an inspiring story of a close friend of mine.
First days in
Lampung, had no Idea of which was where, and why such was how—all I could do is
but expect not to be lost amid the confusion and rushing stream of crucial
administration information that I can’t follow but can’t afford to miss.
And there, amid
chaos, among the few males within the queue to receive our almamater suits, I
found him.
Thin, seemingly
malnourished, yet with a wide smile came up to me and asked, “from what
department are you?” “Sociology,” I responded. “Hey, same as me!” and since then
we just hung on to each other, hunting down others of the same department.
We found many, but
we stuck together. As he had no home closer than a two-hour bus ride away, he
stayed at my dorm during weekdays.
Getting to know
him, I found out how fond he was of english words, he was a scrabble player! A
good one too! Being the good listener I am, I swallowed whole his rants
recounting past victories, and most impressively, he once represented Indonesia
to compete in Malaysia while he was attending high school—his skill was
world-class.
Having had his fair
share of prideful moments, his confidence arose. He was notorious among the ESO
community as a “scrabble master”, even as a high-schooler. Even more so after
his defining moment of going abroad and winning second place in Malaysia. Of
course, what how could life be even better for him? Exactly. He had a smoking
hot beautiful girlfriend. Whom he had just recently been in a relationship with
at the time.
By the time I knew
him, they were about 4 weeks into the relationship.
He was always
somewhat ‘charming’, or rather, ‘creepy’ depending on the context you might see
him interacting with girls in. But he always seemed fearless—his confidence,
sharp and rigid as a spearhead. He just knew how to make a girl laugh, or just
laugh himself off if girls ever reject his flirtatious nature.
Despite so, all
that was in his heart was that one girl, the girl whose face was the face of
his phone, the girl whose voice was the only thing in his ear every night—they
called each other, a lot. No, very very much, so much so, it was disgusting. He
called her, “Bunda”.
Every night we
spent together at the dorm, I’d read a book or play some ksp on my laptop,
while he’d go out to the shared balcony whilst looking to the starry night
skies, his giant tab (that I hated to borrow cuz it was so damn glitchy but it
was all he had) against his cheek, a large smile constantly carved on his face.
He’d giggle in excitement once in a while, supposedly when he just made a corny
flirt-joke.
Being the champ, he
was, I thought, “he deserves this, he has worked his ass off, and now he is a
victor—no girl would resist his charm”, all while mourning upon my miserable
singleness myself.
He really ‘loved’
his girlfriend, he often ranted to me his fantasies of building a family with
her in the ‘future’. All day and all night, at any chance, he’d switch on his
tablet, and stare in awe into the virtual eyes of his ‘goddessly gorgeous’
girlfriend on his lockscreen.
However,
there was one thing I didn’t understand at the moment, one fatal thing—a deadly
behavior that he was consumed into acting, that neither of us were aware
of. That I’d later on in my life learn not to be like so, the hard way—clinginess
and neediness.
As the first
semester unfolded itself, I became more active in the main academics, being
active in group discussions, paid attention in class, quite contrast to him,
who just sat at the back of the class—not giving a damn about the lecturer,
while memorizing English word after English word, writing them down in his
scrap-book, repeatedly, like a pre-schooler getting punished.
Back at the dorm I
drew, worked out, and read plenty of substantial books, while he would stream
international scrabble tournaments on my laptop, he was mentally preparing
himself for his first matches as a college student. Later in the evening, of
course, he’d call his beloved “bunda”.
A fierce battle of
letters was mere weeks ahead of him, a scrabble match, in the Faculty of
Business and Economics, a neighboring faculty to our own, Social and Politics
Faculty. After class, back at my dorm, he’d spend restless hours placing
letters on his scrabble board, reshuffling the letters, writing down words,
memorizing, and later in the evening, he’d call his “bunda”, and repeat.
All I could do was
but admire his seemedly hard work, and occasionally giving him a few spits of
admiration and support, “I’m sure you’d destroy FEB, man! You’re da mastah!”
and return to either drawing, working out, or reading books.
Hours became days,
and days became weeks. His usually-constant prideful grin seemingly faded, and
each night’s call sounded less and less ‘giggly’ and more argumentative.
I could tell, he
was getting less happy for whatever reason.
It shook me when I
learned that he had lost his first match. No, he lost it at his second, third,
fourth, and so on. The once victorious master of words that has brought the
pride of the red and white flag to its most legendary rival, lost, to his own
kind back home. For the whole semester, he had not gained a single victory,
even against the supposedly ‘easiest’ of opponents.
At the lowest point
of his morale and self-confidence, the worse was only waiting to come. At the
end of the year, nearing his birthday, the girl whom he had treasured and
spared a large portion of his heart space to be filled by, had broken his heart.
It was over.
At this point he
already had a dorm of his own, which me and my dad worked out to find one for
him, since at the time there was few at avail. Having invested so much time
into helping him, it broke our hearts too to see him break this far down.
He was a wholesome
kid, a nice guy, who was ‘clean’ and tidy. But at this period of his life,
things had changed uncannily. One day I was visiting Fatur, a co-founder of ASF,
whose dorm was just right next to him, so I decided to pay a quick visit to the
“scrabble-master”, just checkin’ out my first friend in college. As I stepped
into his dorm and opened the door, a thick wall of white mist clouded my face.
Just like a mid-80s nightclub. It was all smoke from his very lungs, and a
bunch of cigarette packs.
If I were to let
myself bowl in tears I would, but I didn’t—I was too proud for that, since at
his very downfall, so was the time of my uprising. At this dilematic period,
ASFs popularity and success was skyrocketing, I had no time and mind space to
attend to mentally assist him back on his feet. What I did was the only thing I
could do, to pity him.
As evil as I might
sound to be, I really couldn’t have done anything. I was also really needed to
focus elsewhere, not to mention that I’m not that close of a friend to him to
be able to free him of his moral misery.
***
Months passed,
everyday, his presence in class was almost unfelt. He never came over to my
dorm anymore. He was also less and less present at his own dorm, which I always
happened to check out everytime I held a private meeting with Fatur at his
dorm—Fatur’s dorm was also, at the time, ASF’s equipment warehouse, which I
often visited for eqipment inspectment and maintanience.
Our paths diverged,
we never hung out together again, talked about life and girls as we used to, he
spent all his time away from the dorm, rather he spent a majority of his time
with his comerades at the english society of the campus.
***
Only recently, have
I heard from him. It was issued that he was going to Thailand, to compete on a
global scale, representing the nation. Which he did. I was happy for him, but
that was all. Until I actually met him in person after he came home.
As it turned out,
he didn’t win anything. Though to him personally, he didn’t lose anything
either since the trip was fully funded by the campus. What was striking though,
was his appearance; the liveliness in his eyes, the bright aura of his
presence, like never before.
As if he has arisen
from the once seemingly eternal darkness from which he might never come out of.
As a friend, all I could do is pity him, but I couldn’t help, even if I
could’ve, I might not, since its not my priority—also, during his state of
misery, his presence was so repulsing, uninteresting, not in a position where
you want to be.
But now, he was so
magnetic, charming, as if you just want to be around him for no reason. Even
though scrabble were not really your thing, you’d still be somewhat drawn to
his presence.
I could tell just
by how he was, he was happy. He had realized that he was complete, he didn’t
need anyone else to complete him, not even any form of “Bunda” whatsoever. And
for that, I am happy.
 |
| During his stay at my dorm, whenever it was raining and he wanted to fetch some supper, he'd borrow my hoodie. He once joked about how cool he'd seem if he were to attend a match in such an outfit, i was like, "yeah sure it'll suit ya :D" haha. |
Back in Thailand,
he met his idol, the world champ, whom he has always watched the matches of
every day on my laptop, during his first days as a college student. I have
witnessed an epic story unfold before my eyes, and learned a very important
lesson, one that I could never be able to describe with words.
