The Love of the Poet
Episode 13's
Thirteenth Part
The Love of the Poet
What I was worried about finally became a reality. It's supposed to be for another girl, this
a happy event. A handsome businessman, wealthy, has
everything, including a few companies and thousands of employees, was sudden
falling in love with a simple girl, prone to tomboy, poor, just got
a myriad of dreams and quite intelligent brain, the rest are often hungry, this is like a Cinderella
very unlikely to be believed. Neither do I.
“I love you, Naina. Since the first time I saw you,” Mr. Beib said as he walked me into the hospital. He held my hand. Sometimes he tidied up the hair that covered my forehead. Although Ace has
giving me a grid or a picture of Mr. Beib's behavior, I'm still not sure
that's gonna say.
I was actually embarrassed and wanted to pull my hand, but the firm grip was getting stronger. “Pak Beib, did I hear wrong? Father loves me? Duh, don't do that, sir.
No,” I said.
“Why? I don't want to listen to any excuses from you. You know, everything I do is because I love you. Yes, all for my loved ones.”
“Why, Sir? I think it's too soon. I don't dare accept Father's love,” I pull with my strong hand. My memory of the Star and its poems went back inside
my mind. No, I can't accept this love. Stars are more meaningful
for me, who knows he's from the same class as me, and usually is,
a broadcaster has a simple bohemian life, being out of
hedonicism and materialism. I feel like I fit in with a poet
that's. We're equal.
“I know what you think Naina. You must be thinking about our status, right? Look beautiful, all I have is God's care. I happen to be born by my parents
who are and entrepreneurs. But love is everyone's right. I have
the right to love you. I think you are too. I can see that
via..”
“Through what?” cut me quick.
Mr. Beib fixed his seat. He straightened his back, then crossed his right leg. How to sit is very elegant, typical of men who have learned about ethics in body language. This man then pulled his grey suit close to black. He then took
Handphone and write something there, I don't know what he wrote. By reason of
I'm still waiting for the answer to my question. A few minutes later, the messenger
the Fbku reads. Yes, even if it hurts, the phone is always by my side. I'm so
worry if that doesn't exist. News about my sister in WA my mom,
this is the most important news I have always waited for. I read the messenger, this time no poetry
sent, but a few lines of words that really make me feel
crossing the direction is not necessarily. In the middle of the quiet atmosphere of the hospital room where I
stay over, and the pain is starting to diminish, I put the phone there
in my hand right on the left side where I lay.
“Is it wrong if I love you Naina? Was wrong? I was like a lonely shadow, looking for the figure of someone who was always in my dreams, but all empty, all just illusion, nothing
trust was there, all full of doubt, all just epic stories
with a full question ending... Stars...”
I think I want to get up from the place
i lay. Really this? The stitches in my stomach still hurt when I
vibrates.
Mr. Beib, don't answer my questions. He just looked at me sharply. Then, the flashback of the story he spoke flowed like a monologue with a single player figure who acted without a body
cela, her acting is stunning.
“I've been following in your footsteps on Facebook and Instagram for a long time. Maybe two more years. When you confirmed the friendship I asked for, I was happy. I read in your statuses you are often present
in literary meetings, such as poetry readings, short stories are also used.
You're always at HB Literature Center. Jassin, Taman Ismail Marzuki, watching
drama and poetry reading. I love your short reports, though,
also the article you wrote in the tabloids where you work. You told me about
your whereabouts, as well as your journalist friends. You're very independent and I keep going
become your follower until this moment. And then I fell in love with you, with every story and every activity. I
often come to your office, of course with the appearance of my artist, not a businessman
like these. There I often met your best friend the photographer Ace
Kusnandar. We often have long conversations, especially about you.
I asked Ace to keep everything a secret. I want our introduction to happen
a natural. But when you were sick and had to have surgery, I felt like half my soul
go awayl. Naina, that's the story of why I fell in love with you. I am truly sincere
loving you, I don't want you to think that's not-not about me.”
I mute for a moment. “You like literature and poetry, why are you hiding it?” many finally.
“Because my parents didn't agree if I jumped into that world. According to my father, none of his descendants became literati, especially poets. My father, a Taiwanese conglomerate and
my mom is a mix of European and Chinese, they are all active in business. There are no brothers
those who became poets. So when they found out I used to make poems, then,
Dad was so angry. It's the work of people who waste their time for free,
said. I obey their requests. I follow what they want, including
he studied business in the United States at Santa Monica College. I was
in two worlds, one side I want to be a poet, the other side I have to be a businessman,
inherited all my father's assets and managed thousands of employees. I'm tired of Naina, just
it is in the poems I send to you that can make my mind serene
and happy. I know you still doubt my feelings.” Mr. Beib aka
The Morning Star did not take her eyes off my face.
Now everything is revealed already. The time span that occurs is like a foam ombah that breaks when hit the beach. My thoughts were like the sound of singing creeping slowly into my ears.
The cold temperature of the hospital room, affecting my breathing. Reveal me
sneezing. I think it's the asthma I've had since my childhood
I'm sure it's gone and healed, now it's showing up again. I feel my chest a little
congested. In addition to stitches in the abdomen that sometimes feel painful, breathing also begins
I felt stifling, I couldn't wipe my tears either. My trust in
Mr. Beib or Bintang, or.ah I'm confused what to call him, makes me.
like walking in a long, dimly lit labyrinth. “Star, my chest hurts, it looks like
ashmaku. Please call a doctor.” Finally, I mentioned a name
Star, I feel familiar with that name. The star... (Connected)
