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| ...it's just yet another dream out of the well-kept irreplaceable desires. |
Last Sunday was so marvelous. The raging sun took its mightiest mercy the whole day and despite the significant pain on my waist & back, I jumped out of the bed at 6 am, I should go out today.
An idea of going to Kuta Rock Church which was listed on the Bali Advertiser's last week edition crossed my mind, it's located in a street I'm hardly familiar with. I shrugged, it'd be silly to ask Budi to wait up for me to finish the Service outside.
I tried to come up with some much better plans. Failed.
I did not feel like going out anywhere, actually, yet staying at the house for the only weekend left is a big no.
We eventually took a sudden turn to Tanah Lot when we were about to reach Kuta. It was unusually less crowded and most of them were local visitors. I enjoyed seeing the striking sun and the high-tide waves, and most of all, the contentment on those faces of virginal visitors. Budi looked less impressed by the whole thing, he hid himself under the shade of a small tree next to fully-jacketed young local couple. He scanned the beach with the bored eyes. He busied himself with the remaining cigarettes in his pocket. Okay, let's take another short tour around before we go home, I pat him on the shoulder and adjusted my sunglasses.
He lost the route, I sensed he drove around aimlessly for a while. Maybe he just wanted to cruise around or did not really want to head back home that soon.
After finally found the correct route, he hit the brake and pulled over in the middle of deserted road surrounded by the ripening rice fields on both side of the road. A flat tired. It's always nice to have a small walk, I comforted myself.
A small group of local youth were sitting cozily at a small post at a turn of a road. I knew they had watched over me from afar so when I walked passed them and knew their eyes were fixed on me, I was not surprised with their teasing of me walking alone with a helmet on my right hand.
Then they laughed, Wassalamualai'kum!!! One of the boys shouted my way. Do I look like a Moslem? Yeah, I surely dont look like a local, especially if I pulled an act like the pic below:
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| I envy that dude's craving for food though that doesnt look good to the eye, at all. |
I have been eating badly for a few days now. It's between loosing my appetite and the monotonous food I could get either at the food stalls near the office or the house, or it's simply because of the sour taste that have been staying at the tip of my tongue for the last couple of days.
Some evening, it would just a slice or two of the whole wheat bread and lots of water to make it last until the next morning where I would voluntarily munch on another slice of bread with tea.
You're just like those White men, living from the bread, Ibu Sri sometimes comments. She always has innocent outlook in life and things that take place around her. And she sees this bread-eating of mine as a sign of richness. She tells stories of her life and family in the humblest way and shakes off the idea that her newly purchased house on Java island must be a lot nicer that my mom's back in Sibolga. She gave me the get-out-of-here look when I offered her the fact that mom has been earning some money from selling fishes in a plastic bucket that weights 10-25 kgs which she carries from the fishermen' harbor every morning since 27 years ago. She smiles or laughs uncomfortably everytime I tell her I'm not from a rich family.
She shares the same doubts with the most of people about this, there's no point of proving it, anyway.
I'm going to take a shower and resume my reading.
