*This post is supposed to be posted yesterday, things happened and day went by so quick.
The phone call always brings an attachments of melancholic air, a well-known mutual boredom, excitement and unspoken longing for each other. She, the vigorous wise devout Christian woman has puts up more numbers of phone calls in the last few weeks, delivers a unique scrambled of news from my small half hearted abandoned coastal hometown. Another death, some wedding, the mourn of the bitter fishermen, the rarity of good weather- yes, the rain seems reigns the whole year.
'She pulls off her grossmanship to the whole new level,' she sighs, went on how religiously she worships the soaps on TV that she says hell to the no to the evening bath, to the few chores. Longer sleeping time at nite...I only let out some weak uhm, knowing all those little things are going nowhere anytime soon.
'You know her, mom,' I said, my last wisest respond though I knew she wanted to hear a stream of serious concern. However, she voluntarily prided over her firm insistence of leaving mom from some hardworks.
'That's my sister!' I rolled my Sibolgan accent and feasted my ears with her crispy laughter. She doesn't really sweat about it.
Then she asked me to call Renata, to rub her anxiety of getting older and single. 'I wish I had a caring mother when I was at her age,' her pleading voice weakened. I know what happened, how mom feels about having two 30something-single daughters, and a gay son. The latter has been a long ignored discovery. I understand Renata's feeling on the other hand. She has all the rights to be herself, no one should make her marry someone out of desperation or agony.
I promised mom I'd talk to her, I keep my word of being a supportive brother to her, as well.
I would walk around aimlessly wherever I'd be, my long fingers would dance frantically in the air, or absentmindedly fished around my pocket.
But last Sunday, she made me took a hold on my pretentious calmness. She lost her lower teeth, all of them. A sign of an assistance and care from my two sisters, I feel numb by the fact she is getting older, the woman I love the most.
Her hesitant plea for financial bail out is giving me the real purpose to turn back into my withered fond for life. Her sorrows and gratefulness to God, her anxiety and happiness. Her existence becomes my sole purpose to live because mine had been corrupted by time and air.
Servaas was right when he tried to stuff some idea onto my numb mind.
'She pulls off her grossmanship to the whole new level,' she sighs, went on how religiously she worships the soaps on TV that she says hell to the no to the evening bath, to the few chores. Longer sleeping time at nite...I only let out some weak uhm, knowing all those little things are going nowhere anytime soon.
'You know her, mom,' I said, my last wisest respond though I knew she wanted to hear a stream of serious concern. However, she voluntarily prided over her firm insistence of leaving mom from some hardworks.
'That's my sister!' I rolled my Sibolgan accent and feasted my ears with her crispy laughter. She doesn't really sweat about it.
Then she asked me to call Renata, to rub her anxiety of getting older and single. 'I wish I had a caring mother when I was at her age,' her pleading voice weakened. I know what happened, how mom feels about having two 30something-single daughters, and a gay son. The latter has been a long ignored discovery. I understand Renata's feeling on the other hand. She has all the rights to be herself, no one should make her marry someone out of desperation or agony.
I promised mom I'd talk to her, I keep my word of being a supportive brother to her, as well.
I would walk around aimlessly wherever I'd be, my long fingers would dance frantically in the air, or absentmindedly fished around my pocket.
But last Sunday, she made me took a hold on my pretentious calmness. She lost her lower teeth, all of them. A sign of an assistance and care from my two sisters, I feel numb by the fact she is getting older, the woman I love the most.
Her hesitant plea for financial bail out is giving me the real purpose to turn back into my withered fond for life. Her sorrows and gratefulness to God, her anxiety and happiness. Her existence becomes my sole purpose to live because mine had been corrupted by time and air.
Servaas was right when he tried to stuff some idea onto my numb mind.
Here I am sitting silently between a British man and Indonesian woman who tries to catch up some nap, black sunglasses nicely suits her fair complexion. Singapore is just 30 minutes away. The prosthetic is safely kept in the cabin and my excitement of the possibility to catch up with Adam and my newfound good friend, Chance, makes this one-day business trip worth it.
