Lately, I’ve been treating this space like a whirlpool of nostalgia, a wormhole of memories. I’m not sure why I’m siphoned into this maelstrom of fragmented gloom. All distant and “insignificant”.
Maybe it’s Ramadhan and Syawal.
Not to say that I detest the holy month. Religiously, it’s fulfilling. I’ve done my Puasa Enam today . Breaking fast at one place that I’m comfortable being alone (that served spicy Penang fares) after attending Student Power lecture by Fahmi Reza at KL & Selangor Chinese Assembly Hall. Digressing, the student movement nowadays are lacking in the “Mahasiswa Jurubicara Rakyat” spirit due to one thing. Apathy.
Apathy is what I associated with the holy month.
It happened last year when I’m offshore in Miri. It lasted for 3 months and it felt like 3 years. I’ve been working at almost the same oil field near the petroleum platform last 2 years — and even longer. For 6 months. With the only break in Bintulu and Labuan for ship repair and changing vessel.
It’s that 6 month offshore that foster the breaking up with the penultimate relationship, and that 6 month I form a new one with the previous relationship.
Heaven knows how hard it is to get connected with the terra-firma world when you’re living in the dead space of static telecommunication wave at the distant sea — except for UHF and VHF wave, and the pricier satellite phone like Iridium. I’ve known one Diving Supervisor who owned one, who called her lucky wife every 12 hours break. Being responsible for the 24 hours shift, that’s one luxury that I can’t engineered into the hectic schedule.
In those 24 hours shift, she managed to break through the vacuum of nonexistent communication with one phone call. And it was at Bintulu when the vessel anchored for one day for a quick crane repair. I called that destiny or maybe I’m just lucky.
She called in Ramadhan and it took me another 3-4 months after being offshore to finally meeting her. I’m patient back then.
I’ve known her for 3 years as a friend. 1 year as a fiancée to be.
Then it comes to another 3 months of offshore last year. The dreaded months that felt like years.
She called in Ramadhan and it took me another 2 months to meet her again. But it didn’t happen. She told me the relationship won’t work out. I keep my patience but only just.
I’ve been distant from her for a year now. Until last night, I just can’t keep the pain inside me compartmentalized no more, hidden and unassuming except for the discharging miasma.
I wrote. I wept.
It felt almost cathartic telling her how I kept the one year alive with her memories, how it kept me sane. Despite her replying that the past is where the past belongs and that she’s shaping a new future with someone else. It feel good to keep in touch with her again even if it’s semantically indifference.
It’s an emotional sincerity that had been repressed since last Ramadhan. The memories maybe far, but it’s not distant.
Melancholy is not something that I’m looking forward to, at that months. I can’t help it triggers the sentimental switch.
I hope there’s dead man’s switch for closure.
I’m not being depressive and I’m not in mirthful condition either. Life is life.
I took the freedom purchasing a Kessler Crane time-lapse rig that cost me ten thousand and another ten thousand for a new MacBook Pro.
For the penultimate breakup I spent that same amount of money on full-frame camera body and prime lens with cinematography rig. If you’ve to know, it’s the 5DM2.
That money should be in the nuptial ceremony that didn’t happened.
Look how easy it is for one man to compensate a heartbreak with mere gadget? Not to mention, travelling.
Time lapse photography can be treated as meditation with its long exposure, long hours at the field and of course long hours of post-processing.
There’s a muse — a she-devil — who inspired me with the musical soundscapes with the trailing flare of bioluminescent fireflies.
There’s an eccentric graphic artist who speaks in puzzled that even the she-devil amused with the conundrum — of whom draws me close to the technicality of cinematic.
There’s a little scientist-poet who speaks of love and (korean -_-) songs and a little writer who purrs-cuckoo and writes wonderful prose that inspires a theme or two for the future time-lapsing.
Time-lapse, as space and time frozen in light sensitive sensor with a flick of a timed switch.
Now there’s a switch that I know how to turn on and off.
If there’s a thing called interval-love-meter?
That might be the perfect gadget for closure’s dead man’s switch.
Oh, I’ve to add. Listening to The Helio Sequence – Lately doesn’t really help at all. In retrospect, I listened to it after I finished up this entry.
As for the song. Sweet, tragic irony.
Yeah, I wish.