bosphorus

six hours by the bosphorus, feeling an extreme comfort of a steaming cup of mehmet efendi, which tasted quite like kapal api with one sugar. the silhouette of the minarets, the unfinished report, the bridge crossers, commuting between anatolia and thrace, all fit to the tune of ommadawn's chorus. oh well, the songs of the distant earth remain the same after all these nine years.

go no more a-rovin'

the round tables in this comfortable room are made of white marbles. here by the window i sit and cast my eyes to the street. thinking of leo, mark, victor, you, and the uncertainties ahead of us all. on days like these i yearn for miracles to reduce these enduring appetites. i sip five cups of tea a day.

i recognise these streets quite well, although the faces unfamiliar to me are many. hmm... never mind. i know new faces come everyday. only a portion of what we see is to stay in our mind's journal anyway.

leo told me from his tower of song that his friends are long gone and his hair is grey, he aches in the places where he used to play. and he bade me farewell, not knowing when he'll be back again, and so on....

and victor said there are doors in his life that he never want to open again. but he also admitted it's difficult to deny they are there; and perhaps only right to open the sometimes. for when making resolutions, we need to look back on past mistakes. to be sure they are not repeated, but also to make better the return encounter. i appreciate his kind words. reminding me "to give love to those you care for, and a smile to those you don't. to be all things to all men but just yourself to yourself. be humble and human, but proud of what you are." thank you for tonight, victor.

it's nearly a closing time. i know you're out there. if friends in time be severed, someday here we will meet again. when you have time for me, you will find me here, watching from the window. writing from this marble table in this street. i return to leave you never.

white mug

this is but me and my simple rituals, which i perform tonight with a white mug, as i revisit this one-way street in jakarta city. cikini.

i came in; and they nodded.

they roasted the beans finer than they usually did,

and poured the strong result into a white mug.

seemed like they knew what i was coming for:

work until late,

right here, close to the window,

where you could see me,

and i could see you,

if you were a pedestrian.

i placed my devices on the round marble table,

and unrolled my earphones from its spiral box.

just by gazing into the white mug,

i could smell and absorb everything:

it contains essential elements of which inspirations are generously made.

i was also thinking of you,

who are perhaps not so keen to go out tonight.

because the forecast said it was about to rain.

it was probably only my guess:

but if i asked you,

directly or through the electronic device that you carried,

wouldn't your answer be ambiguous too?

so i took a pair of antique wooden chairs,

and let the white mug steaming,

blurring the window glass.

it sat unaccompanied

except by me

who was, like it, steaming,

and performing my simple rituals...

vietopians and tatorism

like two vietopians lost in a vietnamese restaurant,
one was ben, and the other one was me,
lost ourselves in delicious noodle soup served in large bowls.

he fancied seafood; i beef.
i quenched my thirst with ginger ale; he bintang.

but soon, oh soon, we arrived at a same conclusion.
we sealed the night with a dark decafeinated taste of 'tatorism',
a term i refer to the drink from tanah toraja, celebes island.

cikini street jakarta in jakarta has both heavens.
for friends and for the good time.

one more cup of coffee

you said, drinking coffee too often will make me addicted to it, and it wont be good for my health. the caffeine has hidden dangers.

and i appreciate your concern about my health. and i know that getting addicted to anything is not a wise thing.

but between coffee and me, i tell you, is not a matter of addiction.

it is about loyalty.

and as you see, coffee does not replace anything in my life. and i have no intention to substitute it or find any surrogate of it either.

i simply like it because it is unique. because it stands among very few things in our life, upon which we could agree that bitter is better.

but with you dear, of course, it is another case. since you are so sweet. and you warn me about the hidden dangers of coffee. and for that, i thank you.