When I was on the porch of a tavern, a woman chided me casually, "Long time we did not meet, yeah, I almost do not recognize you anymore.
"Okay, sister," I replied.
"Why is your hair short?"
"Early last year you were still long hair and beautiful," I said. I deliberately say beautiful - not - handsome identical with long hair, as if I was a woman. "When my hair is long, people suspect me of practicing magic, then cut short."
"You can still boast, yes," he said.
"In fact, I'm the one who got the magic," I said.
A few years ago, during college break, we met and I noticed that her skin was still tight. Even now she
is still beautiful, only her chest a little slump. It's understandable, he's married; have been breastfeeding.
I want to suggest that she take Mrs. Meener's herbal medicine, let it be tight again. But I did it. Her husband who sat on the motorcycle honking the horn. If her husband is lacking calcium, she will slump.
After I recover I'm no longer back in college. I do not want to live burdened by doing something I do not like. So I decided to stay in the village. Besides, my parents own two hectares of oil fields and three hectares of nutmeg field. Indeed, the fields have not been harvested, it takes about two or three years to have results.
So, his daily work is in the fields, in fields that have not yet been harvested; work without income. In short, call it unemployment. Besides, being quiet, I started learning to write novels and screenplay scenes. Unmitigated, at the same time I write three novels and two scenarios. So, the completion will be a long time, maybe even never be finished forever.
Long story short, I'm a gifted gifted dreamer, who thinks that - being single and having lots of free time - I have to write, even though nothing will ever end. I do not care at all, the important thing is to try. Later when I was married, I would be very busy farming rather than writing. That's why I have to write now.
Two hectares of oil palm plantations were planted with papaya by Yakup, a man of fifties. Now almost a year the papaya was harvested, but he never gave me the least money. Only once did I give him 50 thousand rupiahs. Yet every time the harvest, he gets 2 million rupiahs, and in a month Yakup can get 7 million rupiahs.
At least every time the harvest, he can give me 200 thousand rupiah - it will not make him lose. I just need money for cigarettes and coffee alone, as a supporter of snacks while writing at night. If only I had another job with enough wages for cigarettes and coffee, of course, I would not care about his right from the papaya harvest.
I went to Yakup's house and asked for 1 million rupiahs for each month. If only he objected, then I would pull my garden, then work on it myself; plant what I might plant. While the papaya must certainly be cut. Only a million rupiah from 7 million rupiahs is not burdensome. The one with the field is me.
MY DAD is black. Three centuries ago our ancestors came from Gujarat, India came to Trubue - a village in Pidie - and became a tobacco farmer. My mother is white. They meet in a remote village while you are teaching. At that time the mother lived with her friend in the remote village.
Mother's friend is a Christian Batak woman named Tio, they both teach in the same elementary school and cook with the kerosene stove. Some locals are amazed by the blue flame. Blue flame is a new thing because they cook with firewood.
In fact, at night they could see the fire burning from a giant torch licking the sky from afar. The torch of the Arun natural gas refinery opened by President Soeharto in the 1970s so that Lamlhok earned the nickname Petro Dollar City.
While listening to the chat about the blue flames of the locals, Dad pretended to be stupid, thinking that it was a new thing in his ear. And he once lived in Medan, lecturing in journalism and news broadcasting, although not graduated, and no money. He also went to college while selling medicine. The news skill is used to speak as a drug seller.
