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It was an odd nite, kind of.
At five I've had my super early dinner in my room, wrapped my feet with the sarong inherited from my late dad, I viciously munched the steamed rice and all its company; small pieces of chicken, and a few strings of cut Kangkung. The sweat washed my forehead which mostly came out because of the heat in that small box of space, not from the food because it tasted less spicy than my taste. I ate them in such silly hurry. A friend had sarcastically commented on how I gulp the Starbucks coffee, 'Jerry, try to be decent,' he said this with THAT look to how his real concern. But still, I can--absent-mindedly-drink two bottles of mineral water and another glass of ice lemonade when someone just landed his lips to the edge of his cappuccino.
Dinner, done. I started to ignore the music from the FM station. They play the same song all day and nite long, unveiling someone's love/life problems with amateur, predictable advices, scripted. That is the typical Saturday program. I now sleep on my side, reading the translated novel called To My Beloved, until it passed one in the morning, as if I've had to finish it that night. The story is not really engaging but I kind of see my self clearly in that story. The only difference is that He once, indeed, had experience real love, lived in it, for a while.
During those neuseating monotonique dance hours of music from the radio, and the noise from my own breath, and yawns, I heard smashing things, somewhere close to me. I put down my book, concentrated not on the radio but from the more throwing things noises. I looked at the cream-painted wall on my left as if I could see the anger of Yan next room. Even in his anger, his Bahasa sounds too timid. He said something to his girlfriend, repeated it again for three times. I didnt hear her voice, or sulk. Not after a few minutes later when it was the only human emotion roamed around the dark rooms. She cried. My heart went for her, I dunno why, it just sounds so heartbreaking. 'No,' she said protested on something. That sad voice then seemed to be covered by someone's hands, or, something.
I hate this, I said to myself. Suddenly, the room filled with too much hostility. I hated Yan for acting like a jerk, no matter what went wrong with them. And I hate myself for having to listen to this pathetic thing, unnecessary thing. I resumed my reading until I felt my left eye kind of heavy to wink. I rose and took the small round mirror and saw one tiny watery acne-like on my lower eye-lid? Do you call it that way? I pressed it till I kind of felt it's melted, or something. Grabbed a tissue on the desk and went to bed.
I didnt want to sleep but the radio announcer himself had excused himself, two o'clock. The radio went static so did myself, went numb in my sleep.
6 am. I took shower and reminded myself I need to buy me one or two new working pants. Black, as it should be. Or gray. Maybe one more pair of socks to work. And, sighed at the fact that I got to buy one or two shirts for work. I dont want to calculate how much would they cost but knowing that I had just paid this month's rent yesterday gave me a relief.
I will hear from O next week. That generous good-hearted man. In some way, I kind of feel bad for putting him in such unpleasant position. I cant be stop thanking him if I can finally start working, even if I can only thank him in my nightly prayers, or, with my not-so-awesome smile.
Just got text message from Ellie saying she'll be online 3 pm Medan time.
I wish she were here.
I have no good judgment on choosing pants or shirts. Or, precisely, on almost anything fashion. I know what I want, I have them blurry images on my head, but when I find myself in any given department store, like a lost kid, I find all them stuffs look confusingly similar.
And I need a haircut.
Happy Sunday.
