Posts Tagged ‘diary’

It’s kind of late in the evening to be hanging out at Alberto’s on weekdays, but it’s such a starry night to miss. The wind is blowing just right and the moon is shining brightly. I guess the Sea Goddess is having a ball. Such a romantic tune from an acoustic guitar is serenading between the backdrops of the waves. That serene moment is lurking which is so rarely come to existence.

There’re people all around me tonight, not a bad night for business. Tables are full with happy faces in small groups, dining with friends or love ones, on holiday. Temporarily forgetting the life routines with no cares in the world, spending rupiahs, and feeling like Kings and Queens on the upper hand of the dollar value. Life’s a heaven my friend, as long as you are traveling in the less fortuned countries instead of your mighty developed one.

Feeling like in a holiday myself. Hanging out at café anytime the urge arises. Going through the daylight hours in an office where works are not the burden, with colleagues whom are the blessed from heaven. Salary’s enough for spending in a reasonable luxury. Living in my closed up world, in my own made believe routine. No hassle, if not provokes by those efforts of self-induced tantrum. What more can a girl ask for?

In fact, a lot more I should admit. All is combined into a one whole package, of love. For whatever it means and whatever forms it may manifests. A special someone to call my own, to share moments with, be there with through all the life’s ups and downs. Is it too much to ask? I wonder. Thus, question never meets the answer’s eye and this hollowness inside despite the cheerful and tomboyish outlook on life still sustains deeply. Peeking out once in a while, once provoked by memory, reverie, love song or some romantic movie or book. This silly old heart keeps reminding that wiser brain about something, which is not, yet in place. Yet, every time the logic mechanism will waltz in, acting on in a referee’s shoe, setting back the equation into balance, soothing the emotions ripples, sending provable and solid facts, till’ finally there’ll be one missing heartbeat, a slowed-down rhythm and once again day begins and ends normally.

Indifference, with the provoking long lasting taste of bitterness, is lingering in the background. The backdoor man is standing guard, making sure there is not a slightest ray of souls float by. When it broke through once or twice, lust was in domain instead of love.

Still a remedy is found in this state of indifference. It’s proclaiming that life can be so much fun by simply pushing back the thoughts. It works all the time with only one down fall of recurrence, a flashback. Every now and then, this medicine needs to be reinforced to reach that state again, sweet indifference with a bit of bitterness for an aftertaste.

Laughing and being gay, are the essential ingredients. Go out fishing for fish, fishing for squids, feeling the sea breezes at sunset, no need for waking up for sunrise – it’s inducing an opposite effect – undesirable, absorbing splashes of sea water on my lips and blink again and again when they catch the eyes – enjoy – it’s a preferable substitute for those forbidden tears, climbing the mountain in reach – it works the body and spirit in shape for the road of courage and bravery. Endurance is that sweet elixir for a limbo state of mind. Laughing and being gay pour up those most inner feelings to those with willing ears and or use all the charms to will those unwilling. Days will pass feathery; weeks will change into months and years, resulting in a wider circle of so-called close friends. The most valuable lifesavers, unsubstitutable, whom can be easily reached by emails, wherever I might crash and make that a so-called home, temporarily before those spur of moment relocations stormed in.

Best advice of all, is to follow that happiness craving in small portion at a time. As big portion will never come and if it does, be careful, delirious might most likely be the effect. Just settles for the act of living tomorrow worry for tomorrow journey as today possess its own load and there’s always that damn slight possibility that tomorrow will never take its existence. A wise lady once said and believe it still, if you are following this stream of consciousness you will recognize her words, “Rise up like a phoenix, unharmed and be even more graceful yet tough. It will never matter what was your previous state of wreckage, once you have found that courage to reincarnate, you will be whole again, better than ever.”

Simple sweet things in life are precious and rarer than the dinosaur’s skulls. They require less digging to unearthed, less science mapping to discover, less geological knowledge to classify. Yes, they are truly harder to notice in this buzzing indifference and yet once the brainwaves radar took in those blinking red dots, the heart will classify them easily and store them dearly in a special slot. Once in awhile, those are the fuel used to grease up ones life’s wheel. Turning the cycle back into a jazzy rhythm, sliding back to ease, breathe in and relax. The world goes round and rainbow rays are still decorating the sky just like the first in Noah’s ancient one. The sight of that spurs of colors across the grandiose sky, is the only thing and the closest thing to a permissive dream and hope.

Remembering oneself, most of all. Once you have gained that control, nothing is able to pull you down too far. Beware. Indifference is not equal to being death of all senses. It is a selective indifference in practice that I am aiming for. Keeps me sane, keeps me writing this. And in the light that people might take us lightly, pardon me, but let’s give them the finger, the one in the middle, I am referring to, mind you. Things that I have worked for, this castle that I have built stone by stone, all the principles that I hold higher than religion, made a version of a being I am today. Yes, this selective indifference is legally prescribing a finger for those unlucky ones whom this heart labeled as lower than dandruff. It is authorized to be used perfectly with whom I do not hate but despise as a being with unprogrammed personality worth created. Remembering oneself, most of all. Reconsidering the whole effort for being the one, I am today. So, be prepared finger, and sincerely hoping overtime is not required. Just to be on the safe side when heaven and hell actually is a proven verity.

Once in awhile let that combination of heart and soul guides the actions instead of those brain cells and logic. As long as the conscience is capable of taking in all the consequences, float away, why not. Especially, in the case of one of those special kind of lust, where a common ground and interest is in view, when emotion is stronger than pride or ego – which is rarely happening in reality – with all the five or even six senses cry out in “Aye”, dive in the deep water. Trust and have faith on those tiny cells, motherboard will kick in and throw that lifesaver which or whom will keep you afloat again eventually. Hold on to those feelings, those simple things in life. Open all pores, breathe in those sweet sensations of another soul, so near, so close at hand. Linger with a big smile, be willy-nilly, and count the daisy. Having a warm body next to yours is a damn handy for a 3 a.m. bedtime story session to lull you to your dreamless sleep. Believe in the human instincts. Forget commitment, don’t mind planning, there’s nothing to it. Don’t make any blueprint. Don’t release those air balloons filled with hopes and attached with promises. A borrowed time and moment is enough to save the day. Return them to the owner promptly, don’t evoke problem with those mobs. The good ones are always taken if they are not they are classified under the “Missing Links.” The bad nuts are not worth discussing.

Remember this heart and soul act is only allowed to perform just for the sake of sanity. Small dose is more than enough for going back to the logic track. Eventually, the turn of time will knock some senses in mother earth’s plan for yours truly. With the big bang repeating, the force of universe will be collating heart, soul, brain cells, and logic in one major momentum. And, love will finally manifest its meaning before ones very own eyes, revealing before its many masks, in its first baby suit from heaven, matching all the questions to answers and the odyssey ends once and for all.

Behold. That is a version of a fairytale like ending. From a complicated and curious mind set such as this, there’s also another popped up question about the existence of a soul mate. The wonder of it all, if the other person’s soul is the genuine half of the other half then they should be born at the same date, exact same hour down to the exact same millisecond. And with a rapid leap of technology, there will be a time when locating one another is surely not a quest.

But then again, there might be a chance, and most likely, there definitely is, that heaven has a huge storage room for all those halved souls, with no clear instruction and timing, decent maps nor blueprints for sending them out to the universe. Thus, the “Where’s Waldo?” case syndrome is the most common occurrence. This is the version of a non-fairytale like ending.

Free will, free choice, my friend. Select the appropriate button on your life screen and live with it. Making whoopees is not always the result. That’s all.


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A/s/l plz?

38/female/Indonesia. Urs?

You have a web cam?


OK, ciao.




Do you have pics?

Check my profile.



I saw your profile, you are very pretty. I like you feet.

Say what? Feet?

Yeah…. very sexy.

Oh, OK thanks, bye.


Do you want to see mine? I got a web cam?

No thanks.

I am horny, how about you?

Sorry, not interested.



(Me, clicking ignore button)


Hi! I haven’t seen you on line for ages. How are you, baby? I miss you.

Oh hi, really? You actually miss me?

Yeah sure.

Bla bla bla ….

Another satisfying night on line? Not quite.

How could you actually miss someone that you never even meet and do not really had a truly meaningful conversation with? After all the small talks about nothing within a specific soul connecting topic, nothing in the level of sharing life stories, just mindless chatting about superficial mundane subjects, could you actually really miss the person? Or, is it just the matter of seeing a person that you had conversation with, any type of conversation with, on line? Knowing that if you are bored from surfing the net and hoping to find other more interesting on-liners, at least you have someone to type words to? Moreover, what is it about “baby” or “sweetie” or “honey” as a substitute greeting, as name is forgettable and difficult to keep track of? Unimportant, insignificant, like the person on the other side of the screen? Honey, you sure look beautiful! Maybe, miss, is actually a word been abused here. Do you miss snow, for example? You have seen the pictures, know about the funs associated with it, a bit history of the formation, very interested to see it with your own eyes one of these days, but you have been living in a tropical country most of your life? Possible? Maybe. Funny, I miss fondue, but seen it and taste it before. The same? Maybe.

What a small world indeed! True. Find your perfect match. Chat with anyone from all over the world. Your soul mate is out there. Be a premium member, post your picture(s);  increase your chance to be noticed.

Do I really want to chat with people all over the world to find a soul mate? Increase my chance to be noticed? Therefore, what then? Happily ever after? Do I need the emotional rush every time that virtual kiss from a good looking opposite sex waiting inbox? You got mail! Do I need that slight disappointment which only has a few days life span when emails or that yellow smiley face next to the name always seem to be in white? Why do I even bother? Why do I seek someone “real” on internet? Hello!?! Anyone? Brain left and grey substance stay at home? Anything more virtual than this? Star Trek – the next voyage.

Someone “real”, that’s actually a strange definition. Real in personality or real in flesh and blood? Those are the two things that could not be sent down the telephone line, could they? Someone to share thoughts with. The other person does not even have the chance to see how you really perform in daily basis. They could not find out if you are a loser in life. Or that time when you lost your cool and scream bloody murder. Or that you bloated like a blow fish in the name of stress and loneliness. Or that you burp or fart like everyone else, considering when it does happened in the privacy of your solitary confine it is human but when in public is a no no?

How could someone be “real” without entering your daily life? How can someone could be considered as your lifeline when you talk about the experience of sinking a week after you drown? How could someone ever actually give an objective opinion when things happen around you in a very complex tenure, which puzzled even yourself as the actor? The other person could always be there for you if you need someone to talk to, yes true, if the other person has a life worth living, glued to the screen always, it is not actually a good indication of one’s life quality, isn’t it?

The leap of technology. It’s a small world after all. The ultimate connection of all the lonely people all over the world. In the name of hope, fun, passing the time, widen ones social horizon, all boil down to one single thing, companion. The craving need to fill that empty space that “real” daily life could not provide.


Hi this is Matt from Alaska, single, 40, glad I find you on line. I saw your profile and would really like to get to know you more. Do you have time to talk?

Hi Matt, sure.

So how are you? I see that you into old jazz songs, me too. Which one is your old time favorite?

Moonlight in Vermont. Yours?

Really? What a coincidence, mine too. Have you ever listen to the BB King’s version of it?

YES!!!! Nicely done with blues rhythm. Can’t believe you like that song too.

Bla bla bla

(3 hours later)

It’s been really nice talking to you. I hope we could do this sometime soon.

Ditto, Matt. Can’t believe we have been chatting for more than 3 hours.

Yes, time fly when you are having fun, right. You should get some sleep. It must be about 3 am there.

You’ve been updating the international time zone for my part of the world I see  : )

That’s why I want you to get some zzzzz….. It’s very late there. I’m glad that I caught you on line.

Me too. What time is it there?

Around 10 AM, Saturday morning.

Oh, you wake up very early on a Saturday. Daily habit?

The truth? I was awake too early on weekend and couldn’t get back to bed. So I thought that I log on to see if you are on line. And, what do you know. You are!

(Thinking … this guy is too good to be true, spooky ……… no wild Friday night with a hangover type too) Well, I’m glad that you didn’t decide to try harder to doze off again.

Yes, “what a difference a day makes” surely has a new meaning to me today

Natalie Cole’s version hhahhah (smiling from ear to ear)

(30 minutes phase of goodbye later)

So I see you next Saturday same time same place then.

I like that.

Sweet dreams, I’ll email you during the week.

Bye Matt, have a relaxing day and take care.

Nite nite Sarah, you take care too and I’ll see you in a while.

Still smiling from ear to ear. Logging off and shutting down windows. See you in a while? Eh, hold on. It’s just a matter of speech. There’s surely nothing to it. On line friendship, ok that’s not something that is too much to ask. “Real” companionship? Relationship? Marking a family tree together? Adding another surname behind my own? That’s absolutely ha ha. Different time zone, different sphere of the planet, different culture, different language – just imagine mom, she will be an all smiley face in-law with exotic foods on the table and never be a shopping partner to the in-law. Do I really want this mix? Why am I even thinking about this possibility? This is surely not a possibility anyhow. Give this Matt chap and me a few weeks. Then it’s only gonna be me and this “Mad” guy that I use to chat with. Hallelujah. God have mercy!

And sure enough, I have never seen that Matty guy online anymore…

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Can’t believe I have been in a relationship with another “false attempter” that life got to offer. They are just a few in any universal count, but significantly numerous in my lifetime a count of 15 or so years search. The seemingly good intenders, whether it was 3 days, 3 weeks, 3 months or 3 years of their lingering process, one by one they let go of my hand, the journey take a sudden halt, and once again I am here. Alone. Daze. Looking around me and ask unbelievably, “That’s it?” Nobody seems to be around anymore for me to even ask for any further questions, silence. It’s just me now. Someone has just letting go of my hand. Why? Someone has just freeze another chunk of my heart. I do wonder how big of a heart that I have to withstand all these frostbites; the past’s, the present’s and the future’s.

39 minutes 45 seconds and counting, uh ah uh ah uh ah. This is a rough day testing the endurance. My heart is sinking with every breath that I take. Flashes of memory pieces dive in and out on the big glass window. My body works on its own mechanical wonder and my brain seems to have even bigger boaster, fuel on emotional turmoil. In a race, somehow the later can’t ever seem to find its switch.

The traffic and buildings outside are glazing away; I’m standing alone on my familiar hill, high above looking over the raging ocean below. A single old wrinkled Banyan tree is standing against the wind, grasses green as any eye can see dotted with small yellow daisy ankle high soft on my bare foot. Blue sky slowly turning its skin to a darker shade, patches of clouds closing in on the bright sunlight, slowly turning into grey threatening rain on the horizon creeping ever so slow. I can see my hand, outreaching, trying to grab the passing wind, by some means it seems to have a life of its own. Separating from my body, which is numb in its existence, housing heartbeats that are out of rhythm. I am here, waiting, for something that never seem to materialize. A sense of loss, a sense of disappearing self, a sense of fatality, which rooted deep as deep as my understanding of being. I am here, piercing through the air over to the distance water. Hopes, dreams, those forbidden thoughts that are all suppressed in reality, grow wild with the daisies on this hill. I am here, free to scream and shout, free to let go, free to build, stone by stone, my castle, stone by stone, almost at the same rate as it was destructed, again and again. But, I am still here, standing, alone, the Banyan is still standing, the wind is still blowing, my hill is still here. I am ever lost, yet, I am here, holding on, taking root like the old Banyan.

Slowly, I’m melting further, a little girl sitting on the front door step, crying in silence, an old German shepherd close at her knees. She rest her weary soul on his head, her small arms enveloping him, drawing all the warm and comfort that her little heart can absorb. Brawling from the end of the back corridor, Ma and Pa, their voice rises in the heat of the afternoon sun. I am here, playing back the too familiar scenes, of both of them standing facing each other, armed with whatever domestic tools that they could find, funny, you would never imagine a bug pump-spray is designed handy for human defender or human offender tool. Ma is angry, tears are running down her face, her hair wild, her voice is wilder. Pa was caught ‘handling’ the maid. The maid is nowhere to be seen. Pa is furious, his strong arms flagging in threat, his face turn to Neanderthal expression, and his voice is even wilder than Ma’s. My stone step is the farthest spot that I can go, for now. It’s not safe, it doesn’t protect me, it doesn’t hide me, and it doesn’t take me away. I am waiting, waiting for the neighbor to open their window and see me here. I am waiting, waiting for the Mum next door to come and take me in her house. I am waiting, waiting for the Mum next door to hold me in her arms, and telling me that everything is going to be fine. I am waiting, waiting for the Mum next door to tell me how a brave pretty little girl I am, that a such as I am, doesn’t cry, God loves strong, brave pretty little girl, and I am one of these girls that God creates to be special, who find happiness and good fortune when she grows up, someday. I am this little girl, strong, brave, pretty, with kind heart and life will be kind.

I am a grown up now, and I am still waiting. I do not know whether I am still strong and brave; the Mum next door is long gone. No one is telling me I am a strong, brave, pretty, kind and that life is just going to be fine. My brain is telling me I am strong, the mill is telling me that I am able to burn 159 calories so far. Uh ah uh ah uh and still counting up.

Slowly, a potato KiwiStag01 flies by approaching the big glass window, I look down at the mill’s placard trying to avoid his gaze. The writing is still in small print, only “Warning” in big enough letters. The stop sign circularly red is so attempting for me to press down. “Warning” I read again, I am still walking as fast as I can, swinging my arms back and forward, still trying to avoid his gaze. But, he taps on the glass and I have to look up. He says, “I’m happier without you than with you.” Smile indifferently while chewing on a chocolate chips cookie. “So, NO,” he stresses on the no, “I don’t want you in my life. Between the continuum of Love You and Love You Not, I am placing myself nearest to the Love You Not scale. I can’t see a future with the two of us in it. This is the end of the road. I am sorry that I hurt you, but I am not sorry for letting go.” He flutters his wings, and hover from side to side, looking at me like nothing happen, like it’s a matter of fact, like telling me the weather condition outside under the tropical sun is sunny, bright, 30 degree Celsius, mild wind. Then, he is gone. Gone from the window and gone in every sense of existence. He lets go of my hand, both in my vivid imagination, and in the reality of my every waking moment.

My legs turn weary, exhaustion creeps in, and my finger runs itself to the stop red button, while the warning sign seems to get bigger with each second past. I crash, in a pile on the mill, my head spinning, my heart racing, my sweats running down blending with my cascading tears. The line between my imagination and my vivid surrounding smudged collapsing into one another. I lost grip of myself, I lost grip of my sense of being. In a pile, I stay, shaking, wrapping my arms around my knees. My brain yells in protest, “Sarah! Sarah! Snap out of it! Sarah! Get a hold of yourself! Sarah! Now! Move on! Move on!” I am still here, in a pile on the mill. “Sarah… Sarah…” a strong hand on my shoulder shocks me back to the living, Noval, the Personal Trainer, “Are you ok?” asks him in alarm. “Yes … yes, I’m ok, just fainted for awhile there, I missed breakfast this morning, I’m ok now,” toweling my face to wipe away sweat and tears, I answer in small voice, probably non-coherent to him but that is the only thing that I can master now and try to stand up leaning on his arms. The wiggly hamster still crumples in pile, on the treadmill that I just step out from, still with tears cascading silently from her eyes, hugging her body close to herself.

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My mobile phone rings. “I love you, Sarah. I love you. I love you.” It’s MY POTATO. This is the first time that he ever calls me since that teary goodbye at Palmerston North’s airport. I have been waiting for so long to hear that 3 little words from him. Yet, when it finally happening, I am stunt, I am happy, of course, but stunt speechless. For once, I don’t have a quick witty come back for a reply. Should I say, thank you? Slowly, all senses come back to me and I feel like hugging everything in sight. He loves me. He loves me. He loves… eh… “I am not in love with you.” That was what he said once on that doomsday, on that last few weeks before my departure. Now, 9 months down the road and being so far apart from each other, he loves me? Is this possible? Is this real? Am I truly, loveable? Are we, truly, an US, a WE, a you-and-me thingy, a pair? 9 December 2008, mark that, mark that, MY POTATO LOVES ME.

Two months later, the postman delivers my overdue Christmas present. I find potato smiling at me on a play back VCD wishing me Merry Christmas and THAT section, “I love you Sarah, I love you, I love you … Merry Christmas.” THAT section has been replay again and again and again and again. I, me, the whole that I am, love you too. I’m in tears, I’m in laughter, and I’m in every stage of emotional turmoil that alleviates me. I love you, for the first time, these words ring crystal clear for me. This is not a movie, this not a romance novel, this is not a story someone’s told me about someone’s someone they know. This is me, my life, my story and I am loved, me, I, do love you.

My Facebook’s status changes from Single to In relationship with KiwiStag01, in relationship with KiwiStag01 … in relationship with. Me, in a relationship!


Back anticipating that “Cooling Down” flashes from the treadmill’s screen again today, uh ah uh ah uh ah, go away hamster! I am pissed today and I refuse to conjure your image. In my mind head, I can see her poke her wiggly butt in my direction and snort away holding her nose up high in the air after eyeing me evil.

“Am I correct to think that you would be a kind of guy that would not compromise if you think you are right and do not do anything wrong, no matter how I complain, explain, regardless of how I feel about it and so on and so forth, you will not budge and will never compromise and basically will just expect me to figure it out by myself and accept that you are right and I should just live with it or else?”

My anger fuelling this mill, I walk, faster and faster.

What is that sentence? I flash an angry look at that big wide window in front of me, I can see the picture of that nicely shaped lady with her cool smile, but what is that sentence? traeh regnorts dliuB. Bugger!! Who cares!

I grip the handle bar tighter and walk even faster increasing the speed on the machine. What are you smiling at lady? I growl at the lady picture. Walk even faster and squeezes close my eyes.

“Miss, you are making a very nice view for me from behind.” I snap open my eyes and aiming to kill looking for the source of that voice. Noval, the PT is standing next to me, smiling cheekily.

Before I can say anything, he reached over and reduce the timing on the mill to 3 minutes counting down, “Come on, let’s exercise, you don’t need to be on this for that long, 15 minutes warm-up is enough.”

“Oh,” I force out a smile at him in a haze. I guess, the anger has just cool a several notch down and I realise that my legs hurt from that entire anger fuelled walk.

I am going to call him later, I miss him, I need to talk to him. 3 days is a long enough suffering for me and I don’t really have the energy to maintain this anger anymore. About what, exactly, actually? I somehow forget what the cause of our fight was. I just miss my potato. I need to talk to him.

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Saturday, me and June, we meet up and talk nostalgically, she was my primary school mate, long gone recently found on Facebook. We start with a scrumptious 10AM breakfast, tasting one dish after another from the nicely and splendidly spread buffet. Pampering ourselves with fresh squeeze orange juice, warm waffles, scramble eggs, poached sausages, home-made yoghurt and the list goes on. A long chat over breakfast slash brunch and a shower later, leisurely, we cruises down to the mall, manicure and pedicure session for her, while I happily locating myself in one of the cafés, sipping coffee, blowing smoke rings, reading my book, glancing once in a while to watch the people and the world go by.

It’s Sunday, 8pm on the dot.

“Go ahead and order. Forget about the calorie, they are absolutely yummo!” June smiles at me devil-ish. I scan the menu from front to back and back to front, concentrating as if the smiley waitress will give me a pop-quiz on it in the next 10 minutes. While actually, I have my tummy-eye one-track-mind set on the BBQ baby back ribs glazed with house specialty sauce – healthy salad, healthy salad, healthy salad chanting my brain happily while my eyes following the turn of the pages and I, of course, happily ignoring the chant.

“I think you should come back in a bit, miss,” addressing the waitress with her twinkle eyes, “I need to brainwash her. Could you please bring us our drinks first?” June kicks my leg from across the table in a playful manner like we were still two kids with pigtails, “Come on, I’m hungry!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Stop thinking, as agreed this is our meat night, so go on order, you are surely not going to order rabbit food after nagging me to take you here!”

“Who nag you?” Sticking my tongue to her, “You basically convince me this is the best place for ribs.”

“And you, girl, as I recall doesn’t take much need for any convincing act in my part, I just open my mouth and mentioned ribs and yummo, you’re hooked, yeehaaw!”

“Yeehaaw! Hehehehehe Do you know, that 30 minutes on treadmill will only amount to 138 calories? I don’t want to even think how many calories these ribs have” grinning stupidly and rolling my eyes at her, “Yeah, yeah, yeah rib then. Call back the waitress.”

“See, less than 5 second such a convincing effort to get you on board!”

I look around the room, while she waives at the waitress. Not really a packed place on a Sunday night, the irony of an Irish resto in Medan. The place is dimly lit, romantic candle light flickering from each table surrounding an impressively stocked bar at the far end of the room. Wooden furniture matching the wooden wall, projecting a cosy atmosphere, sending signs that lingering is an ok thing to do here. My gaze slowly trail the people in front of me without really registering their features, just immersing the vibe while my mind wonder in and out then finally my eyes rest on my mobile phone. No text. He is probably asleep by now. Caught myself back in time – I return my gaze back to June.

“This place used to be packed; a few months ago we need to call in for reservation. But since the airport security has a one-way street policy up the road leading to this place after 8pm, people sort of abandoning it as THE hang out place. But trust me; the food here is worth it.”

“Yeah, I guess, with so many hang out places to choose from, people prefer going to somewhere which has both good food and strategic location.”

“He didn’t text, eh?” Suddenly she asks, I just look at her and flash her one of my indifference smiles.

“Oh, tell me again, how did you end up with 5 kids, eh?”

I considered myself a master of instant diversion to a next topic, when the subject of my potato pops. Don’t get me wrong, he is almost constantly on my mind, no matter what I do, but when people ask me about him, I tend to give them short answers as deep down, the real problem is: I don’t know. I don’t know whether there is a real future ahead consisting of me and him building a life together. I’m afraid to dream, I can dream alone, safely in my own thought, but saying out loud and expressing that dream in verbal description for others to hear, that I can’t. As if I might break some kind of jinx – people might feel sorry for me when it all turned out to be a flop. I dream, but I dream alone inside my head.

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“Hi Hon, I’m in Banda Aceh now. Just arrived a few hours ago, I’m on my mobile internet.”

“Hi, babe, how’s the trip?”

“It’s ok, the flight was alright, can’t believe this would be my last field trip, will be in Medan tomorrow night and then on to Siborong-borong, back to Medan, then Takengon and finally back to Medan, finally home – 2 weeks of the final lag. How are you?”

“I’m good”

“Busy day?”

“Yeah, been out on the job since morning, had an early start, a bit knackered actually.”

“Poor baby… hope you will have a good rest later, almost time to go home?”

“Nah, still got stuff that I need to sort, probably will be here for a while.”

“Ok, I’ll keep you company, ya. Work starts tomorrow morning, I’m just going to lay low and take it easy tonight. Feeling a bit unwell, actually, I can feel a sore throat coming, hopefully it won’t get any worse, this is going to be a long trip and being sick would be the last thing that I need.”

“Take care of yourself, hon. I don’t like it if you are sick or in trouble and I can’t be there for you.”

“Thanks, Hon, I will, don’t worry.”

I don’t like it if you’re sick or in trouble and I can’t be there for you? Normally, my sceptical nature would have me cringe away with that kind of sweet talks. But, coming from my potato, it so heart-warming. Every sense of my being soak on the sound of that sentence, alleviate me to a state of bliss, expresses in a big long sigh upon reading it; missing you, truly. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to run for his embrace, resting my head on his chest, my ear snug closely to the level of his heart beat, in tune with its familiar rhythm? For a few seconds, I could block the world around me; forget all my worries, just to stand still, wrapping my arms around that familiar contour. For a few moments, it’s just me and him.

“Oh, I will have a two-day break during this trip. Won’t be working this weekend, we will be in Medan. Remember that fancy hotel that I stayed the last time, I will be there again. Cool eh?”

“Yep. That will be nice, enjoy you. ”

“Hehhehe I will”

“I will be away this weekend, going up to Auckland on my bike, for Pearl Jam concert, will be leaving after work on Friday, be back on Sunday, night-ish.”

“Oh, ok”

I know, I should have wished him the same, “enjoy you”. But, why there is a twang on my heartstrings? Something – an alarm bell of a cuckoo nest, starting like abandonment and ending like jealousy. I wish, you will be available on the weekend, I wish I can spend time talking and being with you, online, on the weekend, I wish I can come with you and have fun ride and being a part of the crowd in the concert. Who are you taking instead? That girl who is a friend? Will the two of you ride on the same bike? Will the two of you share the same accommodation? Are you going on your own?

“Who are you taking with you, Hon?”

“No one, I’m going up on my own.”

“Ok, be careful ya, text me to let me know, you are ok, ya?”


Of course, that wouldn’t happen. Texting me to let me know, he is ok, is rarely ever considered as emergency text. I do my own things on that weekend, trying hard to forget how much I miss him, trying to brush away the urge to text him or make that international call.

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SMS mall, probably THE hang out spot in the area. It’s kind of cosy, especially at night with its arcade of restos lining up with a centre stage, where live music with various band genres alternatively performing each night. My gym is one of the arcade residents. I have been upgrading my patronage activities of the mall, from shopper to sweater, literally means to sweat. The membership is expensive, but since my recent one month paid-leave from work resulted in a 5 Kgs gained in weight, I have made a very wise decision in paying for membership in this fancy sweat factory.

“Have a nice exercise, M’am.” Smile the guy at the front desk, returning my gym card after tweeting it at the scan machine.

“Thanks,” taking my card from him while can’t help but mumbling inside my head, scaling up the steps leading to the second floor, don’t think there would be a nice exercise, my good man, me and labouring on sport is just not really a good match. I can be as strong as an Ox but to turn exercising as a pleasuring activity would be too much to ask of oneself. Waving and smiling to my PT, there he is standing there waiting, yeah yeah I know, nodding and smiling again, 15 minutes warm-up on the treadmill, yeah yeah, hold on, I’m heading to the locker now.


45 minutes cardio on this damn machine – Just finished the weight training with my PT and now he is putting me back on this thread-wonder-mill which digitally display how far that I fast walk and how much calorie that I burn while doing so. The only feature that I like about it, is when the screen flash and says “Cooling down” ahh… what a bliss phrase.

Speed 5.5, inclination 5 – standard, fast enough for me to jerk healthy sweat and slow enough to wiggle my butt and work those tights, tummy and waist line in more or less comfortable in sync rhythm way. Noval, the PT is still standing next to the machine and making small talks to me, I guess, he is being nice and probably checking to see whether I might faint on the mill. Shooting him back with friendly reply, trying to ensure him that I am completely fine and he is safe to leave me alone now. Good, he is saying his goodbye and thanks and start to walk away. Now, there just me, the mill and my vivid imagination.

40 minutes and counting down – Warning – the small placard read with a list of small print that I have never recall what is written no matter how many times I read it. Anyway, I keep walking fast, alternating my view from the mill’s screen, TV screen, and big glass window in front of me giving me the full view of the traffic and building outside. Warning the sign still read the same, slowly, I drift, my imagination taking over, alleviate from my subconscious and running my conscious thought, the big glass window becomes my canvas – flashing one image after another, alternating story lines one after another.

Look, I am a big chubby hamster running laboriously on her giant wheel, round and round I go, wiggling butt here and there, huff and puff, uh ah uh ah turn the wheel, turn the wheel, uh ah uh ah. 38 minutes and 46 seconds counting down, flash of reality, then next scene is playing in my head displaying vividly on the glass pane. Look, look, a potato with wing is flying closer, fluttering his wing and swaying from side to side, he hovers and slowly taking a human form, my KiwiStag01. Smiling his big smile, showing a small middle gap on a row of big front teeth, his beard is untrimmed as always, grinning happily, he says, “Good work! Not enjoying the work out babe? Fair enough but yeah, it is good for you.” Grinning away, while the background change and now he is scratching his back against the door frame of his cramp apartment, I used to live there with him, sharing his space, sharing his daily routine life, being a part of a couple, probably in love with each other or probably not, and yet, sharing a life together. The image slowly changed back, the traffic and building outside reemerge, glance down at my mobile phone next to the mill’s screen, a pang in my heart string, this phone hardly ever rings or ping a text, delivering a loving message from afar, just to find out how I am doing, just to let me know I was thought about at that very moment. Ah well, he is busy, don’t be too demanding, he can’t text, it is not fine with his work partner that he waste money sending text messages, unless emergency and letting me know that he is thinking of me, is surely can’t be classified as one of those emergencies.

37 minutes 10 seconds and counting down – that’s remind me I have to book my plane ticket for the last field trip to Sumatera, oh boy, am I glad this will be the last trip for me. I am walking as fast as I can, uh ah uh ah uh ah, the hamster image flashes back for a split second, I am sweating profusely, my legs start feeling the heavy pull of the muscles, uh ah uh ah, yes, yes, I am walking as fast as I can, walking and cross the legs with each step, back straight, chin up, lock tummy, uh ah uh ah uh ah, move with the music. Crap! What kind of music that they are playing on the speaker! Now, just concentrate on the beat, yes, that’s it, uh ah uh ah uh ah.

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