Alien Landscape

Isma

i pulled off the music in my ears when i saw Isma again from the third storey. that short indie chick, always in t-shirt, jeans and a battered blue cap. of course she was alone. she's always alone. i like watching her. how do i describe her walk? tentative, cautious, almost suspicious but not overtly so.

Isma's a kid i knew back in primary school who sat beside me in Malay classes. those days when we were so lonely we never noticed each other. i remember her because she was quiet and unwillingly sociable. her delicate and intelligent features ensured that she had friends. i still know she was always alone.

i had a horrid habit of purposely stinking myself up during P.E. and promptly sitting next to her without bothering to freshen up. i've always wondered how her face stayed in that confusing state of serenity and vigilance even as i put my elbows on the table and let the sour smell of sweaty armpits sneak into her nostrils.

i saw her the first time since primary school when i turned 17. each year i see her once or twice. strange Isma. so comfortable in her solitude. her anti-social manner so fashionable. i wanted to approach her and tell her i like it too. the silent, comfortable life of walking alone. a world of music and books. but i didn't want to break the spell.

i wonder what she listens to. i wonder if she writes.
one thing is for sure. she'll never know that stinky kid she used to sit beside in primary school watches her as she walks ignorant in that Isma air of unoffensive hostility. her curls and delicate looks roughened by boyish clothes.

see you around, Isma.
maybe you and i will one day have apple juice and read books in the companiable wordless silence only people like us understand.
Posted by NHJ 7/03/2006 08:45:00 pm

Monday, July 03, 2006