Recycling

The Fourth Network

The wapta is a woman. He had straight black hair with bangs covering his forehead. A woman I love, there's so much in this world about love and compassion. Such is the case if what the feeling desires, the simplicity is in greeting with each other.

I'm right here. The country I just stepped into, not far away. Countries that are also in Southeast Asia. Ever since I met my grandfather, the feeling that I had lost in my life seemed to come back. I know all these events like a dream I never realized, a dream I never felt.

The happiness that now seeps into my soul, is deeply rooted there. In this country, I continued all that I had been waiting for.

Hey, Wapta. How are you doing? That's the greeting I want to show you, I say as sincerely as the pigeons flap their wings. How's it going now there. Does it stay the same as before? I don't know, it might have changed a lot.

Wapta, you know I'm at the end of the park right now, staring at the kids chatting. I also changed my name. Not a must for me, but the grandfather who said he had his own memories with his father until he kept calling me Roman.

Yes, now my name is Roman, just like my father's name, but I still hold tightly to Narak's name, it will always stick between memories and parting.

I here once dreamed of being a poet who could express feelings in the form of a temple with a perfect arrangement, written sincerely only for the lover, but honestly I have difficulty mastering it.

My head aches, I am not good at stringing temples, but I am sure that this sincere feeling will be conveyed to you.

Wapta, I never think narrow, of course in terms of thinking about you, my mind now stretches wide and especially for me to live here, honestly my longing seems to soar, difficult to divorce.

I really want to meet you, tomorrow looks like it's going to be bright. I would love to bring my grandparents to Indonesia.

How, yes, to explain it. Wanting to meet, that was enough.

I let out a breath. It's been almost an hour, I've been sitting still, staring at books and holding a pen.

I was writing that story in your diary at the time. Thank you for the book, although honestly this book I have packed and do not use because I see it is a valuable gift of yours.

However, my actions were known to grandfather. Time caught, obviously I scratched my head. You know, what he told me.

“Man, do you know the nature of the diary book exists?” Grandpa asked me. He no longer calls me Narak or Narak. He prefers Roman, reminding him of my father. In short terms he says Man.

I shook my head, laughing awkwardly. “It ... I don't know.” I really don't want to tell my grandfather about the book, which to me is very valuable.

“You should know, Man. The birth of the diary book in this world to put writing. Not made into a display. Look, this signature. I know the reason the woman gave the book is also not as a display.” Grandfather said directly in front of me. At that time, I remembered the words you gave me the diary because I love to write.

“You young man who does not know the nature of a diary book. Come on, don't mess up.” Grandpa laughed patting my shoulder.

I cringed when I heard it. When grandfather said so, I was getting awkward, and agreed.

That, the short story, does not need to be at length. I don't want to waste more and more paper, the whole point of it all is that from that day on, your diary book I always use. I poured my writing.

It often blows from one place to another. This longing I will leave it to him. That's excessive, don't be like it. Something excessive is not good.

Almost three pages. Why am I like a man who cannot think clearly, writing about you is like this body drifting away from the earth.

Know it. I'm not talking, but just writing, not in a must, this is just my hobby for a long time. Even though, the words I wrote were somehow seen as falling apart.

Remember first, my friend mocked the script writing that was plastered in a mess, until now all of it still remembered clearly in my mind. I seemed to want to get away from the bench of this park, but my hand is still the power to write, whether to how many sheets.

Looks like my pen ink is running out. I forgot the other day I bought it.

Waptas. Farewell.

The diary book was closed. I looked back at the children who were chatting up ahead. Sitting alone on this park bench, I often daydream.

The backpack by my side accompanied, as usual in it there were various needs of a student. I do not deny myself, groaning or anything that causes something that cannot be refuted.

I lifted the backpack. Want to go back home, down the edge of the garden full of greenery. Park in downtown Bangkok, crowded vehicles passing by, I just walk around roomy without making a complaint.

The park is near my grandfather's house. Some time ago, grandparents decided to move and ended up settling near there. They want to live a comfortable time, build a larger store, the grandfather of the people save, with a flash change the store that was once big enough to be bigger, now also customers, also shop visitors become crowded.

Never thought that the house and shop were close to the park, not far away. The distance is just across. I don't have to wave a taxi, I don't have to drive, just walk this foot, imagine walking with a lover, it's crazy. Don't imagine it, it's enough because he's embedded in the heart, no one will understand. Although, it is explained using the verses of the gods.

What Grandpa said last time gave me a little knowledge. Some people do not like the word excessive love. Some of them don't like it. A love relationship that I can understand is alay.

However, I understand that no one will be able to respect as long as he does not experience it himself. Laugh, that's the truth.

I gave it all in a simple glance without turning my head, without struggling any longer. I know enough, what I'm going through now, what I went through. My phone rang, breaking the daydream as it walked. I stopped, picked up the phone, saw more clearly what name was plastered in front of the screen.

Ah, it's grandfather as usual he's probably worried. I want to know where I am and what I am doing.

“Hello, Man. Where are you?” Grandfather asked in a heavy voice, his trademark sometimes coughing. It's true what I thought as always, always was.

“On road. Close again to home.” I'm trying to laugh. Look, I'm standing not far from my grandfather.

Grandpa still doesn't see me. “Grandpa!” I called on the phone. Grandfather seemed to guess the source of the voice, looking at me, we also sat face to face, laughing at each other.