ALL my way back to Certajava, I dreamed of singing a love song in the rain for Julia. From behind the window, Julia greeted my chant with her Indian dance. Really hypnotized until I am not aware, I almost arrived at Brother Laymisch's coffee stall. From a distance, I saw a group of people laughing there.
My father ever told me the nowadays people, who lived in Certajava and Wigan are the descendants of the elders who experts in 'silat'--traditional martial arts--and boxing.
My father himself was not a native of Surabaya but was born in Yogyakarta, Central Java Province. He served as an Indonesia National Army personnel. My father was a captain and currently on duty in Papua. He rarely came home, even once a year. My family was sincerely let him go to carry out his mission of the state. Keeping the peace, my father ever said. Yes, there was still indeed a separatist conflict in Papua.
Rumors also said that Wigan-Certajava was a place for outcast people in the pas
THE rain had just stopped, and today had reached its end. It was late at night; 11 P. M. I was still awake in my bedroom while visualizing my four crushes. I did not know for how long I have been already dreaming of those beautiful young women.During my excitement, my cell phone rang. There was a call that came in from Big K. He told me to take my guitar to the alley front corner. Big K said there were Cole and Santos and several others. I said yes, while irritated.I grabbed my Yamaha acoustic guitar then went outside the house. But my vigilance was getting increased.When I reached the end of the alley, the traffic on East Poo Chang Street seemed quiet. Bowie, Ratty, and Cameron still had coffee at the Laymisch's stall. I then asked Laymisch where was Yuri--Big K neighborhood real name--and friends were. Laymisch pointed to a closed middle east style restaurant."Here, give it to them," said Laymisch while handing over a plastic bag containing many fri
THE next day, I woke up. I felt this head heavy. Very sick, dizzy, and nauseous. I felt like I want to sleep again. But I could not. Bolster to the left hurts to the right was the same. I must have drunk too much last night.My eyes then landed on an old man in a white turban with bushy white sideburns. His forefinger pointed up as if he is giving me a bit of advice to not be drunk. He was not Gandalf, but Ayatollah Khomeini, the leader of the Iranian revolution. Next to him, there was a silhouette of Che Guevara, the hero of the Cuban revolution.
"MY name is Eric, I am the operational manager at Grand Wahid Hotel," he introduced himself.Ah! Yes, Brother Eric. He was once Erpid 19th band crew.In his presentation, Eric said that his life and one of his friend's life, the vocalist, was destroyed by drugs. Of course, he kept the name of the band and the vocalist involved in drugs a secret. But I knew who and what band he was referring to.
AT the Faculty of Letters, Clofus, I hurried to the food court. There, I rushed again to Brother Eugene's coffee stall--the only smoking area. Enjoying coffee alone while imagining a beautiful woman in the pickup car earlier seemed to be fun. Her blown kiss made my heart tremble. It was as if we were connected.After ordering a glass of my favorite coarse coffee, I opened my cellphone, looking for news of the Saltyville eviction refusal rally.Apparently, the anti-eviction demonstrators almost clashed with the Indonesian Muslim Defender (IMD) crowd on Great Certajava Street. It meant that the near clash incident occurred sometime after I left the Grand Wahid Hotel earlier.In the news, the IMD crowd was suspected of deliberately blocking the rally. There was taunting and throwing each other happened. Fortunately, the police managed to control the situation by a barricade.Then, I rushed to send Mr. P and Big K a message, asking if they and the other prote
"WE only act firmly against immorality," replied Shahryr."The same!" exclaimed Eugene."What about the Guysville incident?" asked Aaliyah.Aaliyah said, four years ago, in 2016, there was a raid on the Guysville prostitution complex in Newton Regency. The perpetrators were all wearing thawb and turban attire.The perpetrators claimed that their actions as a jihad against immorality. Three local residents died in that brutal raid. The Guysville incident had attracted national attention."Should that firmness cause casualties?" asked Aaliyah."It's a shame," replied Imam Shahryr."You were there then?" asked Aaliyah sarcastically."No," replied Imam Shahryr.“There is video evidence that clearly shows people wearing turbans and the leader wearing guthrah," Solomon interrupted. "The question is, what group that when destroying other people's property, its members wear turbans and guthrah.""It's not me," said
"LANG!" there was Mr. P's voice called out to me while waving.Apparently, he had returned from a march against the eviction of Saltyville and Saltyroth-Dolly. He returned in one piece, unscathed after the clash with the IMD crowd earlier."Yo man," I replied, Jamaican style. "Still being alive, huh?""Damn you," replied Mr. P.Mr. P then gave me a cigarette, while Matt seemed happy to live the action creating circles of cigarette smoke exhaled through his mouth. Mr. P, Rooney, Muck, and Flatty then asked if there was any need for Kacey to look for me."Kacey urged me to take responsibility for —”"Fuck you!" they burst out, could not accept my unfinished explanation.I asked my friends, what is the next schedule. In fact, I did not write it on the first day of the lecture yesterday."Semiotics," Mr. P tried to answer."It's psycholinguistics," said Rooney.While my other friends did not seem to care.
AT night, I just laid down in my room. I was fiddling with my cellphone by scrolling through my colleague's Facebook. I kept scrolling because there was very little that interests me. As usual, my Facebook homepage was filled with selfies, minor complaints, to expletives.
THE next day, I happened to wake up early. It was not something I had planned. Maybe because I slept soundly after exchanging messages with Kacey last night. It felt like a new spirit has infiltrated my inner space. I immediately cleaned up myself and got ready to go to Clofus.When heating the motorbike, my eyes twitched. Apparently, Julia was passing in front of my house. I greeted her on behalf of Shri, the Javanese Goddess of Fertility.By her sign language, Julia quipped me. She told me that it was a miracle to see me wake up early. For the sake of witnessing an angel, of course, I had to be willing to sacrifice. As usual, she just grinned.I cleared my throat, then asked Julia to go to Clofus together. She agreed. The sensation of piggybacking Julia was always new. I never got tired of it--essential fragrance without artificial scents. Julia sat quietly. So, the morning was indeed beautiful.Arriving at the school gate, I stopped to drop Julia off b