So, The Story Has Been Concluded

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Celebrate Good Times.”

You receive some wonderful, improbable, hoped-for good news. How do you celebrate?

Wonderful? Yes. Improbable? No. Hoped-for good news? No, not really. Is this going to be a good time? I wonder if it is. If then, how should I celebrate? I’m not even sure if I have to.

I have been around collecting stories from one to another. Inviting people over lunch, dinner, or even breakfast to catch their precious memories and uncover their motives behind their action. I visit them with flower and smile to hear their experience over things of both I understand and not. I write my interpretation of their words here, in this very blog, a dark one or so I’m told.

There are several titles I have been writing and reading inside my head. Some of them are written here. This noon I had a call from a friend telling me a story of how one met one’s soulmate, a classic story which I never refuse to hear. I wasn’t being poetic to say something sweet or being mean to say harsh truth. One has decided to end one’s life and give oneself a chance to enter a new phase. I should know better.

Or I shouldn’t.

November 23rd, 2014 was the appointed date. Night was upon me when I decided to start a new title which I haven’t decided yet, until now. I retraced my steps from street to street, from person to person, witnessing one’s anger and curiosity, trapping myself between endless conversation of silent crowd.

The story was started by possessing a spike of certain hormones inside one’s brain. Some people like me would suspect dophamine, obviously. The other might call it a destiny of being human but I doubted it. I was hurrying myself off the train, setting myself out from the station, and climbing the stairs to nearest point. I shouted in whisper calling one’s name, whose had stories of old. After several minutes of standing enjoying the wind, one arrived at the highest level of promised building, carrying backpack and loads of either anger or curiosity. I couldn’t let myself careless.

An hour had passed and it was time to separate myself from imagination once again, embracing reality in which I was bleeding heavily and beaten to the bones. I thought of hearing some of them cracking and causing pain on every joint. I still remember the callsign one’s handed to me, until now. It should be a birthday in which I ought to offer my gratitude and greetings. I didn’t.

Now that the story has been concluded, or is nearly concluded, I need to close the book once again and realize that my time has once again passed. The book has been prepared to enter the shelf. The only thing I need to do is to put a nice, suitable title. I wonder what it would be. Something nice, gracious, simple, and humble just like the main protagonist.

I wonder.


Barely Standing

A man once said that a gentleman should stand, offer a seat to those in need, to happily assist anyone, pay attention to whom he is speaking, open the door to ladies (especially the older ones, seriously!), etc.. A gentleman’s business is nobody’s business so that requires him to keep everything about him closed. A gentleman should stand tall, fast because he is the umbrella of those who don’t have, a protector of those in danger, a benefactor of those unfortunate.

However, what is a gentleman but a human? An organic structure which is bound to fail someday and promised, destined to stop to function properly. Would that moment be a gentleman’s last moment?

Not for long, there will be a stone of a human-like figure wearing a bespoke suit, glasses, standing against sunset while turning its back to sunshine. After years of rain, heat, wind draining any life within, what is left is a shell people see on daily basis. The stone has smile which later considered as empty one. Under its shadow, there will be born both soulful and soulless gentlemen wearing the same kind of suit.

There will be a moment when two gentlemen, each of them from each types, walking into a bar and order different drinks. One shall define his day as a magnificent, meaningful, and tasteful day he has ever experience while the other will nod, agreeing his words, and sip his drink without even looking at the other.

Gentlemen speak nothing of themselves, wear a proper and bespoke suits, and drink only when necessary. They are knowledgable, understanding, willing to learn and adapt, and smart. In several occasion, a mere child, while walking beside his mother, asks her.

Mom, why is that man barely standing?

Taking Down Pont des Arts

Not that I mean taking down literally. I knew this kind of passion display and the bridge from a movie called Now You Can See Me. The scene was about two FBI agents locked their secret in a padlock, put it on the bridge or fence, and threw the key to the river. Now I read on BBC and CNN that the authority made decision to remove these love locks because of safety issues and degradation of the bridge (or the fences?).

I realized that this would break the fence eventually, but I had to admit that was pretty romantic, well romantically funny. How would you even expect that your secret, love, or whatever it was you locked inside those padlocks would last long or even forever? However, it is still romantic. Pont des Arts is one of many reasons why I want to visit Paris.

As one ever wrote to me, love takes many forms of appreciation. It might take form of voices, paintings, sounds, writings, arts or even padlocks in this case. I guess I have to accept the fate that I can no longer put a padlock on this Pont des Arts with my signature and tag “I was here!” on it.

The hundreds of thousands of love inscribed padlocks on the Pont Des Arts Bridge, Paris France. Source:

I need A Trolley

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Baggage Check.”

One might need a trolley to carry a backpack and other backpacks. Seriously, so much that even I was surprised when seeing the luggage for two hours flight trip. I, for one, only need one travel bag. Why do you need all those things? I said to someone.

One seemed to be exhausted after the trip as one could not walk freely and enjoy even a moment of one’s journey. Not even one picture one might take during holiday. I am not surprised. How could you expect to bring back some memories if you were bringing so much? I said as I rose up from a chair bringing a carton of coffee.

For a moment, one saw the luggage and one’s stuff inside. Just bring the essential and you’re good to go. You always can ask for help if you need anything small like pen. Why did you even decide to bring a box of pens? One realized, maybe what I was saying was right at some points. One decided to pack lightly and leave some at home.

Time to hit the road again and this time, I’ll save as much as possible spaces on my luggage and bring some new souvenirs. Cheers.

Not later one went on a journey again. That time one left some much trouble at home but at least one might enjoy the trip a little more. One could not afford to regret and ought to feel the trip to the fullest, I thought while waving my hand at observation deck at airport, watching an airplane take off again.


On the Way

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “On the Way.”

sunset, somewhere in Kadipaten.