If We Were in Love
If we were in love, your name would be the first raspy thing I whisper in the morning. And your shin would be the first thing I shove, what with the way you sleep sprawling half of your enormous body on top of mine. You would grunt and growl, still seemingly unaware that you almost crushed my body. I would giggle and get up from the bed to get ready for the day, though not without kissing your nose as a small secret gesture: thank you for existing and I'm grateful for being able to spend another day with you.
If we were in love, you would have dropped me off at the conference venue today. At my persistence and request (anything you want as you said), we'd go to this bubur ayam spot to have our fill for breakfast. Discovering this stall was such a happy coincidence at my previous job, though it had become our favourite spot to get savoury meal to kick off the day. It had become such a habit that the guy at the stall no longer required us to order anything, we'd be served with our respective bowls. I'd have half a portion with loads of sambal and liver-gizzard sate. You'd stack your enormous bowl of bubur ayam with extra shredded chicken, a drizzle of kecap manis, and a dollop of sambal. We would grin to ourselves on our way to work, our bellies warm filled with early morning labour's outcome of shredding chicken and boiling rice.
If we were in love, we'd talk about the most mundane things — the price of eggs, the colour and pattern of that person's shirt that skipped line, what to buy for your dad's birthday, and what kind of food we would get at the park's pop-up market later in the evening after work. Ever the strategist and planner, you'd promptly ask me to open instagram, wanting to get the lay of the land before we even reached our respective offices. There is this matcha stall and mie kari that we've always wanted to try, I'd say, and also we can get some sourdough bread for breakfast tomorrow and also some strawberry tarts that Mami likes. You would hum in agreement and you'd go quiet for awhile before you'd say, I love how our minds have accommodate our marriage by saying the collective 'us' and 'we', I noticed we've no longer said any personal pronoun. I'd smile quietly to myself, feeling good being claimed and thought of.
If we were in love, we'd meet up in the park after work. You'd be there earlier to park our car, after all finding an empty spot in South Jakarta is a hassle. I'd take the MRT there, enjoying bits and moments I could get using public transportation. You'd wait up at the exit gate of MRT station with a smile and a cup of iced thai black tea with precisely only one spoonful of sugar, an indulgence that I no longer would have to ask for. Tough day? you'd ask, looking at my happy face holding the ice cold goodness. I'd shrug and say, not anymore.
If we were in love, we'd stroll around the park after drinking matcha and mie kari. We'd spot a local brand that sells a specific type of backpack that we both would definitely fall in love with. Of course after my insistence, we'd buy matching ones. We'd always discover each other all over again whenever we respectively purchase something. Our contrast would complete and complement the other; you with the most achromatic colour and me with my extra chains, charms, and patterns. The backpacks would be big enough to fill all of our necessities; Jakarta is a beast that needs all arsenals to tame and conquer, we'd require voluminous backpack just to survive. I'd discover later on that you put some emergency cash in a secret compartment inside my bag, always wanting to take care of me even when we were apart.
If we were in love, I wouldn't find the time to write these silly little snippets.