Friday, November 5, 2010

What them said

'How are you doing Mr. Grumpy?'

Now, that ain't the best compliment you would like to hear. Then soon, Picky, followed with a no-offense smile plastered on his face.

I returned his smile by giving him a quick rub on the neck, caught between the emptiness of the noisy evening road and the seclusive urge for unspoken companionship. Sure thing, I didn't take his words too serious, none of them words aimed at me meant that much, anyway. The compliments sounds funny in my ears...they didn't mean it, anything, anyhow.

How long would it stay this way? I breathe in and out, clasped my palms and rested my head on the edge of the backseat, I gave up on living to please people, giving them wonderful company and begging for admiration whatsoever. I don't keen on being lovable. Words overlap the sincerity in their voices, in my voice, while we personally try to figure all out with a taste of suspicion.

He wasn't drunk. He needs more than 7 pitchers, maybe, to blurt out blatant stupidity out of his bearded face and lively eyes. But he asked me something which answer would hid far behind the blank stares of mine.

'Will you be around when I come back to Bali?'

'You've gotta be like ....... Fun to be with and always makes me laugh,' it was dark, the music from the FM station filled the gap of silence in the car. 

He made me think what others, especially the ones whom I highly cared for, think about my existence in their lives. A few names and faces disappeared from my eyes, I felt sick to my stomach.

'I don't know. Maybe,' I said, tried to turn my head to my right shoulder, on halfway I decided not to look him in the face, 'Maybe I will stay for good.' I heard my own answer with worried face. Do they see me as a temporary resident in their lives? Are they getting such impression or keeping the same doubts?

I smiled. To the dark. To the barren road and to the motionless trees trapped in the dark. They...I shook it off, tried to catch up with his lines and lines of heart burned driven words about his life back there in the States. I tried to sympathize him yet I failed. There's nothing much left in me to spring out into words of comfort. I laid my right palm on his left knuckle and pat it several time, I would give him a hug but I saved it later for good nite farewell.

I can't save any soul, not with who I am at the moment. Not with a bouquet of hidden burdens I buried deep inside yet shown in voice, and face.

Picky, that I have become. Maybe. I simply loose the passion for the food. Pleasures becomes an awkward goal I can hardly get associate with. I shiver when I find myself at a place where someone or everyone demands me to be awesome, or lovely. Not that I expect them to see me that way...neither do I want someone or anyone would know, understand my situation.

In the meantime, I think it's the best to go on, living.

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