Wed December 2, 2009.
PM.
The late afternoon heat that crawled wildly into the small lines between the window glasses, dragged the slowly time into dark and ever-growing heat evening. It's just another old day where I forced myself, half-halfheartedly, reading the second novel, a generous offer from Pak Gede, a dark skinned owner of the Inn I'd stayed in during my early weeks in this island. Trying to fix my eyes to the lines of the skillfully written story, I constantly looking down at the phone, The time moves so painfully slowly. Not that I waited on someone or expected to go anywhere. I wanted to skip my dinner that evening. Laying on my back, lift the old brown book up, blocking my head from the dim white light from the ceiling, my ears were shot by hysterical laughter from next door. Kids. Girls. Their Balinese language and accent are inconveniently strange to me. Sometimes, it drags me out of my failed attempt to sleep.This is happening every day after 5 p.m.
Something crossed my mind.
There was a long dial until mom picked up the phone, hearing her crispy high Hallo made me smile. A small joy washed my longing heart. Not that i'm missing them that much nor that I want to pay a visit to them--which made her let out a weak, disappointed Oh when i said I could only send them small sum of money for Christmas. She delivered her never-forgotten advice of believing in Christ and rely on Him all the way. However, having heard her saying this, I felt numb. I will be good,mom, I assured her while deep inside I question my religious self. I had short talk with each Renata and Nenny, my older sisters, who were humored me with a question, 'When can you get yourself a motorcycle? Because we need one, too.'
The night was humid and windless. I made a small tour around the front path of the house while trying to be more attentive on the phone because speaking with my family or some friends in Medan on the phone always give me a piece of melancholy. I said good nite to Nenny who was the last one on the phone and found myself stood on the dark soil facing the front door of the house, the screams of TVs from two rooms next to mine and the Tokek that kept on rapping , Tokeeeeeek tokeeeek!!" on the wall outside my window made me change my plan to skip dinner. The Warung/foodstall i frequently visit was closed. I walked passed the food cart on the way back home. I tired once to eat over there, ordered fried noodle and was surprised to see they basically gave me instant noodle that tasted funny. The small green chillies were dried with darkish brown inside.
On the last turn to the house, I bought one plain small bread and one cold Fanta wrapped into a small transparent plastic container. Turned off the light, turned on the radio to its possible low volume that can only be heard inside the room, and buried my face on the old mattress, surrendered to the dampness of the room.
