“I dreamed of him last night,” that was the first thing she said when she noticed I was entering the room. She did not even bother to check who was coming. But she knew, it was me.
She was half lying on the single sofa she put in front of her desk, and rested her head on one side of the arm rest with both feet hanging on the other side. Her eyes were fixed to the window presenting the shadowy afternoon. But she was not really looking. I knew her mind was somewhere else. Maybe around the dream she just had last night.
“Him? That boy?” I asked her just to make sure because it was almost couple months ago since the last time she talked about that man I only knew from her story. I thought she had forgotten him. And I told her exactly that. Continue reading
not in love. wholehearted; sincere.
… it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o’ the shoulder, but I’ll warrant him heart-whole. –William Shakespeare, As You Like It, 1623
“What,” said he, “have I flirted with so many girls in my own way of life, and come away heart-whole, and now to fall in love with a gentlewoman, who would bid her footman show me the door if she knew of my presumption!” –Charles Reade, Put Yourself in His Place, 1870
Heart-whole came to English in the 1400s from late Middle English.
“There are all these moments you think you won’t survive. And then you survive.”
These rough images were taken straight from a moving train in between my trip from Semarang, ID, circa 2013. It was somewhere over the subs area of Central Java. A lonely ground with surviving trees surrounding. The images gave me this sense of resilience with its own oddity. Indefinite.
Her little finger kept tipping on the surface of the grassed ground. No one can really tell whether she was nervous or simply being too enthusiastic. But, from her smile, those seeing her may assume the latter. Though she always wore that smile. A kind of smile people loved. When she was smiling, her eyes shone and glistened. It reminded people of those eyes of a rabbit that her thick glasses could barely hide the softness in it.
It’d been approximately thirty five minutes twenty seconds that she had been sitting there at the park all by herself. Thirty five minutes twenty nine seconds now, or it’s gone half past one. That was how she’d love to count time. In details. In precise numbers. No single second left unsaid. As how she measured how many steps she took from home to the bus shelter: one hundred and fifty two steps; or from the bus stop to work: two hundred and seven steps; or how she just discovered three hundred and fifty three steps to reach the park from work. No body really knew about it. How she did all those. How she viewed things in a complex details. How she realized that her brain never let her rest a bit. How it forced her to get busy with her mind all the time.
She pictured her brain interior like a wheel train of a clock that never stopped moving in a super high speed oscillation. That sometimes she wish she could secretly put any kind of obstruent to interupt its movement so she could stop a tiny second to know how it was to be normal.
Normal. The most underrated thing people may think of. That was what she always thought.
Sixty three persons: forty eight in pair and thirteen in group and two in solitary as she was. She had been counting the visitors of the park that just passed by. The twenty four couples were her favorite. Mostly in their early adolescence. But her most favorite was always the old ones. Very few of them. But at least she knew that there was this hope that someone who could love and stay forever really existed.
She figured herself much older and be in pair with someone. How lovely the idea was. Even though she barely ever knew how it was really like to fall for someone. Was it like when her stomach reacted to see documenter of the young Lennon? Or like the strange feeling she always had whenever she was in this art class in her high school cause the teacher was so attractive, good-looking and all? Or like the nausea that always struck whenever she was too enthusiastic about something? She always wondered.
I wish I could tell her. That someday she would know. That she would really meet this person. Someone who was odd enough to level her peculiarity. Someone as strange as her, who would sit next to her and secretly adore her complexity.
Fifty one minutes forty five seconds, she decided to walk back to her office. Another three hundred and fifty three steps, or maybe more. She would find out.