tabuan

02/9/11

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he was beautiful with his age. at first, i did not notice

because i was taking pictures of my companions.

the flight, delayed - the airport offered us

bottled water. i grabbed one, walked past him and did 

not notice. someone told me “look at him, that man, he’s been 

staring at you smiling…”

i took a gulp, tilted my head and saw him, handsome and

older and clean formal clothes. i paused a bit and i was

confused if i needed to smile or nod or do both.

his eyes were summer skies looking down the intricacy of 

Grand Canyon. i just saw those blue skies in pictures, and perhaps,

it’s safer to say that his eyes were like the skies above

the Grand Canyon in photos. i’m not sure. but im sure he was

beautiful. maybe, he had a lovely wife and funky kids. maybe, his first 

child listened to Guns n’ Roses for a week and watched old clips

of Kurt in Youtube. maybe, he’s single and sad and he’s flying to Europe to 

find love, money and to just stare at the stars. i can never tell.

he said a gentle hello to me and i had this feeling that he wanted to shake

my hand but i felt too tiny in front of him and i was cold so i shoot my fists

into my jacket pockets. in the plane, i was seated a seat in front of him

and he was still, staring at me. i wrote a poem on the tissue, i think it was about

the houses i could see from above and the idea of having a dinner with a family 

in Netherlands just by falling down from the sky and rolling down from a roof.

i had a feeling someone was staring at me and when i tilted my head, i saw him.

he was beautiful and aged and odd. i said, “hello” and maybe, he realized i have been

wondering about him and his stares.

 

“Hi.”

“are you Indonesian?”

 

“No.”

“I am a Filipina”

 

“Oh! I am so sorry. I am going to Germany as well.”

“You? working there?”

 

“No. just for three weeks. too bad. But yeah, grateful for that already.”

 

I liked the hesitation in him. I liked how I saw him from the lids of my sight,

just observing of how i wrote down my tumbling down the roof poem.

 

“I am sorry if I cannot stop staring at you.”

 

“Nah, it’s alright. It won’t kill me, will it? you’ve been to Indonesia?”

 ”Yes. I fell in-love with the archipelago and with an Indonesian lady once.”

 

and for a moment, i forgot about the fruit juice in front of me. and that it has been 

served and that i was thirsty minutes ago. i forgot about the roof poem i was writing

and i just look at him quietly, smiled gently,

“maybe, she remembers you sometimes too.”

 

“i hope. but, well…”

 

 

all of a sudden, i was in another airport and met a Filipina abroad who had another piece of story.

 

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