A piece of someone's life

A man woke up today. He sat up on his bed, which was messy because of pile of pillows and blankets he kicked unconsciously in his sleep. His hair was long and very untidy. He was still half-sleeping. He took his cell phone and glanced at the clock. It was six thirty. He collapsed again and back to sleep. Forty minutes later, he forced himnself to wake up. And then he did, at last.

He walked around the kitchen like a hopeless man, and then stopped at the sink and washed his face. He was getting ready all silently, tracing and doing all the things he did the day before, the same thing every day. He might just do everything by reflexes.

After serving himself a bowl of instant noodle, he got dressed and glanced back at the time again, this time, through the clock hanging on the living room wall. The clock was 5 minutes late, so he knew that he'd been a few minutes late. He hurried up and went outside, starting his motorcycle.

The road was windy and cold, but not really cold enough to make one's body shivering. He was driving a little fast. On that suburban road filled with native Indonesian people driving their own motorcycles, he slipped in to one of them, and then, disguised in his red-black jacket, glided smoothly on the asphalt road. He scratched his left ear using his left hand, while his right hand was still driving the bike. A kid showed up all the sudden from his left. He threw his hand hazily back to the handle and stepped on the brake not to hardly. He almost fell off his bike and his heart was thumping insanely. But the moment had passed. The kid was not nudged or hurt.

He cursed and continued driving more carefully. When he reached his destination, he parked, and began seeing his work. "She" was eating her breakfast and so he waited for her upstairs. Two hours later, a skinny boy came in. He sat beside the girl. The boy was lazy and he loathed seeing him.

Two hours later, he went back home. But before, he bought his lunch, the same as yesterday. He ate while watching the pilot of Friends. He laughed for the first time that day. He continued to watch it even after his lunch was finished. And then he headed in to his bedroom. He turned on his computer and opened winamp. He played some of the Backstreet Boys's songs, and some other slow songs. He shut down the monitor and lay on his bed. He grabbed a novel which was next to his pillow. He looked at its cover for a second. Chun Sue, Beijing Doll. He read one chapter. The third chapter.

He found a line there :

"Why do we always ask a lot from our life? It's disgusted."

He stopped reading, thinking for a while, that he too was always asking for a lot in his life. A better life, better job, better family, better house, better friends, and a better destiny. But as he read the next line...

"But why shouldn't we?"

He stopped again. Why shouldn't he ask a lot from life? Why should he ask so little? He, after all, deserved it after all this hard work and loneliness, after all this boredom and sacrifices.

He put down his book. He grabbed his phone, trying to login to MIG, just to see if anyone was online, but he couldn't login. The connection was lost, and it stayed that way after several times trying. He gave up. He relaxed his body and went to sleep.

When he opened his eyes, it was already three thirty. He ought to be hurry if he didn't want to be late again. So he prepped himself quite quickly.

When he reached his work's home, the two of them were already waiting for him. They didn't complain about his lateness. He didn't say anything either.

The two hours passed really slowly. After saying goodbye to both of them, he headed back downstairs and left that house eagerly. He had about one hour break before dinner and then he had to go to his last class at eight at night. SO he went to never land to kill time.

He opened his blog. There was nothing new. No updates from his already-few friends. He thought for a second, and then tried to write something. After no idea came out, he thought of one thing.

Loneliness.

That was his all-the-time topic. So he wrote everything about his day that day. It was sure a very boring thing to do, but he had no other things to do. After all, it could not be worse than the condition he was in that time. So why bother pretending that his life was not a wreck.

He glanced one more time to the time showed on his cell phone. It's up. He had to go now, have his dinner before finishing his another-boring-day.

He stood up, and for a split second, he saw a reflection of Bambang Superwan on the monitor. That face looked tired and sad. It had been like that all day. And there was nothing in his mind to suggest that he wouldn't have the same day again the next day.