Lazuli
"In the blue of this life
Where it ends in the night
When you couldn't see
You would come for me"
Today marks the 18th day since I moved. Once again. Only this one has no main goal and decided quite impulsively by yours truly. I may keep denying the ultimate reason why I thought about moving in the first place, but God knows how much I try to decline it to become my main reason. Because no, I am never that kind of person that will be moved by a certain external substance, better yet, a substitute. I'm still that rationalist that will calculate everything meticulously. At least that's what I constantly indoctrinate.
As someone who was born with not a pretty good luck streaming in my blood, I mostly laugh at it. Laugh at everything that mostly didn't occur to the way it would normally suppose to be. That may be my only consolation to keep it in my mind that life hasn't surpassed me, yet. To put it simply, I'm used to not getting what I want easily. It's always sweat, if not sanity. And tears will be my last fortress.
There's something about the city I'm moving in. It has always been a captive of those significant to me. I once hated this city to the bone. It is still rolling clearly how mama took me on a morning train, a present, she said. And there we were, in a lush terrain where the wind breezed shivery.
She took that eight years old kid to a breakfast in an arcade down at Merdeka street. After single-handedly struggled to get me all the best access I can get, having an intimate moment--just the two of us was similar to a blessing I couldn't get every day. Often that even living under the same roof didn't get us to meet properly. It was either me sleeping, or she was.
So there we were. One of the most serene moments I could ever grasp. We had our breakfast quietly, while my eyes caught a birthday preparation--something that up till now still become a childhood wish. We then continued our trip and ended up in a narrow slum. Turned out we were heading to the man I now call bapak--I tore down his naming privilege consciously.
He then introduced me to his small new family, a quite strange and complicated situation for a child in my age to fully comprehend. However, I couldn't deny his little one that has the same eyes to mine I could instantly recognize. He then took me to a street stall, just the two of us after years. The conversation was a blur to me now, but the local delicacy still associates to me of him till today. Funny how small thing can unconsciously adhere to certain someone. And I never want to step on the city ever since. I genuinely hated it.
Fast-forward 15 years later, someone crossed my path. Either a serendipity or a curse, I was willingly drowned into his wave at once. Ignoring his complicated mind. Ignoring where he was.
A year pass by slowly, yet swiftly. Like an absurd I am, I hold him tight. He released me from my long-run childhood ideal, something that several someones haven't yet succeeded, unpacking my baggage empty and bring me to the place once I deeply despised.
The first week was all trigger to the memories. The arcade where I had a serene breakfast now has a distinct air. All the roads and intersections are different than how I used to remember--a great deal of reconstruction to my head. And he wasn't there witnessing the slight breakdown. That then became my anticipation to continue walking. Starting a clean slate, with or without him, slowly occupying my baggage with childhood memories I once have buried.
Everything went normally. The new playground, the new nest, I couldn't ask for more. It has exceeded what I ever expected.
Just when I thought I get ahold of everything, our path crossed once more. Myth and transcripts turned into faces and gestures it pumped all the oxytocin within. And as I have crashed all the boundary then favourably built it again, I crashed it and drowned all over again.
Now the fear remains. It overpowers the bliss. Being a constant hostage have me caught the Stockholm syndrome to misfortunate. Everything feels right yet slightly kind of wrong. It always occurs to me that everything has always come with a large deal of cost, and this one doesn't. To think that this has come way too easy, I fear that everything will be taken anytime soon. And I'm not sure how would I cope if the time comes.
Where it ends in the night
When you couldn't see
You would come for me"
Today marks the 18th day since I moved. Once again. Only this one has no main goal and decided quite impulsively by yours truly. I may keep denying the ultimate reason why I thought about moving in the first place, but God knows how much I try to decline it to become my main reason. Because no, I am never that kind of person that will be moved by a certain external substance, better yet, a substitute. I'm still that rationalist that will calculate everything meticulously. At least that's what I constantly indoctrinate.
As someone who was born with not a pretty good luck streaming in my blood, I mostly laugh at it. Laugh at everything that mostly didn't occur to the way it would normally suppose to be. That may be my only consolation to keep it in my mind that life hasn't surpassed me, yet. To put it simply, I'm used to not getting what I want easily. It's always sweat, if not sanity. And tears will be my last fortress.
There's something about the city I'm moving in. It has always been a captive of those significant to me. I once hated this city to the bone. It is still rolling clearly how mama took me on a morning train, a present, she said. And there we were, in a lush terrain where the wind breezed shivery.
She took that eight years old kid to a breakfast in an arcade down at Merdeka street. After single-handedly struggled to get me all the best access I can get, having an intimate moment--just the two of us was similar to a blessing I couldn't get every day. Often that even living under the same roof didn't get us to meet properly. It was either me sleeping, or she was.
So there we were. One of the most serene moments I could ever grasp. We had our breakfast quietly, while my eyes caught a birthday preparation--something that up till now still become a childhood wish. We then continued our trip and ended up in a narrow slum. Turned out we were heading to the man I now call bapak--I tore down his naming privilege consciously.
He then introduced me to his small new family, a quite strange and complicated situation for a child in my age to fully comprehend. However, I couldn't deny his little one that has the same eyes to mine I could instantly recognize. He then took me to a street stall, just the two of us after years. The conversation was a blur to me now, but the local delicacy still associates to me of him till today. Funny how small thing can unconsciously adhere to certain someone. And I never want to step on the city ever since. I genuinely hated it.
Fast-forward 15 years later, someone crossed my path. Either a serendipity or a curse, I was willingly drowned into his wave at once. Ignoring his complicated mind. Ignoring where he was.
A year pass by slowly, yet swiftly. Like an absurd I am, I hold him tight. He released me from my long-run childhood ideal, something that several someones haven't yet succeeded, unpacking my baggage empty and bring me to the place once I deeply despised.
The first week was all trigger to the memories. The arcade where I had a serene breakfast now has a distinct air. All the roads and intersections are different than how I used to remember--a great deal of reconstruction to my head. And he wasn't there witnessing the slight breakdown. That then became my anticipation to continue walking. Starting a clean slate, with or without him, slowly occupying my baggage with childhood memories I once have buried.
Everything went normally. The new playground, the new nest, I couldn't ask for more. It has exceeded what I ever expected.
Just when I thought I get ahold of everything, our path crossed once more. Myth and transcripts turned into faces and gestures it pumped all the oxytocin within. And as I have crashed all the boundary then favourably built it again, I crashed it and drowned all over again.
Now the fear remains. It overpowers the bliss. Being a constant hostage have me caught the Stockholm syndrome to misfortunate. Everything feels right yet slightly kind of wrong. It always occurs to me that everything has always come with a large deal of cost, and this one doesn't. To think that this has come way too easy, I fear that everything will be taken anytime soon. And I'm not sure how would I cope if the time comes.
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