New life about to begin in a new place. Maybe I'll remember this one. Even though I enjoyed the last four years in my little house in Renon, I have only a vague memory of what it was I enjoyed. In fact, I have only vague memories of the past eight years in Bali. I've visited many places, for instance, in Bali and abroad. I've been to Kuala Lumpur and Penang and Bangkok and the southern islands of Thailand and Singapore and Solo and Jogyakarta and Jakarta, but I don't remember very much about these places. I remember that Kuala Lumpur was a very modern, very tidy city. I remember the fried insects that are a delicacy in Bangkok. I remember the pleasant people in Solo and Louis' uncle and brother in Jogyakarta, and I remember nothing whatever about Jakarta except traffic jams. Oh, I remember the fast train … somewhere … and a giant golden statue of the Buddha. Bits and pieces. I remember when my stepson lived with us in Renon and taking the school bus to school and home again and how he'd close himself in his room and play videogames nonstop and how he would become glum if he had to go with us on some "fun" excursion. I remember laughing. I remember watching Mr. Bean with him and laughing and laughing. I remember Sparky, the black and white dog whose real name was not Sparky.
There is much of the long ago past that I remember very clearly. Very clearly indeed. But much of the present, much of the last couple decades, is a blur. Or absent altogether. A sad thing in its way. An inability to appreciate the things you have forgotten. On the other hand, I suppose it can be a good thing too, especially where separation, the end of a marriage is concerned. One cannot be very sorrowful over what he cannot remember anyway. If I miss anything very keenly about Louis, it is the Louis of 10 and 12 years ago, the girl I called "Tikus" (mouse in Indonesian). But she left along the way. I guess we all leave along the way. She once said that I myself had changed. I wasn't who I used to be. I didn't believe it then, but perhaps she was right. Do we change, or do we just become dull, lazy, careworn? The spark is gone, women will often say. A cliché, sure, but even clichés are based on real things, real feelings. There's no more romance, no more electricity. And men will say, "Well, that's your fault!" Lol. Am I not what I used to be? I don't know. Most often, when I remember what I used to be, in the way that I remember it, I have to cringe.
The new area I'm moving to is tucked in between Sanur and Renon. It's not an area I had previously spent much time in, as there was no reason to do so. I do remember looking at a house in the area once with Louis. But for the most part, I've only driven past on the motorbike. So it will be interesting to explore new places and new sights. I'm the sort of person who puts down roots, very stubborn roots, wherever I happen to be. A bit of a strange thing to say about an Oregonian who ended up in Bali. But I never picture anything changing. Or rather, I don't like to picture it. Set me down in a certain place, wind me up, and watch me trace the same circles day in and day out. Change comes upon me, like a piano falling from a fifth story window. I don't seek it, but I adapt, pressing always toward permanence.
There is much of the long ago past that I remember very clearly. Very clearly indeed. But much of the present, much of the last couple decades, is a blur. Or absent altogether. A sad thing in its way. An inability to appreciate the things you have forgotten. On the other hand, I suppose it can be a good thing too, especially where separation, the end of a marriage is concerned. One cannot be very sorrowful over what he cannot remember anyway. If I miss anything very keenly about Louis, it is the Louis of 10 and 12 years ago, the girl I called "Tikus" (mouse in Indonesian). But she left along the way. I guess we all leave along the way. She once said that I myself had changed. I wasn't who I used to be. I didn't believe it then, but perhaps she was right. Do we change, or do we just become dull, lazy, careworn? The spark is gone, women will often say. A cliché, sure, but even clichés are based on real things, real feelings. There's no more romance, no more electricity. And men will say, "Well, that's your fault!" Lol. Am I not what I used to be? I don't know. Most often, when I remember what I used to be, in the way that I remember it, I have to cringe.
The new area I'm moving to is tucked in between Sanur and Renon. It's not an area I had previously spent much time in, as there was no reason to do so. I do remember looking at a house in the area once with Louis. But for the most part, I've only driven past on the motorbike. So it will be interesting to explore new places and new sights. I'm the sort of person who puts down roots, very stubborn roots, wherever I happen to be. A bit of a strange thing to say about an Oregonian who ended up in Bali. But I never picture anything changing. Or rather, I don't like to picture it. Set me down in a certain place, wind me up, and watch me trace the same circles day in and day out. Change comes upon me, like a piano falling from a fifth story window. I don't seek it, but I adapt, pressing always toward permanence.
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