Matahari Terbit

Finally made it down to Matahari Terbit today, and, as often happens, my knack for picking the wrong day to go the wrong place manifested itself as I found myself in the midst of a perfect hoard of motorbikes--too late to turn around once you're in the stampede. The best you can do is keep moving with the flow until it settles down to graze somewhere, somewhere, in this case, being a grass and dirt lot off to the side of the main street. So it would be a walk just to get to the beach I had come to walk on. 

"What's the crowd all about," I asked a man as I moseyed long with the now dismounted crowd.

"Libur," he said. "School vacation." 

Ah. 

Anyway, I did my so-called exercise walk once we got to the beach proper and soon encountered an additional crowd, a separate herd, this one composed of tourists come to take the tourist boats out to the outlying islands, Lembongan, Ceningan, Gilli and so on, and found the usual chaos associated with this exodus in full gear as tourists tried to understand the directions squawking over loudspeakers, jostled in line for their boats and trudged into the knee-deep surf to board.

Matahari Terbit (which means sunrise) is otherwise populated with small food booths, sellers of sate and corn fried on the spot, miniature minimarkets selling whatever the tourists had suddenly remembered they had forgotten, candy for the children, and so on. This is also the beach often used for the launch of boats bearing the ashes of a loved one to be spread at sea.

Sleep Sickness

Meant to take my walk this morning on the next beach in line, Matahari Terbit, but I was just too damn tired. More than tired, really. Unworldly tired, rather like when I had mononucleosis. I got up after a long night's sleep, made breakfast, watched a bit of the news on TV, got dressed, thought I'd lie down for just a minute, and straightaway feel asleep. 

What is it? The long illness I've had, and still have? Blood pressure medications? Neuropathic medications? Antihistamines? All of the above?

But then again I have to admit that this is  not new. Long before I came down with this fungal plague, I noted that I was unusually tired, and on many occasions experienced the same pattern in the morning. The only difference is that now it is multiplied ten times over and the tiredness does not go away when I renew my day, as it tended to do in the past. 

What a mess. I keep waiting to live again, and become more and more bedridden, or house-ridden anyway. Life has become a joyless drudgery. 

Now I've forced myself out at least to Starbucks, falling far short of a walk on the beach, and I'm sitting here in my chair feeling like I'm about to fall asleep.  

How long? Where is the end? What is the cure? 

I can only wait, and rue the passing, unused days. 

In the meantime, whilst I've been waiting to live, I have come upon an uncommonly engaging collection of short stories--Exhalation, by Ted Chiang. The book was listed in my 'Recommendations for You' section of my Amazon page and had, as I found on further reading, been the recipient of some fairly extravagant praise. So I went ahead and purchased the book for my iPad and very soon saw that the praise was entirely justified. I'm three stories in and already regretting that I've consumed so much so quickly, as that means I will reach the last page of the final story all the more quickly and will have to return, still thirsty, to the desert otherwise known as contemporary American literature. But I suppose that perfect gems like this are uncommon in any age or literature, and will therefore content myself with the nourishment derived from these intriguing pages while my body sleeps away the days.

Hari Selasa Lagi

This morning's walk started at Sindhu Beach and proceeded up toward the Grand Bali Hotel, the first large tourist accommodation to be built, many years ago, on the Sanur seashore. (Only a year ago I regularly walked from Sindhu to the hotel in the evening. Now I make it about halfway, at best. How times have changed). Somewhat ironically, this long-ago developed stretch of land stands nonetheless as the quietest stretch on the entire Sanur beachfront, from the Grand Bali to Mertasari. This, I suspect, is because most of the land here is occupied by old, established beachfront vacation properties, built in traditional, more sedate style, unlike the sprawling, flashy resorts of the present day. On this stretch of beach, businesses do not spill out onto the sand, obscuring the view of the oceanfront, but leave that soft carpet open and uncluttered but for some respectful, unimposing trees.  

Isolation

I really don't like this new place I moved to. Granted, that's partly because I've been ill ever since I came here, but other than that, I just don't like the isolated feeling. I don't like feeling cut off from the world outside and its goings-on. I can hear the voices and the passing motorbikes, but I can't see outside these walls, and that is somehow keenly disconcerting to me. When I come in from having been out somewhere, it feels like reentering a jail cell. I have only one small room (unless one counts the bathroom as a second room) and a small porch, and in fact I spend most of my time here on that porch where I can see the sky, anyway, and the tree tops, and hear the voices and smell the air. Moreover, I miss having an outdoor kitchen. The extra heat of cooking inside is a bit too much on top of the heat of the day, which is quite sufficient on its own. Honestly, though, it wouldn't really matter if the place was large, like the villa that Louis lives in, for the feeling is the same. It feels too quiet, cut off, pressed in by its own silent space. Suffocating. I think that if I were well, I would very rarely be here in this room. But being ill is its own sort of jail, isn't it--being stuck inside the body that is ill.  It's where I live for the time being. I hope, one way or the other, not to be here much longer.  

A Dog and a Door

Every evening when Takut the dog decides to come out from under the patio floor and head outside for the night, he comes to my door first, because otherwise he can't get outside. This is because the old lady who never comes out of her room, and whom recently insisted that the door be locked at all times, negotiated instead for the attachment of a gadget that automatically closes  (but does not lock) the door. To his credit, Takut has found a way to enter the villa despite the closed door by simply putting his weight against it and bulling through (not a feat that a smaller dog could accomplish). Nonetheless, he cannot get out from the inside because the door swings inward,  not both ways. This is where I come in. My own door is generally open, so he is able to stop by and let me know he wants out. Moreover, we have, through these otherwise pragmatic meetings, gradually struck up a bit more of a personal relationship, such that he will now come in and set a spell. And he's not averse to getting a bit of leftover dinner either.

Dice Game

We are all gamblers to one extent or another. We throw the dice and believe that they will fall in our favor. They will because they simply must. We are aware that for many the numbers that show when the dice finally come to rest on the felt will not be good. They may even be disastrous. But we are not them, we are us. The fortunate. And, we will say, we have thrown to fate with a moral purity, a reasoning beyond the dice and the odds. We deserve to win because we have thrown in faith. It's biblical.  If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for. Chance cannot be so hard-hearted as to ignore something like this. When we throw the dice, we understand that the odds are against us. Damn the odds, we say. This could work out right--that, too, is part of chance, however small--and if it does, both I and fate will rejoice. Our risk is therefore right, despite the odds, and will surely be honored even by the unthinking statistics. 

Wisdom lies not in prudence, but in extravagant faith, and the humility to accept the numbers as they fall. Love is the bet one makes till he's broke and has not a penny more to wager. 

Hari Jumat

I really didn't feel like walking this morning, but did so anyway. Pretty wobbly. So I didn't walk, I wabbled. Found the usual joggers and walkers, and the usual beach dogs, one of whom is apparently in charge of a generous stretch along the way, so has his job cut out for him. Watching the buff young men and the shapely young women go by was a bit disheartening. I mean, I'd settle for just walking in a straight line. Ah well, it is what it is. Definitely time for a nap now, but the maid is busy in my room, so that will have to wait.