Rome, November 6, 2012
Hello from Rome to Aralia!
Do you know what could be worse than having flown through almost half of the globe then finding out that your fiance had fallen out of love and been seeing someone else (Italiano!)? Not flying and not finding it out. Getting a heart broken in Rome is surely the scariest thing one can ever experienced! Couple with their mouth locking each other at, like, every corner! Luckily there are lots of gelateria and espresso and Mediteranian hunks. Well, maybe it’s not bad at all. I’m thinking about flying to Freiria and finding that Portuguese guy I met through OKcupid 3 years ago. Wish you were here to stop me.
It was Sunday evening. I just finished my dinner and was currently packing for my usual Monday first flight routine to Balikpapan. On the background was the sound of your grandfather asking my grandmother about his grandparents. He asked where they lived through decades, when they moved back to their hometown; a place where my name came from. My great grandfather hand-crafted royal sticks for a living and my grandmother’s sibling painted glasses for people. My grandmother talked slowly, in Minangnese accent, tried to be clear about everything. She read a lot. She read to sleep. She read Islamic civilization encyclopedia and other lessons you would thought to be too difficult for 89 years old woman.
It came across my mind if later you would ask about your grandmother and grandfather. I wondered where we would sit, whether I would need to describe their clean home, full of knick-knacks and decorative plants. I wondered if I would need to tell you about the big trucks and dusty jammed roads outside their housing complex. I wondered if there would time when you need to explain me as a grandmother. I wondered what kind of story you would tell to your daughter, or not at all because in the future people would not tell each other stories anymore, only an URL. I wondered a lot about the future so I started to write this letter to you.
Hope that we all would be still in love with writing letters and telling each other stories. I know you’d love your grandmoms (both are the best homemakers, one a tailor) and granddads (both hardworking, a management strategist and the other had managed connections between islands).
A: My mom once told me to never date an artist
B: Well, most musicians are pretty shitty but it’s just a date, right? Not that you’re marrying him next month.
A: Yeah, and this one isn’t shitty. At least until this morning. And he’s more a painter than bassist. And thank God he doesn’t do stand up comedy.
B: Wait until the 5th date. or 6th.
A: What? Is there a statistic of people doing stand up comedy after the 6th date?
B: No. I mean, I once dated an artist. He did video and stuff and composed music too. He was nice and I enjoyed every second of conversation because engineering students never talked about how Imogen Heap performed on the stage or illegal street racing with motorcycle without rear mirror. I still remember how I loved to listen to him.
A: Then what happened?
B: He came back to his ex. Maybe after our 6th date, he just realized that I wasn’t an artist type.
A: Shit. But yes. You’ve been sober all your life, haven’t you?