Little things or a personal interpretation of daily semiotics based on impulsive fleets of the heart

by
Growing up makes you forget.

Growing up makes you forget.

I was walking solo down through TIM at sundown. ‘I love this place at this hour,’ I thought to myself.
The furious heat was calmed by the cool breeze. ‘Why is it always breezy here? This is so nice,’ I thought to myself.
I passed by food stands, catching whiffs of delicious conversation laced with the aroma of pempek, soto sulung and sate kambing.  ‘Yummy, this smells so good,’ I thought to myself.

A pot-bellied, middle-aged man who wore shorts, a striped khaki shirt, a navy blue beret and orange Crocs walked by me, spotted my smile and tipped his hat off to me. ‘My, what a nice man’, I thought to myself.

I strolled past a couple holding hands and walked by a street musician  who said to me,’That’s a mighty nice tattoo,’ before rolling up his own shirt sleeve and showing me his own skin art. ‘That’s a really nice tattoo of Soekarno’s face,’ I thought to myself.
I stopped by Gallery Buku Bengkel Deklamasi to kill time.
A pre-teenage boy was strumming on a guitar behind me. He started to play the chords to Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ and then swiftly intermixed the tune so that it formed into an Iwan Fals song. ‘How clever! That guy deserves to be in a recording booth!’ I thought to myself with a smile.
I lingered at where I was standing, pretending to be looking through book stacks, but actually listening to the opus brewing behind me.
While this was culminating, I spotted Umberto Eco’s ‘Semiotics’ and my smile broadened. ‘So many inspiring symbols surrounding me today!’ I thought to myself.
My eyes sweeped the bookshelves when they rested on a green book titled ‘Anak Rantau’ by Lilimunir C. The name sounded familiar. ‘Hmm, I do believe that’s my friend Cipta’s mother’s book, how nice that the world is so small,’ I thought to myself.

Then I heard the crowd growing rowdy outside and I realized the show was about to start. I rushed out and rushed in. The auditorium was cold and smelled of history. ‘Imagine all the past shows that have inspired people here since this theatre was built,’ I thought to myself.
I sat and held my breath as the lights dimmed and the pitter patter of naked feet littered the stage. Then my breath could be held no more because the dancers took it away from me with every flowing step and every fluid motion.

The girl with the red balloon

There is always hope. The girl with the red balloon knows.

A single red balloon was the star of the show.

‘I can’t think yet I think this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,’ I thought to myself. That little red balloon.
The curtains closed and the crowd cheered and I was engulfed in a standing ovation. My mind went blank and my thoughts were flooded by a tidal wave of applause. ‘I can’t think yet I think this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,’ I thought to myself.
I stumbled out and greeted the humid air, my mind still lost in a jungle of awe. Above the ondulating sea of people, I saw the red balloon, the star of the show, attached to a hooded figure, a sheep in wolf’s clothing, moving fast, moving forward. ‘Hey, that’s Cipta. He has the red balloon. How nice that the world is so small and filled with coincidences,’ I thought to myself.
I walked out into the street, hailed a cab and went home. ‘How nice that my brain did not say a single word the whole day, and neither did my lips, and my heart took over the podium and the Universe played out a simple sort of serendipity with everything around me,’ I thought to myself.
Then my brain kicked my heart down and shouted, ‘Why? What? How? Analysis!’
And then my cab crashed into a moving train and dragged me to a place where my brain could not speak any more.

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3 Responses to “Little things or a personal interpretation of daily semiotics based on impulsive fleets of the heart”

  1. Lovelli Says:

    It’s really nice to read your piece again. I believe you spoke on behalf of many when you wrote about thinking how the Universe was playing out a simple sort of serendipity with everything around you. Sometimes I feel that I’m living life as fiction and the characters become a part of me and me a part of them. And then it’s all blurry because there are so many signs it’s quite impossible to look at what’s happening anymore.

  2. Ana Says:

    That’s called solipsism, honey.

  3. Lovelli Says:

    Ah, I thought it was a short story Ana.

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