Memories in my mind

I lost my camera on the way from Tacna, Peru to San Pedro de Atacama, Chile. All my glorious pictures of the lovely creatures of the Galapagos Island and the best part of Peru were gone forever. I was so upset I couldn't stop crying for 2 days. 

And then my mother, from across mountains and oceans, from a thousand miles away, told me a thing of eternal wisdom: the best memories are not in a camera, they're in my mind.

You told me the other day in not so many words that I can never be loved. And yet, I was loved once. I loved once. These are memories etched in my mind forever. And this is something neither you, nor the rest of the world, can take away from me. 

Amma was right. She almost always is. The best memories are in my mind, safe and sound. 

It's been said

There. It's been said. I couldn't believe my ears. But there is no doubt. It was said.

I never saw you so angry before. I had no idea you hated me this much. Not a clue. How did I miss this? Was I really so wrapped up in my own world that I was oblivious to what you were feeling about me? Where is this coming from? I honestly thought you were happy. I know I was.

The shock of what you said made me numb for a while. But when it wore off, your words were all I could remember. It's all I can still remember. It keeps playing in my mind like an ubiquitous song. A song of despise, derision, contempt, fury, hate. Oh my God, such hate! I never even knew I was capable of inspiring such anger, scorn and hatred in another human being. I am responsible for doing this to you. I still can't believe it.

And now your words are carved on my broken heart and I'm not sure if it can be removed. I know now what I must do. It's the only thing I can do.

Because it's been said. It cannot be unsaid. Still, I have nothing but love for you.

Alice

I'm reading Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass. There was, and still is, so many tv programs and films made about the books that I sort of knew all the characters without having to read the book. It's cheating.

I'm glad I'm doing it now. It's hilarious. 

"Life, what is it but a dream?"

It's back

It's been almost 2 years. I should be proud of myself.

But sometimes it just comes, and it grips me with its long bony thorny fingers and I have to peel off its fingers from my flesh one by one until I'm free from its grasp. But it's always not far away, lurking, watching, waiting for its chance to pounce. 

And when it came for me last Saturday, with its army of soldiers ready to rip me apart and annihilate me, it was sheer good fortune that I remembered my mother kissing me goodbye that very morning. My mother who rarely showed affection as I was growing up. My mother. Kissed my cheek. That same morning. She loves me. I am loved. I am worthy.

And so I defeated it. For now.

I wonder

Monday, 11 July 2016

It's 2.30 a.m. I had a restless night. Caused partly by excessive running, caused partly by you. And now I'm wide awake waiting for the Euro 2016 finals between Portugal and France to kick off. We took a bet on this game, you rather reluctantly. All in good fun with no clear purpose because we both know that the bet will never be realised. And we both know why. Well, at least I do.

I'm sitting in the dark thinking about you. That's all I ever do these days. And I wonder. Do you think about me? Do you wonder where I am? What I'm doing? What I'm thinking, what my plans are, what I hope for in my heart of hearts?

I wonder. Did I ever mean anything at all to you?

And so it begins.

It fits

Whenever I asked you who I was to you, you could never give me an answer I could accept. Your answers, though consistent, did not really sit well with me. Like forcing a wrong piece of a jigsaw puzzle into place. It just wouldn't fit.

I like things to fit.  I like edges. Boundaries. Black or white. Good or bad. Yes or no. Mild OCD. 

Since you didn't have a fitting answer for me, I found one for myself. It fits. I know now what to expect (nothing) and what not to expect (everything); what to ask (are you free today?) and what not to ask (do you love me?); what to hope for (nothing) and what not to hope for (something); what I must do (live my life) and what I must not do (wait for you).

None of this is easy of course. But at least it fits. 

Jakarta - Part 3

Saturday, 2 July 2016

Then to the Batavia café for lunch. This is probably the second oldest building on Fatahillah Square, built between 1805 and 1950. Over the years it served as a residence, warehouse, office and more recently, a café.

Then, as we still had some time, we walked around Fatahillah Square, and took a 3 wheeled cab with open doors (similar to the tuk-tuk in Thailand and Cambodia) and drove around Kota Lama. I saw the Bank Indonesia Museum which was originally a hospital. In 1828, it was used by the Dutch as a bank and in 1953, was used as the Central Bank of Indonesia. It is now a museum.

Another interesting building was the Fine Art and Ceramic Museum which was completed in 1870 and was used as the Court of Justice by the Dutch, Paleis van Justitie. Later this building was used as the Indonesian military dormitory and logistic warehouse; in 1967 as the West Jakarta Mayor Office; in 1974 as the office for the Jakarta Museum and History Department.

Behind the Puppet Museum is a huge canal built by the Dutch for transport and trade. It now looks like a very large discarded drain. There is still a draw bridge built by the Dutch that can be seen, it was to let larger vessels through all those years ago.

Across the canal is a building known as Toko Merah which means Red Shop. This building was constructed in 1730 by the then Dutch governor general as his house and office. He is buried on the grounds of the Puppet Museum. It was used by the Dutch as a maritime academy and a guest house. In 1851, the building was bought over by a rich Chinese trader and used as a store. He painted it red, which for the Chinese is an auspicious color. It has been this colour since the 18th century.

Then a cab back to the hotel to pick up our luggage, and a cab to the airport. We made a mistake of going into the boarding gate too early because there are no restaurants or bars here. I purposely kept some rupiahs to buy a beer but there are none available. So I wrote this blog instead since there was nothing to do.

Overall I find the people in Indonesia friendly and helpful, and they get all excited when I speak in Malay to them. I am really enjoying the local Bintang beer. It’s good. And cheap. Who can ask for more. Jakarta reminds me of home.

And then it was time to go home again. Till my next adventure!