Recycling

I Hated One Thing; That The Old One Remembered Back

The anger made me forget. That incident actually happened and counted two years ago since I met a new editor who I did not think was his friend. It was never passed in the chapter of Editor vs Writer Gabut.

The script editor I just met two years ago shook his head slowly. The old, four-year-old manuscript editor that is now in front of me.

“No, you're not a budding writer.” He said he was making me tense. At that time in his room felt overwhelmed by a lot of unfriendly air.

Heart palpitations staring no muddle, breath was hunting incessantly moving both eyelids. Not being flickering.

The script editor I just met two years ago shook his head slowly. Old incident, four years of script editor in front of me.

His voice came out rather heavy. “I obviously know you, you're the writer who two years ago came out of the script editor's room, you walked down. And I remember very well, you were the one who threw the script into the trash. You don't know, I saw you that day desperate to throw the script into the trash!”

“You are the writer that the entire staff laughs at. Talked about every day by people in the office. I clearly remember your face.”

The past. That voice with a huddle in my ear. The past, slapping old memories.

Now in the Land of the White Elephant, it has been counted four years ago and two years ago since I met the new script editor who turned out to be his friend. Long time passed with the ticking of a second clock. The sun shining in the sky.

The air blows between the trees. Also on the glass window that looks a tinge of bright luminous light.

There were many events that I should have been able to forget with the blink of an eye, without remembering her thoughts, but I could not deny that the face was in front of me and I looked back. My memories that used to be there as if I had seen it again, obviously I can't forget it.

“Are you satisfied looking at me?”

“If you are not satisfied looking at me. The one thing I want to tell you is about the news. The contents of this news need you to know pretty good, after a long time not meeting you for four years ago. Finally we can meet, Narak.”

When I heard the words of the editor of the manuscript, I felt astonished, confused by my mind trying to guess what it meant? Even I looked at the lecturer who also smiled with a face like a happy person. Questioning repeatedly in my mind what did he mean? I was silent not understanding.

***

It's just an old story, worn out and probably dusty to be put away and thrown away in a bitter reality. Sweet is no more or may be.

The story I know is like staring at a big screen that is repeated again. It is clear about the events that have passed. Remembering the past, the past where all this was the beginning.

I do not deny all that he has done, nor do I accept freely. What my grandfather said after that day I told him.

With a smile grandfather slowly drank his favorite juice. “Man, that's a pretty good story. Just need you to know about this, you can't give up. Your dream of becoming a writer is one of the things that might be achieved later. It takes a long time to reach it. Not now, you just have to believe in later.” Grandpa has something to cheer me up.

Two years ago. Eh? Four years ago I mean, in the quiet of a classroom filled with lesson hours. I sit in the back seat. This is the start of a shitty story in my life. The beginning of a story I've never liked in a lifetime.

Go home from school on a clear day. The sun and compact air give a beautiful panorama. I held the script, finished it with a fairly comfortable writing. That was when the streets were crowded with those who were also like me coming home from school.

“The biology lesson was good. You know I'm champion one in terms of explaining why contented mammals are and only one person calls them fish.”

“Hahaha. yes, that's Narak. He's the only one who said the whale was a fish, even louder to call it a whale. It should be mammals.”

I walk down the sidewalk myself. Hear their conversation. Fish satisfied? Yeah, that's wrong, the reason I use the word fish, just as a sweetener and in fact I know whales are mammals.

A few minutes after that I waved to one of the city and that's where I left, ready to make an appointment between me and the script editor.

The city's cargo set off with a turbulent feeling like a gust of wind in my ear, rustling fragile. No, it's just a lie. In the city of a sizeable number of people, I fell silent while calculating the determination of one or two sentences that I thought could calm the current situation. Protect yourself in hope.

This was before I met my grandfather, before I arrived at the White Elephant Country. Four years ago when I was seventeen and this story started.

Two years ago counted since I met the editor of a new script that I did not think he was his friend from a previous meeting that has now been counted four years.

Meanwhile, the new script editor who turned out to be his friend. That's two years of season change.

There were a lot of things during that time. Different people, but the behavior of the two of them is almost the same, whether there is cooperation in between or how? The script editor I met that day in the land of White Elephants successfully traumatized me for the second time. He no longer made me feel like I was throwing a script into a garbage can, but rather more horrified, successfully made me have a shadow of a command and then I burned in the streets, without regret.

No. gabe. I'm not supposed to remember any of that, like Grandpa said after I told him. I can make a beautiful reality. Bitter is okay, as long as my wishes can be imagined, do not be remembered in memory.

But I can't deny it. The memory was present itself without me wanting it before. It is like a wind that blows without being ordered to come or I can tell it to go. He teased! I asked for help with a bunch of light.

But that memory came back to an orange in the sky and I knew I couldn't forget it.

“You know from thousands of residents in Majaz city this is just that crazy cowboy who likes to tell stories about the woman he loves regardless of who he is.”

“True. He was not self-conscious, he could not love a king's daughter. He's just a crazy cowboy who has a dream of crossing a line. It was also a crazy dream.”

The memory seemed to show me back how some of the script editors who behaved in some way were almost the same and about me who could not accept it, about me who did not have the ability to write.

If I had more ability than this. It was likely that the rooster would crow, the eagle would fly higher and squeal in the sky.

Animals in this world hum. In the north polar plain there. The weavers also sang and I ended up drowning in a sea of self-splitting fire.

That's what Grandpa said I would be arrogant. “In this world, we never know, Man. Behind the difficulty of someone in trying to achieve his dreams. Then he finally got a failure from the hard work that he had been fighting for, of course behind all that there is wisdom for people who want to think about it. It could be, if you become a writer at your age not even twenty years old, you will turn into an arrogant person, a person who forgets the afterlife, people who forget the people around you and become negligent of the doomsday.”

“With that failure, your new spirit will grow. You will rise again from the fall. You already know the pain of failure and you keep trying, of course when you succeed. That pride is no longer in you. What you remember when you succeeded was gratitude for the long struggle and all that God has granted. The Almighty and the Knower of all things. In fact, the complaint of a prostrate servant pleaded in a tearful divorce in one third of the night. Truly someone will not understand the meaning of fatigue and gratitude as long as he does not fight and sacrifice.”

“Man, you don't have to languish, that guy is strong. Then fight always.”

That's what my grandfather said when I told him about the script editor I met turned out to do the same with the script editor first. It was like it was repeated again. Grandfather didn't write much of my sentence, just giving advice to keep me excited.

In the year I was seventeen. Wapta asked where I was going?

As I stood pecking in the streets waiting for the city's haul. With the script I put it on my chest. I answered lightly with a smile, I said I wanted to meet the script editor and try.

“Hmm.. are you sure, Nar?”

“Iya, sure. You know as long as there's a chance, I won't let it. I'll try to grab it and try it is one of my ways to find out.”

I'm giving a thumbs up. “Okeee..”.

Wapta laughs. We talked about many things while waiting for the city and Wapta waiting for his invitation which in the end he was picked up by one of the private drivers. The entry of Wapta into the car, I could only stare silently and give a smile while worshiping. A few moments later, the car was lost in my sight.

The smile that Wapta gave me was still clearly remembered, the face was smiling back to worship. I feel happy for some reason that smile is what I always take from his face.

Wapta, actually I'm not sure I'm going to deliver this script, but want to know how something that is not yet clear it will know when I try it.

A few minutes passed, that was when there was a city. I stood up for a moment and slowly entered while asking people to excuse me.

Along the way up a city parking lot, heading towards one of the promised places. Two minutes and three minutes with my eyes constantly checking the writing.

One of the people next to me said hello. See my writing too. “You seem to be busy with that writing?” tanyakanya.

“No, I just double-checked everything I wrote on this page.”

“You're still SMA?” ask again.

My uniform has not been removed. Yeah, it's true that it made him guess easily. Maybe just a stale base.

I'm nodding. The man gave me an envelope that turned out to be five hundred thousand. I scratched my head in wonder, why did he give me the envelope?

“How about I buy your writing to make my novel follow-up material, you don't mind?” said.

I couldn't believe it when I heard it. Hey, comeon. This novel tells me about my cowboy that I don't carelessly give it away.

Even though he gave me a lot of money. I don't really need money, I write for myself and I've been trying to prove to people that I can, too, prove that a fictional character who lives alone can create a masterpiece.

I don't need money in the sense that I write for myself. Even in the cowboy story it contains about the mayor who is corrupt. In a hypocritical act of cowboys in my story disguising their identities and hanging out with them, the result is that the mayor is caught and all the evidence is in the hands of a cowboy who is more hypocritical about doing heroic acts.

He seems to be the same writer as me. “Sorry, I want to ask if this father is a writer?” my many.

“Yes, I caught a glimpse of your writing and the point is that it can make my novel follow-up.”

“Can I see it again for the whole of your writing?” He said and what I was surprised by was that I strangely gave it to him.

It's a reflex, actually I don't want to give him the script. Now, I have an appointment with the script editor.

After a few minutes he checked it, then gave it to me. “Your writing is good and the core of the story is pretty good to find. It's just, if I may give you an opinion, don't rush to take him to the script editor room and it can make you exactly like getting a hard slap. That's the sensation of a novice writer.”

“It looks like you just wrote this year?”

He guessed and it was all true.

“This father is like a professional charioteer, I feel amazed by mr.” I have no intention of praising, it is just a stale base.

In my mind when I heard it how can I know I want to take this manuscript to the editor room? She who? Don't tell me he's the eye that's been stalking his prey from the beginning? I picked up the script without answering anything else.

***

The city's public transportation is currently stopping in front of a large building of leading publishers in Southeast Asia. Yes, famous? Wah—woow.

This is where my appointment with one of the editors of the manuscript, at that time I prayed inwardly throwing the best vocabulary above all days that passed.

Oh, my God, my heart feels like it's getting dislodged. The nervousness I felt. Come on, don't let me. I don't seem to be staring at a building this big. Right, buddy. I'm not more than amazed to be able to stare and set foot in this place.

Breathing is my daily job. More like a hobby. Eh? Where there is, it is just a habit.

Indiscriminately, it does not include hobbies but that is. I don't have much time to explain it. Jazu also once said, “Your breath is like the blowing of an elephant's nose, friend.”

Jazu laughed off with a look of a face that I looked delightfully at.

That's also what makes me laugh like a rope that connects. Make us absurd and strangely I laugh to hear it. It might be, it was because the atmosphere of friendship between us was intertwined quite tightly.

In times of relaxation we often spend time together while playing the word majas in expressions that are more exciting discussed, more fun.

May my meeting with the editor of this script be smooth surfing the streets free from obstacles and congestion.

Hopefully, that's my prayer.

Now, I know it was wrong to say a prayer, that the road was not always free of obstacles. It could be at some time he will be jammed or a vehicle that runs out of gasoline in the middle of the road.

Forget everything in the mind.

The script is now held in all definite steps. Inside the city that stopped at that meeting point. I was surprised to see the person who had seen my script and gave the 500k money grinning.

Exactly staring no kidding that makes me swallow.

It was just my exaggerated perception and I tried to throw it away.

What do I see now?

Magnificently. Great building, man. Rhyme, my old friend and the others. This is the first moment of my life to a well-known publisher in Southeast Asia.

I once told Sajak that I wanted to be a famous writer, wait for this moment I am stepping with certainty, my friend. It's not hard, I need to be calm and confident.

This is just a quick talk, not at length and takes a lot of time.

Each room has a cooler on it. Bookshelves are quite pampering for the eyes of people like me.

Search and ask where the editor room of the manuscript is located. I smiled kindly, stepping on my feet believing in the one thing that had been in my breath for a long time. Dramatic.

I don't think there's much more to why about all this, I don't ask much more because the script editor's room is in front of me. Slowly exhale, open the room that is more there I look at one of them with a sitting position behind the entrance, facing the glass window.

I put the manuscript on his desk without seeing the editor's face and he let me sit down. I sat there not caring about many things.

Patience first. Take a breath and never think of anything else, this is easy just a short conversation I imagined.

“How was your day, new writer?” He asked without looking at me.

In my mind he said he was arrogant. His eyes were still staring at the glass window, outside the building, a panoramic view of the light with the multi-storey building visible.

Even I sat there and could see it clearly, the view of this city was so beautiful. This is the first time in life to feel a different atmosphere.

My day is fine, so far nothing is not okay, I am good as usual. Can be seen from the breath and gaze of my eyes are more refreshing. Because I was mirroring at the window. Strengthen your determination and mentality first.

Slowly he turned away the chair with his face that I never expected. Gosh gosh? I'm termangu. He was the man I was with in the city. It's a surprise or a disaster that will be present in my life, it's two things in my mind.

“Ba—how is it possible? Turns out..” I said reflex. Stand surprised.

The editor laughs sound quite sadistic, not a pleasant laugh.

“Sit.” He told me again.

I never really thought. Sitting back slowly with a heartbeat and a strange feeling. Haven't talked for long.

He now even said he wanted my script and obviously I rejected it with the same rejection.

Even I rejected him firmly so that there was a serious impression. “I came here to be a writer. Not being the one to sell the script to someone else. I don't want to sell it.”

I answered firmly, not wanting the manuscript to end up in the hands of others. My great hope of becoming a writer is that since I was a kid, that's what I told Sajak.

Where in the past we discussed something about ideals and what we will do next each. This is the beginning of what I want to achieve in a simple note, no need for length, the importance of receiving.

“Alright, I won't force, it's your decision not to sell it.” He said while exhaling.

“You are a new writer who does not know grammar and punctuation, this genre is not suitable for you, especially the language is rigid. If I wrote it the impression in this story will be more meaningful.”

“I don't think you're cut out to be a writer.”

“What do you mean?” many ensure.

It was delicious, he said without keeping a verbal and careless. I slap to know the taste! I AM SELF-AWARE, yes more precisely should be self-aware where my position is.

That's also my habit of often feeling good alone and actually how brave? It was just a hot taste in my blood when I heard his words.

The editor started to grin. “This is rubbish! That's the summation.”

“You know this manuscript is not worth publishing, you can choose to sell it to me or choose to throw it in the trash? It's choice. Then just choose between them.”

“Or maybe you're a garbage writer who doesn't know the rules?”

“What do you mean?” That was all I could say.

“Yes, you know garbage script like this, only written by garbage writers. And you're the trash who wrote this script, you don't realize all that? Hey?”

I still quietly listened. Thousands of insults began to be issued and the manuscript was thrown down by him.

“Dispose this manuscript to the trash can, this manuscript is really not worth publishing. Want to be a writer? Huh! You just write it still messy like this? Think in your crazy brain, you don't have a brain or what?”

“Not more, this is just trash!”

That word is like thunder, man. JDUOAR! The magnitude of my hope now seems to shrink when I hear his words

I can't write dramatically, but when someone says that I feel like I have a shadow in my brain that I'm going to throw it in the trash, but I'm going to let my mind pass for a while.

I was slapped by that one sentence all I heard. My heart, thumping no fuss, my head's heating up.

This is the first moment of my life. Tired also felt, rustling the sensation increasingly thrashed, spread all over the head with a rhythm that I did not like. One word in my mind is patience! I remember one lecture one's ability to be patient was really tested on the first impact.

If I am able to be patient for the time being staring tough, in the future I will continue to be patient with everything that befalls my mental and soul.

His fingers knocked on my script. “I repeat once again for you to realize, you want to be a writer? It's dreaming! With the script as messy as trash, heh you came to this place? just sell your script and enjoy 500rb.”

“I don't want to sell it.” I replied firmly defending.

“You stubborn new writer.”

“Moreover you say so. That means my manuscript is passable until you want to buy it.”

If only one-on-one, reply to arguments from the past I was the champion to talk. But I never thought at that time. The script editor grinned.

If Sajak likes a grin on the face of his favorite soccer player. Then I hate the grin of the script editor's face.

He took a cell phone and seemed to call someone else. A few minutes later, dozens of staff arrived at his room. The script editor handed them my script.

What the hell are they doing? Together they compactly laughed at him as if they were a bear attacking a goat that slipped out of line.

I was alone there with a weakened mentality, the sound of their laughter and insults that made me seem to want to shed tears, but men must be strong in their lives.

This is a rubbish novel! that's what they said when they laughed at the script.

“He wants to be a writer, look at that messy script. Hahaha.. dream!”.

“Dream it don't height.”

“Yes, fitting a cry or broken bone.”

They are content to laugh. The script editor grinned as he randomized the script sheet and crossed it out.

Moreover, there is a chapter where I focus on describing the feelings of the character in which they say my fictional character impressed the pot. The letter p is reversed.

Their faces are not to be forgotten. They were content to laugh, as the light was, I was just a bunch of tiny specks among dozens of lights that were calmer than me.

What did I do then? Can only bow silently without being able to defend anything. The spirit that used to be there every day seemed like a flag flying in the sky and you know the flag is now blown away by the wind ended up falling into a pile of fire, then scorched.

My spirit is like a building that is collapsing. I could do nothing in the desire to stand up for what I wanted to defend, nor could I accept.

Still the same as before, even when I decided to go and get out of his room without a word I was still laughed at.

I could not think clearly at that time what was imagined was only their insults.

In the end I chose one decision, throwing the script into the trash. It was my last choice with a mentality that was never strong. A weak man like me seemed incapable of dealing with this storm of life.

Often I feel that I live alone, which is the fact that without a father and mother by my side, I only have a few people who can be called friends, there is not much I can say about all of this, even telling it you know it's like a blank piece of writing that can't be felt. The tone of all the sense of loss in pain.

From that moment on I hated his face. The editor of the script who was more rigid in his face, did not smile when I looked at him, nor did he give comfort when speaking to him.

When I came out of his room, I chose to be silent without speaking, right I stared blankly without being able to defend myself, even the name of the editor alone I do not know.

Two years later it passed. Perhaps, my mind had guessed that those who were friends in the editor's world had a story connection with each other until they both had the same two things. Treating people like me like you shouldn't.

Staring at me like that and you know it all ends with insulting words that I think are what they are.

They had a connection with each other to reject me for various unnatural reasons.

***

“That's a brief story, cake.” I looked at the smiling grandfather.

I don't speak Thai in explaining it, my mouth can't speak more vocabulary. Grandfather cursed without poking.

“You're not wrong, Man. You're okay with everything, too, the man is strong not just once or however many times he's exposed. As long as you can think of it sparingly, whatever is in this world is in the form of a life ordeal and when you know it well is well established. You've experienced the trials of tears and pain when you fail. That's not all wrong, man. That's someone's feeling, everyone in this world must have felt sad or other feelings, it's commonplace in this life.”

Grandfather often said wise words to me, sometimes telling me about his youth first. How he used to study astronomy. Grandpa had a lot of things when he made me laugh. Mocking the grin on the face of the script editor I was telling you about.

“That's important you're entertained, man. Regarding the script editor let it be, surely you can strengthen yourself against it, all that is okay. Let the past sink, never remember again so that you can go forward without feeling sad for the future, without regret and crying. You will stand firm, for now believe it will not make you lose, Man.”

“Get your heart not to hate anyone, there is nothing to blame. If you need to blame yourself so that you can mirror and someday you can focus on fixing mistakes.”

Grandfather, I believe in your words and this life I will continue to live with whatever destiny He has set. It could be, it's true. In the future, I will prove to them that not always the person they are looking at so will forever be the same person. Indeed, humans can change, the thing that needs to be strengthened is my mental and soul.

Those who didn't believe me, then, but deep down I carved out a desire that from the past until now I only write to prove to someone and really want to meet again with a woman named Wapta. He was the first believer and an old friend who had filled the excitement first in the rain-soaked rice fields and in the boisterous classroom by cheering students. Sajak, he's the one.

That is my only desire. I want to meet them both again.

This won't be difficult.

Previously I did hate the grin of the editor's face that I looked at, all that is not without reason. But there were some reasons that made me sure to hate him back then. He easily scoffed at my script just to be able to buy it. The manuscript was once already thrown away, but the tinge of light is still stored in the drive I am reluctant to open until now, the manuscript I still let.

I want to squeal after the sound with the chant of a foreign language that I do not want to translate into a language that is easy to understand. Just today, when I was in college I didn't expect to see the editor again.

After four years passed, the time that increasingly left bitter memories in the bitter breath gusts, now I was reunited with him, after all that time rebuilding determination and spirit. With him I never wanted to see again in my life.