.
“Am I funny?” I asked.
“Sometime. But you are cute.”
“I am only 21.”
“So what? Have you watched The Reader? Its Kate Winslet movie. It’s a love story about a boy who love a much older lady.”
“But its only a movie,” I cut her word. “Look, I got to go. My mom will start worry. I just want to ask a question.”
“Which one? You haven’t had enough? You asked so many question tonight. Don’t you realize?”
“Why didn’t you moan at the Yoga Class?”
“Oh that question.”
She stood. She walked to her room, and she came up only wearing a blanket. She stood in front of me.
“I saved it for now,” she said.
And she drops the blanket