blackuniverse

this is not a memoir

[blackuniverse]

Day 64

How's your Sunday(s), folks? Did you learn something new? Did you not learn anything new and be okay with it? Did you surround yourself with well-curated inanimate objects and human interactions?

I played Post Santa's Weekend playlist to help bring an illusion of normalcy, and surrounded myself with familiar objects. Vintage books repurposed as notebooks, their pages dying of thirst for scribbles, bought from a friend years ago and rediscovered yesterday. Monet's 1867 La plage de Saint-Adresse on a postcard from Giverny in 2015. Seiko 'Pogue' 6139-6000 from 1970s that may or may not survive this year's great global plague. An empty bottle of wine, a 45th birthday present from Nisya, that I finally finished off last night over lengthy nerdy conversation with her.

After days of staying inside (except for later afternoon/evening runs), I went outside to get my share of the morning sun while shopping for groceries. I'd love some more, and constantly blessed the day we decided to go to the park days before most things grind to a standstill. The midday sun here is partially blocked by the neighboring apartment, it's vacant parking lots looked especially ugly during the day, but quite pretty during the night with their lights on.

I'm thinking of plans for the rest of the day; an hour of lunch with food that Mom sent, an hour or two of making more cardboard bookshelves and rearranging their occupants, an hour or two of reading and writing, an hour of afternoon run and fifteen minutes stretching, hours of evening conversation with Nisya, and a whole day of trying to keep my minds off work. Happy Sunday, zombies. Stay safe, stay healthy. 

[blackuniverse]

Merry Christmas, zombies.

I woke up late. Too tired and sleepy for the car free day routine, thanks to our family’s midnight prayer tradition, so I stayed in bed and did nothing until 10 AM. Fixed a quick breakfast of muesli, milk and banana, and settled myself comfortably for a marathon of Westworld, season 1. 

Coincidentally, I just read a headline on Flipboard saying in less than 50 years humans will be legally allowed to marry robots (I didn’t even read the article, not sure if it’s a clickbait or a real thing). And a couple of days ago I watched Bicentennial Man again, and thought hey whatever rocks your boat, brother. 

We’re born empty, with this hollowed out shell that we spend our lifetime trying to fill, with God, religion, family, love, money, fame, pets, and whatever. If there’s a machine that looks like us, thinks like us, behaves likes us, feels like us (feels pain and joy, love and hate, sadness and happiness), even if they were designed and created by us, and somehow, someone somewhere feels a connection to this being, I guess the person who should be doing the questioning and answering is the very person (or persons) involved in this relationship. Freewill, right?

Fifty years from now, still in my lifetime. Not stretching my hopes too high, I hope. I see myself as this ninety something year-old guy wrapped in a warm Filson mackinaw cruiser, a comfortable pair of performance windbreaker pants, matching pair of woolen socks and a pair of hightop oxblood brogues, sitting by the window of a coffee shop, drinking the same beverage I’ve been drinking the for the past half century, reading a deadtree book (because it smells better and the cover is a statement - not sure if you’d still need to make a statement by the time you’re ninety plus) I’ve been reading hundreds of times, while everyone else are focusing on their gadgets (by then, would tablets and smartphones still look the way they are today, or would people be reading stuff out of thin air?).

Here I am, sipping a cup of flat white, listening to a playlist prepared by total strangers half a world away, unable to keep my mind off these images of a lonely life as a ninety plus citizen. Unless you have a big family, lots of friends and colleagues (who are as equally well-preserved as you are), you’d have no one to talk to. Assuming your mind still works the way it should be, of course. Live long and prosper is all good. Be sure to throw in good conversations and healthy distractions as well.

Time to get back to my me time regiment.

[blackuniverse]

Last night I had a dream. The city is drowning, and us zombies turned into fishes with scales the size of coins. It took us years before we're able to master our fins. The angel Gabriel is a pale mermaid who quotes Marquez, Kerouac, and Soekarno, and tells jokes in fifty languages. They put up with him for a century until finally sick of him, they chopped of his wings, put them in cages, and freed of his burden he was left wandering the streets talking to the newfoundland with his baby feet. I woke up thinking damn it's cold but it's sweet.

[blackuniverse]

Staying still equals death. Comfort is evil. Do not let a day go by without moving. Close your eyes and put your boots on and jumped off the plane into that square in Cusco, on top of the roofs of Paris, roll down the hills of places with no names. Places you can only find with your eyes closed. And say hi to the resident ghost. She may have a thing or two to say about the art of being lost.

[blackuniverse]

And the only cure known to man is to keep moving.

[blackuniverse]

The idea is to have a home away from home. Because a place you were born into may get tired of you. It would do anything in its power to push you away, made a stranger out of you, made you forget things that were once good and dear to you, wiped off that smile you used to have as a battle mask, ruined your tastebuds until everything resembles dirt.

[blackuniverse]

Blackcurrant, earl grey, or English breakfast, sir? Well how about a Roman feast with grey skies and black sun? Can I have one tuna melt sandwich, make sure it’s panini, and please cut them in two. One for takeaway, one just for today.

Love me two times. I’m goin’ away.

[blackuniverse]

From weekends to weekends, from one holiday to the next. First week of April, I'll be in Kathmandu, and a few days after that I'll be filling my lungs with Himalayan air. Enough to keep me going these days. Oh I'm pretty sure I'll be broke by the time I'm back in Jakarta, and the rest of the month will be marked by budget cuts and stay at homes, but hey, I'll say hi to crackers, cheap coffee and unread books waiting on the shelf. It took a lot of effort these days just to be present. Count my blessings, yes. And clean up your mess.

[blackuniverse]

Last night I had a nightmare. I was in my house and it was early in the morning. I couldn’t hear the usual sound of babies crying, mommies screaming, the bread guy honking his horn (he’d been at it since I was little), or the garbage guy dragged his heavy boots in the hallway. It was quiet, and the sky had americano look, with roasted beans spilling over cracks in my living room window. I took a bath, got dressed, and left for work. The usual three-hour traffic jam, the routine elevator small talks, the you-had-it coming morning meetings, the blissful solitary lunch escape, and the sleepy post lunch hours. I was working on an especially life-fulfilling, universe-saving task, when all of a sudden the phone beeped.

I woke up as my hand touched the phone, no chance of finding out who called. So I got up, took a bath, got dressed (the city assigned today as a special hazmat day, no walking outdoors without government-issued gear), had breakfast (hot tea with real Khong Guan crackers thank heavens for small luxuries), and left for work. As I locked the door, I said hi to my neighbor who was having an early morning nicotine fix, and punched the elevator button.

The underpass from my housing compound to Thamrin-Sudirman was as crowded and smelly as any weekday would bring, filled with zombies in half unzipped business-grade hazmats, and as I walked through Plaza Indonesia, Grand Indonesia, all the way through the subterranean three-way lined with small shops and cafes, I wondered if the person in my dream last night would envy my traffic-free commute. This time of day, the sky must’ve looked like burnt croissant outside. But in this tunnel, us rats have blue skies painted on endless ceilings like nonstop heavens.

[blackuniverse]

This love and hate relationship with the hours leading up to the midnight of a Sunday, it's killing me. It's that time when you know weekend is almost over, and that the small freedom won't be there anymore. Before you know it, it's Monday, Tuesday.

So what would you do, what would anyone do, to postpone the inevitable? Me, I'd try not to spend the day at home, for to linger inside would be like surrendering oneself to the movement of time, or the lack of it. Weekends like these, I'd rather go outside, parked my ass on a hard wooden chair in a decent cafe, ordered something cold for lunch and something hot for dinner. I'd spend hours just sit and read, scribbling my life away into the far corner of a notebook. Days like that, 'finding' became a wasted concept. A creature of habit like yours truly is driven by muscle memory. Lately, it's either Tjikini or Starbucks because they're closer to home.

I'd have brought two books at least.

Some weekends ago, I got caught in a tug of war between Nh Dini and Steinbeck. You see, that day I'd gambled on a mix of Nh. Dini's La Barka and Steinbeck's East of Eden. I remembered going to bed that night feeling especially cold.

[blackuniverse]

Woke up late, 10 AM, watched Norwegian Wood, and then lunch at Mom’s until 2 PM. Took nephew to church for a summer course, 1 PM, and afterwards went straight to Indosat Sarinah to get my SIM card fixed. Had to wait for an hour. Went to Gramedia PI to buy writing supplies, mostly moleskines, and then off to Muji for some acrylic shelves. Settled down at Dunkin’ Donuts at 4:30 PM, hated their hazelnut latte, somethings are better left out of your life. Mazzy Star, and left at 5:46 PM, straight to Citos for some Vietnamese food.

00:35, arrived home, spent the last several hours hanging out with college buddies, had a great time and tons of food. Stories too. Old ones. 1:35 AM, still couldn’t sleep, had to watch Il Mare again. Loved that actress. 8 AM, arrived in church, still sleepy and not feeling well. Later in the afternoon went to HEMA, family lunch, ordered the usual stampoet. Home by 4 PM, straight to bed. Here comes fiesta, still not feeling well. Woke up at 7 PM, spent the rest of the evening with ‘Confession’ and ‘Hugo’, feeling crazy and still sleepy. I think I should start reading Amitav Ghosh’s The Glass Palace again, if only because it reminded me of places far from here.

5 AM, woke up in cold sweat. Called in sick. A chapter in Ghosh’s The Glass Place reminded me of tonight’s plan. Texted her, hey we’re still meeting at Tjikini, right? She said yes, I’ll be there by 8 PM. Arrived at Tjikini way too early but it’s okay. The usual crowd. Spent the next few hours reading, had to stop myself from googling facts from fiction. 7:30 PM, lights went out. People booed PLN, screaming and barking everywhere. Tried to call her but couldn’t get a signal. Realized hey it’s really dark here, couldn’t even see anything even though the place has windows overlooking the street. Tried to find the waiter but there’s too many noises.

8 PM. Still dark, and it’s getting too hot here. More screaming, people running. Explosions shook the building. Felt something sticky on my face. Checked my phone again, glad it’s there, warm and still working. Called her, thank heavens she picked up. Hey, where are you? Are you coming? It’s cold in here.

[blackuniverse]

I don't want to forget. I want to always remember. But what's the point of remembering, when fantasy is more interesting? 

[blackuniverse]

Yesterday evening I was with some friends, sipping milky coffee, talking about plans for the next three months, six months, a year, a half lifetime, and all the time I was also thinking about that monkstrap docmart I saw a month ago at the discount store downstairs, so I prepared to say my goodbyes, but as I grabbed my phone it rang once, twice. 

Mom called, she sounded worried, fire in the neighborhood. Again. This time it's the power house in front of my house where my sister is. It burned, exploded. It sent smoke, ashes, and fires to the air, choking the sky with panic notes, yanking people away from dinner. 

I could sense the emergency in Mom's voice. Who wouldn't? I tried not to panic. I pictured the neighborhood, people flocking the crime scene, taking pictures, trying to lend a hand to anyone in charge, throwing buckets of water to the fire, while waiting for the fire brigade to come down and save the day.

A friend texted me, "Hey, I think there's fire near your place. Maybe you should try and evacuate." Thanks, I'm on my way home, I said. 

I froze.

For a minute or two, smiling at my friends and our shiny happy topics. And then I said hey girls sorry I gotta go now. We said our goodbyes, I left the cafe, but instead going straight outside I took my time to go to the toilet first, and then after a contemplative session, I stopped by at the discount store, and yes, predictably the shoes were no longer there. 

Found a cab, told the driver to go to Pacific Place. I parked my car there. Kept telling myself not to panic, to think ahead. Mom called again, fire brigade has arrived, less fire now, some small explosions. Relieved. Told her I'd rather keep the car away from the neighborhood until things have settled down. She agreed.

Dinner at Pacific Place. Spent some time at girlfriend's apartment to rest before going home. No electricity, but thankfully it was raining so it wasn't so hot inside. Made sure I had enough water in the bathroom. 

I was glad to have my some journals in my bag last night during the fire, but the getaway bag with old pictures and important documents was in my room, with no backups. What if I'd lost them? To lose most, if not all, records of your past, footnotes of days gone by, would it change you? 

Would you recreate moments, rewrite the history of a life lived, just to be you again?

[blackuniverse]

I wasn't going to bring the car today but this morning it was cloudy like cloudy with a chance of storm so I decided to drive to work despite despicable three in one and thanked my lucky stars that I was able to get two jockeys and the traffic was only reasonably awful. Now it's early evening already (oh how time flies!) my eyes and head hurt from pixelated exposures, and this brief coffee break before darkness sets in is an affordable escape amidst the day's orderly chaos. I wrote a short bio for my poetry page in Selatan yesterday, got a bit carried away wanting to show off to no one and everyone in particular, and as I was talking on the phone with Dad trying to get more information about my brief childhood in Gajah Mada (he couldn't remember the hospital I was born into), I was reminded of the memories I have of the time we were in Manado. We were only there for a year, I think. (Sometimes I wonder if these memories are actually mine, and not something I picked up over Christmas lunch conversations). I remember riding on a bendi with Mom, and maybe my nanny, we were on the way to pick my brother and sister from school, I was probably two or three at the time, and on the way back as I was munching on my late lunch (warm rice and omelette) I asked to no one in particular if the dead eat like we do. We were passing by a cemetery, I could see white and grey tombs scattered over green grass, they looked like people taking rests from the heat, the air was so peaceful and kinda suffocating and I felt sorry for them. "Yes, they get hungry like us too. Now, finish your lunch quickly."

[blackuniverse]

Crematology, after work. Had a cup of really good affogato. The place isn’t too crowded. Good music is playing in the background, a playlist they’ve been playing since the first time I found this place. Everything is familiar, from the “Valet, Pak?” greeting outside, to the corner table presenting its occupants with a good view of whatever is happening in front of them. 

Nothing much, not at the moment. A Japanese couple on the right, a girl who’s all glasses and earphones on the left, a group of giggling three at one o’clock, a guy who’s all eyes and screens, and a duo who breathes civilization.

I left the office blinking away words and sentences, in need of a distant something, a quiet spot where I don’t have to unnecessarily meet others’ eyes, where disconnection is connection.

It’s a day full of greetings, and I’m tired of social beings.

[blackuniverse]

Add a caption, if you like.

[blackuniverse]

Lately I have had the strangest dream. 

An image of me in a traveling outfit (every night I keep on changing small details for my shoes, pants, t-shirt, sweater, and jacket depending on my mood or the latest Outside article I read that day), carrying a small backpack, on the road to an undescribed destination.

The backpack has become a topic of an ongoing internal debate between me and dreamy myself. At one point, I wanted it to be just a simple blue Eastpak backpack, the one that I bought years ago and still using right now. It’s an old friend. It protected me when I lost my grip and fell on my back on the slippery and rocky path on the way back from Gunung Api Banda's peak in Banda Neira, and protected my books during hot and rainy afternoons of cycling in Gili Trawangan. It reminded me of my younger, stronger years. 

But having an old friend is never enough in a dream like that. I wanted a Goruck GR2. Its special forces-grade material and water resistant feature turned me on to no end, made me think of cutting down expenses on food and books, and spend millions on it. I’ve never lay my hands on it, yet I’m craving it.

As I’m writing this, old Eastpak is lying on its back on the floor next to my boots, with flies half opened, exposing darkened innards of laptop sleeve, parking receipts, pens, journals, and unread books. I think it needs a bath. I know I needed a bath.

Lately I have had the strangest feeling. Old Topman fake leather satchel is looking pretty miserable, I’m losing weight, and I’m getting sleepy all the time. 

Maybe I just needed a dog.