Recycling

Many Things Have Changed

A lot of things are changing now. From what I used to know about things back then to what I know now about a sharp pointed object, a sharp, straight-shaped—that thing is right at the end of the divorce of old pain and hope.

It was the thing in front of my eyes that seemed clear from just looking at him. A kind of arrow that was about to pierce into the eye. All I could do at that time was run while strengthening myself, muttering continuously through the wind that was at the end of the long-overdue pain and hope all became a series of numbers in the verse of memory. Is this a complaint or a complaint? There's nothing. I want to reach something already feels lost, touched let alone there is no form.

I always think of what others see as green, yellow and red. The three colors are on the street lights that seem to describe the philosophy of life. What I know about this life, for me now life is a long road down the place to the place.

When will I stop this journey? That was the question I had written after knowing about the point of view, feeling for myself how the atmosphere of the feeling hit me and made me feel not entitled to be proud or feel most powerful for something I had.

Some time ago when I went sailing to one of the areas and visited one of the libraries. It was there that I found a new point of view on all this that I knew better than to be immersed in myself, and it will be a reminder to myself in the future.

I wrote this story with a series of flashback events that I deliberately chipped from chapter to chapter, that's because I don't want to make this thing clear to others, it hurts. Moreover, I wrote it not seriously, just to recall all the events in the daydream, about the biography of the life of an amateur who lived his life. Through this moment, I apologize for myself with the memories I wrote based on the chaotic makeup in my mind. That way I can breathe a little sigh of relief while recalling the old events that have disappeared from my life and have been left behind there as memories, he said, here's the long note I'm talking about.

Long broad, man. I wrote this note while sitting facing the window, staring at the traffic because my house is now right near the highway. In the land of the White Elephant you need to know I can only be friends with a handful of pens and often struggle to spend my free time with some things and on some sheets of paper I write everything, without anything else I could do while trying to lighten for a moment this head and hand kept moving. That's the summary today of the story I want to tell the wind and rain.

Or rather I was writing the morning paper. All this time and so much this word that I have passed in the silence of nature followed by the music that always accompanied me, the characteristic that I always put on a sheet of paper about a song of memory and hope that has disappeared, written in it from A to Z. Form sentences and paragraphs. I don't know, I don't want much of this to be a whole and interconnected story, rather I just write. This drama will probably continue from chapter to chapter or I end easily without twisting and complicated, which is with a heavy heart I give a point at the end of the sentence and the paragraph with the end. Finish and end this story.

Writers have a style you know, man. This is how I feel now, wanting to write what I want to write. Warai smile smile and laughter if remembered and guessed as a tiger in a trapped cage and can not get out.

But, all this is just a note written by an amateur. Not a novel you've been talking to me about all this time. In writing this note, I don't need to be content, just feel free with my diverse writing style and be free to choose between ending it and continuing on. All of this is just a record of my daydream-filled life.

“You're too lebay. Just writing like this, you often grumble in silence.”

“Whose word do I grumble often?” I ask not to accept it with his words.

“That's the proof.”

He was like an international word boxer who at that time made me speechless to not be able to answer him, I lost arguing with him who had a lot of evidence.

One by one the evidence was shown by him that I often grumbled while writing all this and I also admitted it was often the case.

This writing seemed to have become my soul with a grumpy nature. Look at this writing that actually reads like the intonation of an angry person as if the hot embers make hands blister and scream sore.

Sometimes I change the writing style and give a slack in the content of the story. It made me feel like I changed my personality in a short time.

Of all this, only I know about the order of events in the story I'm writing because the whole thing I've experienced in my life that I shouldn't have talked about. Why am I talking about it too? It is bad to think that now it is a normal shield when staring at writing like this, it is not a lie and not infrequently I meet one or two people who are annoying, acting pretentious. Slightly in turning back the facts. That hasn't changed much.

What's changed now is about her ending up being a memory. What can I do? What can I do when I look at her eyes? Lita Aksima who was near me was quite an impression in life that had passed the umpteenth of the day that passed.

An age I never thought I would be and this makes me feel like a person who doesn't deserve it. He's just a fictional character in a story I've written.

Some of my fictional stories are in the form of fantasy, all of which are in my mind like a bunch of dew blown by the wind and fruit falling not far from the tree, also like a bunch of foam in the ocean whose waves break up in between the corals. Like people arguing with the sound of wind blowing on the window, tight neck veins reciprocate arguments. Stacking strength on the pen, grasping it, stomping it to the table.

I've experienced the toughest Deja Vu in my life in the form of a screen that I look at as clearly feels real. It wasn't as scary as I thought and happened only in short dreamland, a kind of new life realm that I had met in a world realm that I could never see for real. It was fantastic with a bunch of ducks being able to talk.

A bunch of pigeons flapped their wings, humming with a rhythm that made me drift away, silent in daydreams with simple thoughts while pondering what had passed about memories and a row of numbers.

Their group had also talked to me a lot and I was indeed a strange man. Talking to my own fantasy realm, fantasizing with a giant-sized creature called yeti.

My eyes never hurt, this heart is getting sick. Wiping old crying eyes. Regretting one or two words of bitterness in a life full of pain and weakness, about my love and longing which to me is the hardest thing. What makes me cry is trivial to others, there are actually many. The man as Grandfather said should be strong, tough and mighty in his journey and live his days, without knowing to complain, without knowing the cry or despair that is actually useless for the future. I once told my grandfather that I was different from most men out there. Many times I explain this problem, the result remains the same.

Same, same, same. Yeah, that's a little redundant said. Well that's outrageous, I'll change to be able to control myself in writing all this. Upholding the rules of writing and branding KBBI.

Maybe other people are different, for me they are obviously different from me, not just maybe but definitely different. The person I used to know was friendly before the eyes of a friendly smile, it was not always good. He even holds a grudge. They're a bunch of bad guys who can disguise themselves. By using masks they disguise themselves and make themselves as a reference to be able to continue to look for justification.

That's them, their identities one by one that hit me with the same sentence. The phrase seemed to be a pearl, but it was poisonous when I held it I was almost dead stranded in the sand full of thorns.

I once had a bad feeling about it all and immediately threw it away from the contents of my head. It's more annoying and it shouldn't be because it's a bad thing.

That's so annoying, man. Like a big wave without me being able to split.

As Grandfather said, I should be able to organize this heart so as not to hate. Actually retaliating arguments like this is exhausting, quite exhausting because I have to slam all arguments, but from the past until now I liked to reply to their arguments with a slightly dissatisfied laugh. Their laughter mocked and my laughter mocked myself.

Not wrong, for me mocking myself as a place of reflection so as not to look down on others. Not to dust your heart with pride.

Proud of your own abilities that actually have nothing because said one among hundreds of millions and billions of people in this world.

I just remembered it, the matter should not be discussed and do not need to be mentioned, it will be difficult to understand it and it requires reliable reference materials and I do not have.

Then my argument will be rejected. This debate comes in the form of writing, the other day I felt slammed by one word.

“Salways! You have a shallow brain!”

That shallow word successfully made me tremble as if I wanted to faint. Almost feel like killed by airborne toxins that make me claustrophobic in breathing, hard to inhale carbon dioxide.

My friend looked at me with a strange look. “Don't think about it, I was just kidding. Have you eaten? Do not forget, later you will be hungry and hungry it could be will make you die.”

My head is starting to cool. He is good at melting the atmosphere with the sound of laughter, if more horrified than that we could have slapped each other.

“Not yet, do you want a deal? Dare you ask, dare you also grant my request,” I said laugh back.

My memories are now mixed up, what I remember is wanting to recycle this story from the very first start of my life.

Maybe it was too far, in my teens arguing was what I liked, looking for other people's mistakes and turning the facts around, now I know it's a bad habit I should forget.

“You little boy who has now become big in the look of your whole body, but the head in your brain is still the same as a child,” said one of the old virgins, watching me.

I live in that house alone. To dwell more on things and things that are easy for others and complicated for me. The old virgin was right, I even had difficulty in spelling Arabic letters until second grade Junior High. How could a second-grader of Junior High not be able to teach? Gosh, that's embarrassing for almost my entire nerve vein.

“You who do not know about me may be easy to talk, want anything and however it is true.”

I could only answer it in an outburst of inner speech and quickly choose to leave the old virgin who kept raving about the bad that was on me. I didn't argue with it because it was right while walking out breathing softly, choosing to quickly enter the house with a relaxed smiling face.

In the sense of wanting to close my ears so that the voice of the old virgin disappears from the front and shadow of my mind. The old maid seemed to like me, and often she brought me food.

Behind his often raving attitude, I liked his kindness. The food always makes me burp full and the spirit of activity, after which I often get a long lecture with his face that I stare.

She laughs. “Your face sucks!”

I ran away from the broom in his hand, the neighbor next door came withering with a loud laugh between them. We were nothing more than playing cat cat.

“I can't think clearly on this issue. You are not a muhrim forbidden alone in the house, let alone no one other than you two!” That's what the neighbors came up to.

The next tomorrow I was always invited to dinner at his house, no longer did he deliver food. Invited like an official in the country. Dramatic.

I patted the eel in shock, the stove in my house is not dead, my previous intention was to boil instant noodles, hurrying after that I said goodbye and thank God until my house still had time to turn it off until nothing happened. I leaned against the kitchen wall while shuffling my hair to relieve anxiety while exhaling a sigh of gratitude.

I have also heard various spiritual talks to make this heart calm. It's simple, I'm the one who makes it complicated, but at that time I was quite silent without giving a response while playing the box alone. That is also a game that always fills the past when alone.

Playing with a shadow. If you ask who wants to be friends with someone like me? Just Jazu and a few others. It was also met outside the house, more precisely I am the one who likes to be alone, although finding a friend for me is easy. It just takes a lot of talk, a lot of fun talk of course and quickly search for topics so as not to be bland, that's the main key I've used.

Said many friends, much sustenance. Many enemies, many thoughts to reply to their arguments.

“Haha..you grumbled continuously from earlier.”

“What? Problem?” I said sharp.

“Your face is the problem.” She laughs.

“Absurd, your joke is absurd.”

“Ya, yes. Never mind, you can already compose a song for later at graduation, friend?” tanyakanya.

“Creating songs? I can't, my voice isn't good either!”

“Iya, hence trained.” Its effects.

“You trained how many times? If my voice is like this, it will be hard to change. If you want to give me the new 7Milliar money I want to practice sound.” I made a serious tone to joke.

“7Milliar is easy, as long as you want to train it in a dream.” She laughs.

I'm upset. “You're joking not funny.”

“Haha.forget it, forgive me, you seem to be upset when you hear me, your voice is strange.”

“Ya, are you satisfied with her laugh?” I said I wanted to finish. My friend coughed.

“On that, yes you can say satisfied, I just remembered that you don't like debate, I know that you like to argue all this time. Come, now, friends—ayo, we argue.” He challenged with his pretty voice to make my guts challenged.

However, I have grown tired of this world, arguing I no longer like. Come on, I've been suffering inwardly now, even to speak I forced him to be content to hear my hoarse voice.

My voice that I changed as cheerfully as possible, in order to stay strong when faced with the voice, is still strong until now only sometimes when alone I often complain about this life, often ask. Why and why, as well as various other things that I often question while silent in the chanting of the temple of complaint. One to one place that almost made me drown and crumble in life.

“I like a debate? Hmm. well, today I will explain it that it was just a lie, I lied.” I explained to him casually.

“I can't believe, you're lying proudly. You need to know that lie is poison from what you said, much different from what I've seen all along. You were caught telling two lies. First, you said what I said was a lie, but you said it yourself that you like to argue. Second, you're lying saying that it's a lie. You can't play about this.”

“Lies are a deadly poison!!” continues dramatizing.

I wiped away the tears that were flowing because the marks were evaporating. “Yes, that lie is deadly to you and to me it is not important. I mean what you say is not important, about something that is liked on that day can gradually change over time.”

“Many things have changed from just the laughter and smiles you see. As well as my favorite day of the day I lived, you don't know about it. For me to explain it is not important and about the first time I apologized for being inconsistent in speaking and that is the reason I said that I lied about it. People who know me will not be like you. Asking me that again makes me sick, no matter how much you want to bring up the past. It's gone by that could be something I hate so much. You should've known about that without me explaining. How am I doing now, have you ever seen me arguing again after it's all gone. I thought you already knew without me having to explain more. I'm tired.”

I explained at length to him so that he was satisfied after hearing it, but what reality I saw.

“Important points, you are lying with pride.” He responded, laughing cynically.

“You lied with everything and I know you told lies again. You used to ask me to argue, but I rejected it because I'm not good at tongue-licking, you know people who scream show-off are showing off. It cannot be denied, he shouted not to take care of others, but he himself did the real thing to take care of others. In the sense of insulting with masked advice. You know the difference between advice and insults?”

When I heard the phrase first, I smiled enough he was the one who could appreciate the memories of the past. Considering me as a person who likes to argue in those days, let alone show off. I'm actually just talking about continuing this unimportant conversation in order to continue.

I took a breath. “Here you go, you don't talk about that in front of me, I'm a liar. It's just a matter that's not complicated. Shallow, not as deep as the ocean.”

“You're not engrossed, friend. How's the story about your cowboy?” ask, like switching the subject.

Cowboy again, when will he talk about it? Yeah, I'm not in the mood to talk about it anymore, even it evokes a sense of trauma that was still felt when I first met the script editor that I shouldn't hate, but already hated it. In this case I turned for a moment silently towards the street lights.

Closing my eyes, I felt that wind that was rippling in my ears. I was closed for a moment in the reverie in the approximate time not long, only briefly. That's because my friend who keeps saying and makes me restless in demanding the taste that exists.

He continued to insist on the previous question. Makes me grin at not being able to answer for a while.

Then I acted in a voice followed by a clap of hands, asking that this matter could be understood by him for this time only. Please don't discuss. “Please don't you ever talk about it in front of me again, about that I don't want to talk about. Last time, I was beaten directly with a dumb sentence as if I was hit by a slap by a wise man who said various words according to him. Though, it's just a fictional story and I wonder why she takes care of it so much.”

“Haha.you grumble a lot, man. What does he say?”

“Say my fictional character is a showman and superficial brain, geez I laughed while reading his criticism on one of the authorship forums.”

“Forum authorship?” He was like someone who had just heard the word.

“Yes, where the writers gathered and there I shared my writing and it turns out that the editor is also there.” Kupun explained to her succinctly.

“Haha.. are you angry with that?”

“No, I was just annoyed and you knew the editor was bringing his army until I finally decided to leave the forum. I feel like I am not appreciated by those who have become a senior in the world of authorship.”

I explained to him more than that, longer about their criticism and I didn't like it, I don't like the way they criticize me and that honestly almost makes my annoyance peak to the height of the clouds.

My friend caught disagreeing with the thought I just mentioned. “Criticism is good, friend. Just so you can accept it and make it as a booster of your spirit and like cooking. Make it salt, salty, but much needed in cooking or in short you have to make it as an ingredient for the future so that you can improve yourself continue to cook with the recipes they once delivered, but yes I know about this you must not easily accept it, you must be able to reconcile for a moment the mind and throw away the negative thoughts lodged in your brain. The mind of the devil who says your work is flawless.”

“It was a lucky break for a work that received criticism. That is a good thing in the world of writing and writing you later. How many successful writers they used to be criticized and they can blend in with those critics pithy, they are good at making the criticism as a reference to be kind and to continue to advance their passion in proving it, they are good at making it a point, didn't mean to show off. Proving here you know like a naruto who wants to be a Hokage. I mean they want to prove to people who used to insult, those who grew up from criticism will have a strong mental soul as strong as steel and they are not busy taking care of it. Choose their focus and improve their work. And through a criticism it is actually a good thing that can let you know that in your work there are defects that you have to fix. Writers who do not want to be criticized and do not accept his work criticized, then please just burn his work to the embers. So that they realize that the work does not deserve to be called a work. It's just nonsense.” He explained it to me by dramatizing.

The nyenyene. Says one who doesn't like advice like me. Hey, comeon. It was those who could focus on working with any criticism, whereas I was down at the time. Feel drowned to the bottom of the ground that is many miles deep. Imagine that!

Imagine a writer! Who could face such scathing criticism, even my novel was once called trash.

My friend laughed. “Junk? Remember this, man. The garbage of a work is also still able to be recycled and through the process of your work will be something that is, will be more memorable and more beautiful, more in the meaning contained in it. That's if you can recycle your story.” He came back to my words in a strange voice.

Yeah—kinky. Is not the trash divided into three? While the garbage work I do not know whether my work is classified as garbage that can be recycled or not?

“So you keep saying wise. Actually that's what's hard for me right now. If you have a little lightening and I like it a lot. I ask you to please give me a lightener so that I can eliminate all the things that once you know, this has all disturbed my feelings and thoughts.” Kupun also attacked his words.

It was even longer and laughed inside me. My God, my heart can't be joked with that sentence alone. The pain slashed like a gaping wound.

He laughed softly. “You're lebay, friend. From earlier I was actually just reciting every word of yours, now I have a critical thought in this matter. Who is insulting you? Tell me.”

“For that, can I tell you about everything?” I asked him first, maybe he doesn't like to hear stories.

“Yes, of course. Please you tell me.” Out of reason, he wants to hear it.

I'm mendeham. Preparing a sound similar to the drama I've seen on television. Haha, the black-robed fictional character, his hair dark curls mayang, his character is evil and likes to help the picture in the meme group, this one you need to know so that he chokes when reading it. Haha.the look on his face looked so scary, never smiling. The nose is pointed, eh? No, his teeth are sharp and he likes to eat a mouthful of white rice, not green let alone yellow. But, gosh? The results of stealing, corruption, like to help also in the shop. He said he owed and had not paid for a month.

PAY THE DEBT, WOOOI!

My friend laughed. Actually, I'm talking about him who often owes me on the grounds of not having money, even though the motorbike is often changed in a matter of three times a week over credit. Habits indeed.

“Monster was fierce, often owed again, never paid he said anyway later, do not know later it was when.” I tell a little of its characteristics by changing the sound every time I tell a story.

Stronger now I call the octopus meatball-headed animal. The ocean liner at the end of the island is swaying, the ocean is choppy.

“Halah, you dramatize, friend.”

I cough. “Thuk, uhuk. I haven't told you yet that you're playing cut.”

“Ya, sorry. Continue your story.” She laughed and the laughs I guessed were fake.

I went back to the story and it was just a bunch of stories between us and that night he himself laughed he said quite satisfied when he heard my story until it was over. Jeez, when between us was busy chatting with each other it was even dead electricity. It turned pitch dark, my heart pounding.

Internet connection is broken already fate, wifi can not be invited to work together. We are actually chatting through the help of information and communication, a magic cable in the form of a telephone connection with online media, the services of an application. Through the air, the voice was conveyed to his house. Ribet also explained. I mean the phone, that's a concise story that might not matter either. Dab.

Now I need a candle, the creepy figure I mentioned in the story, don't be in front of me. Staring with ehehe voice.

I rubbed my chest and put the phone back in place.

End the conversation between us. Maybe tomorrow we will connect again.

A moment of silence, actually I was afraid of the darkness and really needed a candle. This simple example in my life is what is more difficult for me to go through in the dark, especially often experiencing the inner darkness. It made me worry in my stride and in my direction.

Just then the sound of goods slamming and the sound of plates breaking was heard in the kitchen. Hearing the sounds in the sky of the room, I muttered in shock. I asked what sound is that? And I decided to go there and check things out.

While wiping my chest, I took a flashlight and continued walking until I reached the kitchen. There, look left right for a moment to exhale. Huh...what is this? My flashlight went there to highlight something. Is that a sighting? Shocked and thankfully it turned out to be nothing, it turned out to be just a mouse who hitchhiked and moved quite agilely.

The thing I thought was slammed was a ball that was struck by the mouse. I went back through the kitchen and found another voice I had heard. Like ironing my clothes and my mind became orderly and peaceful.

I saw the broken plate was probably the rat-like rock that accidentally hit him. The culprit of the kitchen rat is rampant when it is dark, they are species that move actively in a state without light, I quickly clean it up.

Another mouse, another mouse. “What's my fault?” he said while looking at me. Poor rat's a suspect.

***

The phone rang, I didn't expect to wake up in the middle of the night and I saw the lights were bright in every room, before going to bed I remember forgetting to turn it off. TUBS! PRANGS! Again I was startled by the same sound as before, it was the rat foraging, the bathroom faucet also making a sound and that's what I hear now, who turned it on? Before I remember not turning it on, even then I asked myself while rubbing my eyes because I was still sleepy. All right, I'm gonna go over there and check it out and turn it off. Walking was still staggered and my mouth evaporated wider than usual and opened.

I'm back to get the flashlight. Walking through the room and arriving there was nothing, it is possible that I had forgotten when I had opened the faucet, which now filled the bathtub and scattered like a bunch of uneven islands.

The bathroom faucet I turned off. There was nothing there, as usual I was not afraid, only my hair was a little goosebumps. Sensing the strange atmosphere in my head, it trembled for a moment with a clueless look. Why that faucet?

Tired of my body is already felt after waking up, in the middle of the night when people sleep soundly. I even woke up alone. Wh why?

My mouth was still yawning, scratching my head in confusion and deciding to go back to the room, wanting to continue my sleep. The night is long for me.

Footsteps down the floor, a close distance between me and the table. I heard the phone there seem to be ringing again, kept ringing because I didn't pick up, really my head was getting dizzy with a sound that was almost like ear-piercing through his drum.

In the end I walked quickly there to get close, deciding to pick it up. Who called me at midnight like this?

“Who is this?” ask me to start a conversation.

“Hallo.” That voice sounded sad.

My heart is beating fast. What's the matter? I hold the chest. Wh why? That voice was exactly the same as someone who had forgotten all along, I didn't want that selebay in describing the feeling. I heard it a little surprised and made me momentarily pensive waiting for the continuation of him to speak. His voice seemed to have a characteristic that I had known for a long time, a person I knew first and could imagine his face. That who?

“This is me Wapta.”

Gosh gosh? I stammered for a moment. W-A-P-T-A.

Back that sound I heard. Gosh gosh? My hand holding the phone shook.

Did ya? Who called me is Wapta? Ba—how is it possible? Gosh, these eyes just popped out with a mouth that said something of my disbelief, about this and this heart you know, man. It pumps blood faster than ever, faster than a marathon. A heart beat that felt like a basketball bounce and even I was holding when it was beating with a heartbeat that was just as nervous when I met face to face.

Just as it used to be like being doused in super-cold ice water, I can't believe this makes me feel like I'm freezing. This I think is impossible, I don't believe in any of this? However, this feels like it is real and maybe this is true. That it was Wapta.

“Don't forget to eat, it's yellow rice front door, please open. I'm ahead wait.”

Haaah's? In front of you waiting? Is all this true or is this a result of the disconnecting of the storyline? The pen in my hand at that moment instantly broke because I was grasping it too tightly. I forgot to explain during sleep before my hand held the pen. Oh, my God, it's midnight like this? Don't tell me it's not a Wapta, it's a ghost? My feathers goosebumps for a moment and I rub it, the curtain there is the wind.

Phone connection is broken. “What is this? I must have been bullied by a prank caller? But, that was clearly the voice of Wapta.”

I grumbled in annoyance as I threw the phone into place. Because when I wanted to talk, the phone broke, it was rude to close the call when people wanted to talk.

I know Wapta is not like that, he likes to listen to the end, when people talk he always finishes it easily. Maybe now he has changed?

I was silent for a long time considering all this, the change in someone's self was natural as I was cheerful and talkative and used to talk was my specialty, she said, now I'm a quiet person with no idea of the consequences and all this is a shitty thing and I don't like how the story goes.

Murmuring with his hands under his chin. Thinking about this strange thing where my eyes were sleepy before wanted to continue sleeping even now wide-eyed. My eyes came back to this world as if it had been filled with energy and glowed with bright watts. Made me die a louse alone with trembling feelings.

Yheng!

I opened the door, a woman standing in front of me smilingly brought me a bowl of yellow rice and gave me with a helping hand it made me feel like a tsunami. I took it full of hands and feet.

OH, MYGOD! I screamed in my mind with a variety of vocabulary words, this was trembling and making like a person who could not stand the feeling. The bayes? I know it's better, but it's a happy moment for me right now.

“You have a lot to eat, Nar.”

Who else if he wasn't the one who called me. My dream woman was standing, she was the Wapta who came to deliver food.

That means the one who spoke on the phone was right, it was Wapta's voice. Almost made me not believe it before.

How can I?—I terplongo feel that this is strange, do not he not Wapta, but a subtle figure that is invisible and deliberately disguised to entertain me. My feathers are now standing with mystic air.

In my mind sweating with a super magical sentence that I did not think the sentence was even radiating into the gutter and the radiance continued to radiate until it ended up into a container, where food in the form of milk cans. Then cooked until charred, then discarded and lost.

“Why?” She asked. My daydream collapsed while momentarily shaking my head.

I saw the whole from top to bottom as Wapta, the exact same made no difference, but one question pervaded my mind as it slammed into a faint speech that no one could hear. I asked myself how could Wapta be in front of me now? This is what for me is impossible and I have never known this as a lie.

The likely reason earlier why he asked was because it felt strange to me who was now scratching my head not because of itching or dandruff and honestly if I may say that I also felt strange, as well, more to the latest sentence or why it is difficult to explain, yes I have to think well. If I think about it further it will feel strange and how could he know my number? That's one weird thing I'm thinking about now and for that I didn't find the answer.

I decided to ask, “This is really unexpected, you know this is like a surprise you gave me. Where did you get my number and how did you get to my house? There are actually a lot of questions that I wish you could explain to me and that can calm me down because now my brain is filled with weird questions.”

He laughed at me. “You never change, Nar. You used to and now you used to act like a drama. All right, here I'm gonna explain to you that this is all what you're hoping for and hopefully you can be at peace with your shitty brain mind, you never change, Nar.”

I've been paying enough attention. Wapta has changed, no longer as gluttonous as it once was.

The war is much different, even when explaining the language as it sounds formal language, does not use slang that is often used by children today. I didn't expect that and what is real about this?

I forgot about it ever since he sent the letter that day it was likely that the language after had changed, even I misjudged it. He has always been a mix between formal and slang, I have always misjudged others.

“You must be curious, right? Where did I get your number. It's only fitting that I saw your expression so, when we met the look of your face there was no happy happiness at all, you were glued like that. Oh, ja. That... because Kila who dared to use the services of hackers.”

Wapta explained to me like that sound was a flash of wind. It's so easy for him to talk, what's up? Is this the super debur freak I met tonight? At midnight? He came alone while mentioning Kila who uses the services of hackers?

“Kila? Hacker?” I am now more astonished, wanting to laugh as well.

In fact, I just remembered the phone book through it can be found a list of the names of people who are in it. I just thought.

Wapta seemed to be chuckling now and I could only reply to him grinning while his hands scratched his head which was not itchy one said, suddenly after that I did not think Kila even appeared behind the bush like a successful ghost made me feel the atmosphere was amazed and he had surprised me by appearing suddenly. His once cheerful war did not change, only Wapta who was not surprised by Kila's appearance and I guess they had planned everything.

There were many things they said and about one or two long sentences we shared many other reasons. They explained it to me and told me about their journey to my place with great detail and length. They both smiled the same, unfortunately all of it turned out to be just a dream. At midnight I woke up, with no one. Exactly at that hour when I opened the door and found Wapta and Kila.

The dream felt real. It makes me breathe out.

At that moment I woke up from everything that turned out to be just a dream, the sound of their laughter and their shadows were still fresh I remembered and clearly ringed in my head as if the dream was clearly the reality I saw. Ringing for a moment closes the ears that are numb to their sounds.

I decided to hurry out of bed. Heading outside wanted to check the truth of my dream.

Being far between mumbling and talking, I now wish in my heart that it was a form of reality that I could be certain of the truth.

And when I went out to look for him, there was no one I found, it was empty and quiet in the middle of the night today and I saw the surface of the sky was pitch black with no stars or moon that should have been shining at night.

On nights like this I often look up. Staring into the air that blew there and watching the misery of the scattered celestial bodies adorned it and about it only tonight I found the sky to appear perfectly dark without starlight and without moonlight. I exhaled for the umpteenth time, disappointed that before it turned out that it was just a dream that I could not achieve with anything about this longing of mine, about a feeling I could not tell him. It's possible that my brain is painting in a dreamland about a series of wishful events that make me happy, it's just a falsehood that has no basis.

Falsity that has no purpose to make me not a survivor of the sentence turmoil, again and again I seemed to fall into a never-ending daydream. Ruffling my hair with a puff of sighing like an elephant's nose puffing water. I wanted to shout loudly after the sound and could not resist the longing that existed between me and him that we had not met for a long time.

The sky tonight feels like the world is breaking, as if I am worried and don't know what to do?

As soon as tonight as mocking me with dozens of words of contempt about the bad luck that previously I was experiencing in the dream world that I do not know it turns out the happiness in my life is only a dream. Even the thunder in my head began to be earthy and mixed with the mess of the mind, mind, continuously welcome and one by one the voice shakes violently shake and vibrate all the layers in my life that make me pensively long grasping this hand with one or two sentences that I throw in my mind, as the sound of thunder that was in the sky my mind was like being struck by dozens of arrows, he said, the raindrops began to pour down the lining of my brain until it flowed down all over the veins like thousands of arrows that hit the plains of the earth.

I looked up, closed for a moment to feel the atmospheric thump of the feeling I was feeling. I'm tired of this life, everything has changed a lot.

There were many things that changed from just a glimpse of laughter and a smile back then, now I prefer more silence between the past and the feeling of gloom.

Tears that I tried to hold, now can not last long, slowly he fell like a raindrop and a dam that broke out of this eye patch. For those of you who say this is more. That's what you said, not what I was feeling.

You know my heart is getting tight and sore, I fell to hold it as if an invisible object had squeezed it, pressing with a strong pressure so that I could no longer hold on.

The extreme pain has managed to tear and disturb the entire layer of feeling until it feels like this heartbeat hurts and pain in the body. The old sight that once stifled me after everything passed and was in the memory of the past. However, I never thought that old wound had managed to recite the wound in the niche of the tribe.

I was hurt because I couldn't express my love for Wapta. She is to me the only woman I love, she is to me second to none, only she always makes me feel comfortable and feel free to talk without telephoning. Wanting to continue with him and together make a life storyline between me and him.

“Don't expect more, Nar. You know that hope hurts sometimes.” When the bus stop was empty, Wapta spoke to me.

His face and his smile at that time still imprinted me, that was when I hoped the cowboy script would go up in print, Wapta said there was a point, the disappointment is said to arise when someone hopes more and what he expects, it turns out in the end does not match the real reality. It was indeed painful from what I was currently feeling in a state of silence.

I am crying now that this sound of crying has disappeared from my side, quietly buried in a circle of tears swallowed by a feeling I cannot explain. The pain shook the gray color and slowly blackened, creating an ambyar vocabulary that is not elak hope and long suffering, he said, the more I come here the more it cuts to shreds and creates wounds in a taste I have long wanted to heal.

Wounds that once had been treated, now back widened, gaping. Right now I can only lower my face. Worship over all this.

Moreover, I am wrong over everything, it should be about this matter is not complicated and this is just about simple things that do not need to spend a lot of paper. And for me as a guilty person feeling humiliated alone is only able to choose in the sense of running and trying to strengthen myself to start picking up bags, he said, packing up the scar and for a long journey and departure, I felt I shouldn't be in the story of his life.

That's my bad habit from a long time ago that anyone would think they would get angry and turn their face when they found out who I really am.

When I found out I was an evil person who had thousands of masks and was very good at disguising myself in front of them. However, about all that now has changed a lot. A lot has changed from the past.

Now I'm trying to get that mask off my face. Sajak is not an absolute wordbender, he is with me and about this live scribbles that appear accompanied by worn sentences with fingers that begin to feel tired in typing one letter at a time to the letter. Aksara for the sake of love that burns the soul. Shit, man. This is a shitty thing for me. This time was filled with turbulent days and months I spent reflecting on mistakes.

Wishing the dream was a reality, but the dream could not be realized, a dream that I could only see for a moment and disappear from my side. A dream that could not let me know about all this.

I started this story at night playing on the internet. My writing that I sent to one of the forums and groups.

It was there that I got an astonishing reality in the gaze of the eye receiving something fantastic. And saw all my stories back counting the number one two three counts I forgot. Questioning also in my mind how the story of all this can be mixed into one? That night, I was long silent staring at the writing on a forum.

Two comments came out. Even the obvious article cornered me.

They were really mocking my writing, saying my fictional character was as stubborn as the author. Linking with one of the script editors who gave a bad response about me.

And various slurs that make me frown, bite my lips and unable to reply to their arguments.

Tonight, I blocked all their comments. In forums and groups I decided quickly, pressing the exit button. They all have the right to insult me for staring at my writing and I have the right to choose to stay away, without giving a response to what they have insulted. Choose to cover two ear holes and close the door tightly.

In the middle of the night I stared at the paper on which I was waiting for the fictional character Lita Aksima to say for sure. Why did this happen?

A lot of things changed from just laughter and smiles, so much changed that I felt like I was the most despicable creature in the world, I was up in the building looking down. What was imagined at that time wanted to end life.

A shadow patted my shoulder. It was Lita Aksima, who helped me from just the light of her smile.

That day I could not deny in the few days of minutes that whizzed away with the ticking of his seconds, my despair swept through the entire room called in silence. She's a woman, Lita Aksima who comes to my life like a falling waterfall. The clear water and the cluster of foam that appeared glittered like pearly grains. A lot of things have now changed from just a glimpse of laughter and a smile. Miss, that's all I can say.