A Bloke from My Past
A bloke from my past turned up unexpectedly. And how he did change! As I stood gawping, I recalled those years behind- only to mount up my flabbergastedness.Here’s the story. A naïve, foolish girl as I was, a lingering crush (NOT love!) overtook me. The object of my affection was this bloke- a bassist, with torn jeans, black shirt and long, unruly hair. A rebel- with ideas, struggles and such sweet desperation. He loved music. But more than anything he loved freedom.Did things go well between us? Absolutely (not). The course of true love never did run smooth, Shakespeare said. But I’m not a romantic. It was never a romance to begin with. Truth is, we belonged to different leagues. Me- a plain-looking girl wearing headscarf. Him- a handsome-figured bassist thriving on the stage. Me- listening to Tchaikovsky and Vivaldi. Him- POD and Korn. Had we been in love; had we tried harder to cling to whatever worth clinging to; perhaps we could have been Romeo and Juliet (ha-ha!). But no- we went our separate ways. I could not put off my headscarf to be in his society and he could not hang his bass guitar to be in mine. The whole affair was perfectly natural.But he COULD (and did) hang his bass guitar after all. In addition to that, his music and his wild ideas and his whole lifestyle. He has become very Islamic (let me be heard of saying “Alhamdulillah – Praise the Lord” on this) that it scares the h*ll out of me (let me be honest on this).How he did change.Man, how he did change!What can I say? Remember that old song saying “shoes don’t stretch and men don’t change”? I kinda like the song and have always believed what it utters. You know- the “once a beggar always a beggar” thing. I don’t think people REALLY change- they can’t- not to the core of their beings. Anything changeable is always superficial: apparel, tone, possession, manner, routine. The self, all the while, is intact.(except, perhaps, if you have a near-death experience to reset your “defaults” and start anew all over again)Then what of this bloke? What changed him? Did he really change or had he always been that way deep within? (Did he almost die?)What of thousands of other blokes who “changed”- who would gladly sacrifice their dear lives –if for God’s sake- in suicide bombings?Was it God, the Architect of all these “wonders” (that being the case, I CAN’T have anything further to say)? I should imagine changing someone is not a five-minute job. Perhaps long exposure to something extreme would suffice. Or the will power- the works of incessant therapy. Or Lord Voldemort with his ultimate wand. Or alien kidnapping. I don’t know.My head is in a turbulent daze- I don’t think I’m fit to write.We’ve been entertaining the idea of meeting up again- but both hesitant. Him- probably because it’s not a proper thing to do according to Syaria. Me- because I need to know this first and foremost: is change contagious?
Note:
Tiessa- stop laughing. This is a serious business.
Labels: Change
UPON LEAVING JOGJA
I left Jogja on June 13. As my train strolled across vast lands with enchantingly beautiful views, I sat thinking of Change- and smiled.That was odd, actually. I never thought I would leave Jogja smiling. And my relationship with Change had always hovered between love and fear. I used to boast that I DID love change, yet inside, fear kicked love down most shamefully.Fear of Change. Restlessness. Those are what I scribbled on Feb 1, when I had just got hold of my degree.“As I was walking along my favorite lane, I thought of the future (again) and what would become of me. I guess these are the days when I am compelled to ponder the next stages of my life. So- as I was saying- I pictured myself leaving Jogja to work elsewhere.Will I be happy? To part with this lane I love so much? With Dhika and recitals and blue sky and cozy dinings? With the people I love? With the life I’m used to?Will I be happy to be uprooted from this fertile soil I’ve come to love, and be planted in an unfamiliar ground? I don’t know. I think I’ll be happy still. But will I be HAPPIER?”The future is always scary, because you don’t know what will happen next. Yet the future is also exciting, exactly because you don’t know what will happen next.When I was that silly, lazy girl in Jogja, leading a frivolous life, I KNEW what would probably happen next. Life was so comfortable and predictable and perhaps less exciting. Life was- in one word, easy.But then easy things don’t instruct you much. Deep inside I’ve had always kept aflame the urge to move on. Progress is the essence of one’s existence- even if it pains one. And progress means Change.So here I am, in Jakarta. I’m writing this in my cubicle- 3x4 sq meters, chilly, full of filing cabinets, very business-like and with no access to see the sky. How funny it is. The sky used to be so natural a view to me- I saw it when I woke up, I stared at it while planning my day, I walked under it humming silly tunes- on a daily basis. Now, I have to walk along the hallway to have a peep at the sky- only to find it greyer than ever.But really, I mustn’t grumble. In what aspect can my new life be perceived as wanting? Friends are abundant- of registered working class. Meaning, they seem to be around only when you’re at your busiest. But then malls are also abundant. Living in this confirmed money-driven world, when you lack agreeable company, spending is the quickest shortcut to happiness. You’re happy when you pay- you’re happy because you know (and people notice) you CAN pay. Yet you eat your burger with a somber look. You drag your shopping bags sulkily. At the end of the day it’s just you and those useless stuffs. Piles and piles up- hunting your conscience down- of how FUTILE this pursue is.It’s scary being alone. I’m telling you, it really is.No, folks- save your worry. I’m NOT exactly alone.Just next door at the lodging, an old pal is always ready at my service. At the office I come across a whole bunch of familiar faces –thanks to my “reputable” uni background- and am excited to get to know the unfamiliar ones. I schedule weekly bowling and yoga and sport dancing and choir and all. Then there’s Tiessa with her karaoke/footwear hunting moods. Here’s Alice-in-Wonderland. Adventures beckon.After all is said and done, I find myself sufficiently happy- even with the realization that Jogja is left behind. Happy there as I was, if I had stayed, I don’t think I would have been as content. That’s the answer to my questions. Change is not awful- it’s the fear. And the only way to conquer fear is to look at it squarely in the eyes and fight it.So I left Jogja- smiling in the anticipation of what lied ahead. Smiling- knowing how much happier I would be when I came back. Jogja remains a place most dear to me. Well- that is to say that some things just don’t CHANGE, man.
Labels: Change, Jogja
