Recycling

Eagle Bird Tweezers

I want to give you a glimpse of me, of a broken heart. A hollow meditation that widened throughout. In the dimension of memory and the beating of time that continues to give me a way to keep quiet in the dimness, bitterness of the world I am facing.

Flap wings. I wanted to fly more freely in the air without looking down, occasionally wanting to fly freely.

Disappear and stay away ....

I drive you out, no man's mind. O heart that is impartial.

I drive you out, O false love. A love that doesn't give much meaning to my life.

Everything I want to forget.

Exactly at this time my mind floated back with the sentence, as if short of breath and full of head. My concern seemed to fly far away from the body and no matter where the direction it would go. I don't know!

This word I want to end, but always somehow I can not or only I am reluctant to end it as if I wish to continue to invite myself to continue writing, so that I can not, even with a scribble of words that do not give meaning and messy all of its contents. As always.

That is actually this writing that is often somehow revised back and forth to get the results of writing that I think is difficult to easily understand.

I had hoped for a lot of myself. Even today, it still continues to hope that in one, two, three drops of rain falling from the sky hits the ground. Hopefully at some time, a few seconds change minutes, then hours on a wish that I want to achieve.

Just in time, this messy writing I hope can be for me to continue writing. Maintain it carefully and slowly fix it. Gradually, it will all be a beautiful reality and now I just need to believe it. Must continue to believe it.

About the flapping of eagles that fly high on the surface of the sky. Birds chirping mock. Insults, when flying, laughter heard near the ears, laughter like the wind can turn off the torch that I have been making as a light of the road to keep going.

That's how I feel. Heartbreaker. As simple as that, as simple as what has been drawn in my mind? What has been making my head buzz with so many insults? I chose to be quiet, ignoring him.

The word that somehow made a strange occurrence, actually no one insulted me, only often when I was alone writing it.

Writing about people's ugliness or insults towards me, about everything I've experienced. Not for what, but for me it is an art that I can reflect on what I have to improve. If I may say it's like processing a multi-storey cake.

Processing itself. Tired, sometimes feeling desperate, but I try and keep trying until finally so, then eat. Then, you'll know what it feels like.

Not as sweet as I thought. The opposite of me is sometimes strange. Long time passed so far I have tasted a lot. Passing day to day until now that I felt only able to be silent silent staring at the scenery, only able to be silent staring at the umpteenth time the faces of people who passed by, without knowing them. I once felt like I was living alone.

I don't need to tell that sad story because putting words together to get a sad event for me is hard. It will make people laugh. Not because it is funny, but because there is no sense that can be felt in it.

In the middle of the crowd all this time with a lot of vehicle traffic. Memories that are still left behind. Today. In downtown Bangkok. It's still morning, the light emanating beautifully in the warm gaze. Downstream began to bustle, the sound of rushing roars, splitting the city streets. Our house is adjacent to our own store, plus again close to the streets that began to be crowded. Beyond the city park.

My grandfather and I were standing in the yard. The black car is parking gracefully.

Someone in the black car came out. Yeah, not wrong. I didn't guess wrong before. It was his father Martin Sirikanjana. Looks like it's gonna be complicated.

I felt trapped in the word-to-word order, silent in the literary dynamic that confused the entire verse. Both I understand the contents of the skull and a wide gaping niche.

Right now I want to fly high. Feeling the fresh air blowing fiercely in the sky there. With my wings flapping like a poet flying into the high sky or into space, no matter if anyone is insulting. Whatever this is gonna be? I don't want to fuss alone about heartbreak.

Hey, comeon. Is it not enough for someone to make a simple sentence about this, laugh? Comparing one situation with another. I once understood one thing, what grandfather had previously talked about me. What is there. What I see and what I perceive with the mind does not receive.

The self who has been adamant always longs to believe in a condition about the inability of wishful thinking in giving a response. Gives a simple color in the breath of the day.

This obstacle of my life feels winding and not sharp as the word to the word I am writing right now, blunt turn. I feel like all of this is not easy, but it's hard for me to adapt. If someone asks, are these just words?

Yeah. I don't need to answer. Just remember it again about the life that will continue. And this one choice was firmly stuck in the heart room, forming a sentence that was still fresh I remember and still strongly imagined as if haunting.

The grandfather who said it used to live as it should, I understood the sentence and about what a reliable typist had previously and previously discussed. Thinking logic can sometimes reverse course.

That's tricky. Even this word would probably become long in width, getting longer. It will become increasingly irrelevant to the past and the previous.

“Narak!” The man in black clothes came down. Hoarseness of people who if I can guess often stay up late.

He called Narak. So far indeed if there are people asking about the name, I always answer by adjusting the name given by Mother, rather than the name given by grandfather who changed my name.

Yeah, that black-clothed guy knows enough of the real reason for my life. He who I met a while ago that day, talked about things that sometimes made me feel weird.

A friendly man. A warm smile and feel the atmosphere of affection of a dream father who loves his daughter.

From the car that flashed black, greeting me with a smile. The friendly hand touched the air. Approach.

I smile. The grandfather next to me was the same. We smile back at each other. It looks like Martin Sirakanjana is in the car. Watching us both behind the window. Maybe he was reluctant to get out of his car that I can guess also his father just stopped by not long. The window of the black car revealed a figure of him. It is more appropriate to say that the window opened a little, I glanced at him with a smile.

Straight black hair. Eyes of jelly and beauty that are clearly stared at by anyone when there is a person passing in front of him.

I let out a breath. The plan was to go to college, actually what is the reason for his father Martin Sirikanjana? But I saw there was also Martin himself.

I hope it's not long, like the prejudice I repeated in my mind. This word makes it as simple as saying, hopefully this is just an ordinary meeting, just want to meet face to face for a moment. His father Martin Sirakanjana, I'm more comfortable calling people in black so cool.

He speaks fluent Indonesian. The letter is compatible with most people's tongues. I think grandfather would be interested if he knew this fact. Sure enough, grandfather reached out with a finger.

“I'm his grandfather.”

The man in black was welcoming. Introducing himself. “Happy to meet you, it turns out you can speak Indonesian.”

The reaction can be described as like getting a financial statement. Business and gain profit. That was the reaction of his father Martin Sirikanjana. The black-clothed person was unceasingly speaking.

The base is good. I was silent among those who looked at each other smiling. Listening and not wanting to interject between them, it seems like they are familiar faster with the new time count of a few moments of face-to-face meeting. Not ten minutes.

“Actually I was more surprised. You also speak Indonesian.” Grandfather just said the previous words after long pleasantries.

The man in black clothes sighed in his style. “Ah, the length of the story until I can speak Indonesian.”

“Omong-by. You haven't answered me, Narak. How are you?” She asked. Tapping the topic at me.

I replied, “As you can see, I'm good. This body is contained and fresh.”

“Ah, yes. Can be seen clearly, you are good at joking.” The man in black laughed.

Maybe not because it's funny, but I think that's the habit. The style that looks cool. Laughing in a voice that seems to be deliberately set. I just smiled back.

“Oh, yes. I'm here to take Narak to college. Do you allow it?” The man in black clothes looked at grandfather.

Asked with a look that frightened me with a right hand that he might have accidentally put in his trouser pouch.

I remember the poem I put on the table last time. But, do not want to discuss it, maybe it will vault with a glimpse of the language. The poem I had written in an irritated tone skyward.

Just thinking about most of the styles that I display in word structure and abstract mixing that I don't want to explain further. It's a poem about a mobster who starts his babble in a cocky style. At the crossroads of the street, act the noblest. Stand on the backs of others. That was the first stanza that came to mind.

Can't he be a mafia? With just one guess I thought it could widen the problem of this novel into a mess, in short that's the story of the past time when this self is always adamant longing for Wapta, looking for activities on the internet. One of the blog websites I did not expect to invite me to the nature of new writing, writing nature that I had never started before. Reading a mafia story is challenging.

Until I read to the end with a stunning story impression. The story was able to make inspiration in my head to write a poem that at that time I was upset with the mafia figure. The role of the main character works smartly with all the ingenuity and accurate ways to catch the mafia. I almost cried at the end of the story.

Dissipated. Feeling like there is another story like that, I want to make up. Pebersit when when finished reading it, but dear thousands I have no talent. I stuffed the paper, threw it in the trash.

I know the simple things in this world about people who don't like me would say I'm like a kid who just got candy. Not really, can I laugh now?

Actually, I just wanted to talk about a novel that I read a while ago. The author of the novel is from the Equatorial Emerald. He made a story that to me was so fascinating.

I'm still daydreaming. Imagined it. Until he was unaware of the figure in black and grandfather was still near me.

I felt Grandpa patting my shoulder. To make me realize from the daydreams that had made my body silent on the earth with a mind that floated flying, through the clouds.

“Young man, where have you thought?” Grandpa whispers. I reply to ngenyir.

“Ke Hongkong,” reply. Whispered.

That was the mafia story last time. I found on the blog website of an author and the book that I did not think was placed in the collection of grandfather's. Just glancing for a second. It seems like grandfather heard what I am saying right now understand about the past time. He himself suggested and gave the novel, but I did not read it because I had read it first. Setting the place Hong Kong and Macau, also a city in the country nicknamed the Equatorial Emerald.

The man in black was staring, but did not care what we were talking about. Nor reprimanding. He may be able to distinguish between private, which is also discussed and discussed with him. Just say a word, reply or answer. Much the same.

Grandfather looked back at the person in black. “I think it's up to him, young people usually have a desire. Usually will also say it immediately, without a doubt. You also know, I am old, it is difficult to understand the mindset and it feels like I now do not want to interfere.”

I heard him snuggle alone. Disbelief is like being hit by a wave. Blown the wind to bounce far to the island of nowhere. Gosh gosh? Looks like Grandpa wants to joke with me at a time like this?

While grandfather himself knows about me which is different from most of the young people out there. Grandpa himself also knew, I was silent all wrong when I looked at my grandfather in nervous condition. With his usual gaze he stroked my back.

The man in black looks at me. “Then we will leave now.”

“Time doesn't give us much to keep talking, nor to look at us. As usual, that time passed.” The man in black started his chatter.

I wanted to reject him so badly, but the man in black seemed to know what was going through my mind and he offered it first, before I said. A bad feeling why is it appearing in my heart? And nervous thumping. Alright, I should be bold and nod without answering her words.

Grandfather repeatedly patted me on the shoulder. The man in black walked first and then I followed.

Grandpa worship. In my heart said thousands of kilometers traveled at the end of the bustling city. About that, my friend couldn't explain further.

For me, this is the first time I feel. All this time I admit that I spend a lot of time alone. Quietly staring back and forth with books and years of spending life without much communication with others. A little with the teachers who taught me a lot.

With Martin Sirkanjana since first entering college, but only this year I know more familiar with him. The birds chirp in my ears.

I let out a breath. Getir walked with a feeling of nervousness like a thorn in the foot to make me not the power to stand stronger. Be patient? Yes, I can be patient, be strong.