Living's good

It wouldn't be unusual at all for someone, a friend or manic stalker (haha) to be calling me at ungodly hours of the night.

And that's exactly what I was thinking when I texted her back, thinking that she's probably got a free invite or a teh session at simpang. It wouldn't be at all unusual.

I wasn't prepared for what came next, "His baby, his baby just died." But who is truly prepared for death, who can say that hey I wake up everyday ready to accept the departures of loved ones, all revved up to shed tears and mourn? No unfucked person can ever be geared up in that way.

I imagined the baby wrapped up in our traditional kain batik, as his father carries it in his arms out of the kapan. He'll visit him in the years to come, change the white cloth wrapped above his angel, clear the leaves and trace the carvings of his small wooden tomb. He'd, like me, would want to rewind life, or at least the capacity to shout it aloud - Wind it! Wind it!

And then I started to feel something. And finally it comes. It was both intensily familiar and shockingly strange. It takes me a while before I recognized what it is. I want to live.