A random story that i made for English 100 module.
Enjoy~I could still remember the smell – the sweet, sweet smell that came from my mother’s territorial kitchen. Chandra and I would peep through the tiny crack between the doors, indulging the aroma of those delightful, mouth watering delicacies she would whip for us. Although time passed and people moved on with their new lives, there would always be snippets of the unforgettable childhood memories that lingered deep within our memories.
Growing up in the village, we had our peace, joy and laughter in the openness of rice fields. The scorching heat of the day, toppled up with the sticky, smelly mud on the watery ground, Chandra would ran after me, who was obviously taller and stronger, to the mini hut that was built overseeing the magnificent Mount Bromo*.
It was the city of 1999 and my established self still longed for those days to resurface once more. I had good job, good friends, good life and a good house, but still, back there had more life than here. Long weekends, labour days, Christmas, New Year’s eves, New Years took turn and numbed my emptiness as I got carried away in the urbanisation traffic. Faces around me changed constantly and I lost track of who was who, but the little Chandra hid himself pretty well from my memory extinction.
I was working for fashion shows – running errands and getting wraths from the overworked stylists. The most consoling fact about my job was that the name of my position sounded too good to be true: stylist assistant. New York, Paris, Milan and Tokyo, you named it, I’d been there. We could go on and on; working straight for hours and days, then partied all nights, bingeing on hard liquors, taking narcissist photographs and posting them over to the cyber world. Plastic smiles and formality hugs were dominating my life, until that fateful night, where I was hugged by the familiar arms once more.
The term “Chandra and I” had been around since we had our first hair cuts. It was no longer used, however, after we left Cemoro Lawang* in such a hurry. I left Chandra a rushed farewell note in between his room’s window crack. We never got
back; and old memories started to fade, replaced by the busy roadwork and endless siren.
Empty glasses of Moët et Chandon, Martinis, whiskeys and wines were filling up our table but I could see Chandra on the other side of the room. There was something unmistakable about him – strong jaw lines and piercing eyes. He was talking to some girls and was smoking cigarette.
“Could be my eyes… It was so dark; he may not even be real,”
Battling the pools of dancing bodies and painful heels, I rambled to the other side. The alcohol started to take effects but I was too busy focusing on Chandra. Obviously I had a lot of things to say, yet nothing to start them. We were so close when he stood up and left his seat.
I shouted to him, but he didn’t look back. “Must be the music,” or so I thought, still scrambling my way to Chandra. “Chandra, Chandra, don’t go away from me. This may be my last chance of seeing you,”
In the chaotic madness, my heels slipped and I was thrown off flat-faced. For a moment, the whole room seemed so quiet. And still. I glanced around as I drifted away somewhere. Darkness had enfolded itself.
There was the day when I met Chandra after our long-part. I couldn’t remember the exact day in 1992 but I was sure that it was not the greatest moment of my life. Malaysia Fashion Week had the most chaotic backstage I had ever encountered in my whole lifetime. It was a very bad show and the stylist was venting his frustrations; throwing heels around the dressing room. And there was Chandra, all grown up, working with us as one of “those models”.
We had our brief nostalgic euphoria. He was travelling countries, bounded by his modelling contract and it was those coincidences we presumed so filmic that brought us back together. What we did not realised was the fact that we had evolved so much, yet we had illusions of each other. The hardest part came about when we had to leave and move on – trails of disappointment, childish fears and immaturity overshadowed the memories, tearing them apart. Understanding came too late and I had always regretted screwing up our perfect union.
It was funny on how often I laughed about others’ humiliating clubbing experiences; how silly conversations came about, how sluggish drunkards could be, how awkward this person fell – and now I ended up having bruises on my face. Chandra was squatting next to me when I regained my senses. As our eyes met, it was then that I knew we were back to where we once were; we share a common thought.
It was unexplainable, but I knew we had it all back again. The old “Chandra and I” phrase was forever etched within the old memories, irreplaceable; while the new “Chandra and I” emerged and stood strong until today.
*Mount Bromo: situated at East Java, with Cemoro Lawang as its main access point.
*Cemoro Lawang: the name of the village
