The Love of the Poet
Episode 5's
The Fifth Section
The Love of the Poet
Editorial meetings start every Monday. The front cover that sells from our tabloids, plans the face of Hamid Utomo, the Beib, the young entrepreneur who managed to bring his company to the top ten
national. I wrote the story in detail and based on facts. As is
already kneeled, the living room air temperature in his super cold apartment,
makes me shiver with cold. Beib seemed to see that without me noticing, jacket
his mother's warm hair, he put it on my shoulder. The jacket forgot
i refund. Now it's lying mute on the back of the seat where
my seat.
Ace saw the hairy warm jacket. He said, “It looks like this expensive jacket Cik,
let me see the brand, wah Channel. Definitely millions,” said self-taught photographer
this cheerful one.
I nodded quickly, today selian talked about tabloid rubrication for Sunday
ahead, of course talk tabloids
those kids too. While I still don't have any ideas for
stated later.
Door opens. And along with that, a notification sound from my Fb screen
audibly. I delayed the move to get in. I opened the screen Fb, there were three stanzas
poetry on the wall. This Morning Star has no job
apparently, nine o'clock this morning has sent me a poem, let alone her
true unemployment, his work is fantasy, I murmured.
When I was about to put my ass in the meeting chair, I saw all eyes looking up
my direction. Ace who went in first lowered his face, he hid
her smile. My boss Mas Heri looked at me sharply. For a moment I was confused by the attitude
them. Before long I realized, right next to my right was Beib
playing pen. In his left hand he holds an expensive mobile phone with
apple's images. Respect me to stand up. “Oh, Mr. Hamid, sorry I was not aware there
Father in this room,” I said while bowing my body. Duh, because of poetry
the odd Morning Star, I didn't even realize there were guests today
special people present in the meeting room. I lowered my face for a few seconds, trying
hiding the reddened hue on my face.
“OK, meeting we start. Today in addition to the rubrication plan for the front number, we
we're going to talk about the children's tabloids that we discussed last week. Today we are
the arrival of the financier, Mr. Hamid Utomo. Welcome Mr. Hamid, happy
You want to be present in this simple meeting room,” said Mas Heri with a smile
rubbed on his face.
“Good morning colleagues, greetings, I am Hamid Utomo, but
my friends and employees, I ask you to call Beib. Ma'am Naina and
Kang Ace also I asked to call with that name.” he said standing up.
His fairly tall body may be about 185 cm, a handsome face of fusion
Chinese and Caucasian complete with blue to gray eyes, clean yellow skin
and the hairdo shaved neatly until the neck of his clean tie was well maintained
it was clear, and also its delicate yellowish lentic fingers, made me and
friends for a moment do not turn their eyes in the other direction. This guy
he really looks perfectly handsome, like a man from Greek mythology
who has incredible appeal, how perfect her man is, and
perfect is the girl who has become her lover, my inner being.
“Alright, we invite Mas Beib to deliver
purpose and purpose of attending this meeting. Last week we offended
a glimpse of the children's tabloid that Mas proposed it.”
engulfing myself. For some reason, my spirit as a journalist this time is rather
fizzle. Maybe because there was a compulsion that blunted my reasoning about
the children's tabloids. My young soul is rebelling, I am full of
the spirit as a writer of diverse issues with the consumption of readers young people
and mature. In my writing style I assembled based on a blend of languages
the literature and style of today's youth, I feel like I found myself.
But now, if I were to become the editor-in-chief of a tabloid
kids, it's just shackling my freedom of experimentation inside
word stringing. It's not fair the name. Beib whom I initially admired as a figure
the young man who successfully led the company, now no more than a tycoon with
the ego will force its will arbitrarily. He turned into
a young capitalist who does not know about the feelings of a journalist such as
i'm. This is not a democratic name. During the meeting that took place
full of that joy, I suddenly became very quiet. I feel uprooted
from the world of journalism that has always made me see life
with cheerful colors. I'm sad, really!
“So it has been confirmed who became the Editor-in-Chief of
the children's tabloid is Naina Jaqueline Haning. You agree, don't you, Naina?” Mas Heri
back to repeating the question. All the friends including Beib threw
his eyes towards me. I know they saw my murky face. They seem
demanding that I shake my head. There is a big boss here.
“Alright, I represent Naina, she is happy for the post
this is Mas Beib. Next week we will finalize this plan. We
meeting again with the whole management of this company.” Heri said with
firm voice.
Beib or Hamid Utomo immediately took leave of us all. My face still looks cheerful. I
feeling that Beib also knew about my mood. I am grateful to save
no. Handphoneya, in my heart I plan to call her tonight.
But.that intention I paled. Mas Heri's words made me rethink
take action, and this ultimately changes the whole desire and
the rebellion I was about to make.
“Think carefully Naina, I know you don't like
with this department. If you refuse it, it'll spread to all fronts. Funds
the ones he was about to launch were huge, and all of them would be extremely beneficial
for all of us. You know, with the rise of online magazines and newspapers
today, where urban people live direct their fingers to
looking for the news they want, the situation of mainstream tabloids like
we, will gradually go out of business. Our media will become media
online, and there will be a massive Termination of Employment. You want everything
that happen? Our friends will be put away, their wives and children no longer
receiving salaries, their children's schools will be neglected. And you, and us
all can be unemployed, looking for a job with capital from scratch again.
Come on, be beautiful, get rid of your ego. Accept the offer!”
I took a deep breath, then I nodded my head. “Yes,
I am willing,” my words. That day, after finishing several articles, including
star prophecy, I reopen wall Fbku. In the messenger I saw three verses of poetry
sent, I read it with longing enthusiasm. Looks like my feelings
it has been carried away by the allure of the Morning Star. (Connected)
