Many stories. Many Ibra. There are many stories of experiences to be learned during a journey. New veils are revealed as comfort or as a veil of sweat when anxiety strikes. Such are the myriad episodes of human life. Non-negotiable. Unavoidable.
The intertwined stories below illustrate the dramatic lives of several individuals, encompassing a myriad of events. It all began on the ocean floor of a middle-aged ship, sailing the Poto Tano, from Kayangan through the Alas Strait. Here's the story.
The man in the white hat sat sideways next to me, lighting a cigarette. U-Mild which had just been purchased from a street vendor passing by. Solemn once he took a puff of his cigarette. Smoke billows. Clumpy. It sucked in and out of the nose, disappeared in the throat and suddenly came out again from the nostrils.
He practiced it over and over again. It felt like the world's problems dissolved into a cigarette, suddenly reduced to a mere butt, snuffed out in a metal ashtray. He left the butt, still smoking. His face returned to its usual stoic state. It was unclear what he was thinking. Bitter and confused.
But what I observed was unique, not the man in the white hat sitting sideways. Rather, it was an old woman wrapped in a crumpled shawl and a brown veil with small, faded flowers. She sat directly in front of the man in the white hat. After a moment, the old woman reached into her pocket, thinking she was going to get a snack or candy.
To my surprise, she reached for a pack of Gudang Garam filter cigarettes. Without further ado, the grandmother lit one while sipping the coffee she had just ordered from the ship's canteen. The coffee, which came in a white plastic cup with brown spots, was still steaming. solemn this grandmother rather than the man with the white hat earlier.
I continued to observe the grandmother and the man in the white hat. In an instant, they were suddenly engrossed in conversation, the smoke occasionally brushing against their faces. They felt close. The smoke also occasionally wafted into my face. I was tempted, but I decided against it. I didn't join in their conversation.
Suddenly, my vision faded. A short, dark-skinned man approached and sat down without permission next to the man in the white hat. He politely said, "Excuse me, sir, I'm smoking." He offered me a pack of cigarettes.
I smiled. The short, black man's offer was quite tempting. Especially with the cigarette he was lighting. Marlboro red. I guess, he wanted to show me that now he is boss Big. I was busy observing his movements. Like looking for a lost widow. Ahhh.This guy is just playing a trick, I muttered.
There are so many stories on this ship. And they'll never end. A street vendor whose boiled peanuts fell. A country busker singing Peterpan. A family and their children chatting affectionately. A small child hugging its mother with tears. The sounds of two men exchanging stories who had just met, including a teenager busy with his phone screen. The tired faces of the crew in their small canteen.
The ship was still moving against the waves. It had been two hours since the ship left the cape. It seemed the passengers were starting to succumb to fatigue. inching Looking for a comfortable position to relieve stress. The grandmother and the man in the white hat were no exception. They had disappeared from their original seats. Perhaps they had gone to unwind, to take a break from the hustle and bustle of passengers. Or had they returned to find a place to light a cigarette and chat again? I don't know. I don't care.
The wind was calm. The waves rose and fell. The Kayangan Lighthouse began to disappear before our eyes. The clouds cleared, though the fog still refused to leave. The sun shone warmly. "Hopefully you'll reach your destination soon" I guess the sun whispers through its rays. These feelings are still mixed.
After I disembarked at the edge of the pier, I accidentally looked up at the boat. Two familiar figures appeared. It turned out they were busy continuing their conversation from earlier: the man in the white hat and the old woman. It seemed they were about to return to heaven. Although, the old woman would be coming down for a moment to buy her cigars.
What if I meet my grandmother again? I'll burn the cigar!
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