I was planning to be a farmer, believe me. And focusing on putting strategy about how to live in that world without having to deal with snakes and worms in any kind of contact form. Not even pictures. Then I saw a farmer gets his feet down for planting Paddy Rice on TV and I knew instantly that I picked the wrong dream. But I was 12, I believe that I can be anything, a famous singer even, yeah. Bathroom singer specialist. Sounds good.
Then when I was 13, my parents decided to get divorce. It may be a trendsetter in US then and now many people see it as a daily activities slipped in the corner of every morning newspaper. But I was struggling hard to accept it. I was crashed and drowned deep. I took my self out of my friends, family, pushed my bf away -yes I had a bf at the time, a good one actually-and I believe there was some suicide attempts, maybe-now that I remember it-, were more like attempts to find out if I could feel hurt even more.
Even as a 13 year old I had too many thoughts in my head.
Things were not getting better after those event, one of the most important key-turning-points in my life. Mom was moving here and there a lot, the cat and mice drama, the messenger role that was forced on me-and the messages was all sucks-, custody, sharing my life with both of them-one week living with mom (which could be anywhere else), and another week living with dad. My life was practically packed in my backpack: books, and clean or dirty laundry-depends on whose week at the time, mom’s or dad’s.
It was a total mess. I was longing to scream out loud, but all I can find was my pillow, silently hold my tears at night, when everyone is sleeping. The only loyal friend for me was a 60 cm x 60 cm fabric sheet, I got it from mom’s sewing cabinet, a leftover fabric from one of her sewing order. Almost every night I packed up my things in the fabric, tied it up, and look around for when is the right time to go. And almost every night I changed my mind on what I should bring or what time is the best to go. But I wanted to go. Don’t know where, just go.
I never did. Because I realized I had a younger brother, who I believed sensed a lot at the time, but really just have no idea what was happened. So I decided to put some of his things in my fabric sheet, and wait a little bit longer before I can take him with me. Doesn’t matter where to.
When I was at the end of my 13, my cousins took me to a cinema. I believe we were running away from a big family event. And the first movie I watched was Candy Man.
Candyman is a 1992 American horror film starring Virginia Madsen, Tony Todd and Xander Berkeley. It was directed by Bernard Rose and is based on the short story “The Forbidden” by Clive Barker, though the film’s scenario is switched from England to the Cabrini–Green public housing development on Chicago’s Near North Side. The plot follows a graduate student completing a thesis on urban legends who encounters the legend of “Candyman”, an artist and son of a slave who was murdered and his hand replaced with a hook. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Candyman_%28film%29).
I never watched any horror movies on big screen anymore until now.
But I started to watched more movies, such as Jurrasic Park, Mrs. Doubtfire, Speed, Baby Day’s Out, The Lion King, even True Lies, the one that wasn’t passed the censorship at the time. Wait, where did I watched True Lies? Definitely not in the theatre.
I kept coming back, with or without my cousins. I would be the first person to get inside the theatre. My routine was simple. I get in, put my backpack under my feet, sit down, and wait. Wait until they turned down the light. Until all I can see is that big screen, where I get to see things that I’ve never seen. People who talks in different language and seemed to have a very dramatic life.
I got busy catching up with the Indonesian subtitles, and running my eyes to every corner of the frame, trying to understand, what are they doing. And when I do, I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go home or back, anymore. I just want to stay. In that deep darkness, silently surrender with what the big screen offered.
I sometimes fell asleep too, the trip from our home to the cinema was 2 hours-more or less-. And until now, I believe the best nap I ever had was one of those naps I had inside the theatre.
My busy mind stopped running for a while, well, in approximately 90 minutes-give or take-, that room and everything inside it decided for me on what I will think of. My endless sadness, painful shame, well-constructed blame and lonely feelings transformed into curiosities. And there was no going back, but just move ahead, follow their lead. Follow the Hero and her/his journey. And those big screens, how can you ever able to runaway from it? I rest my head on the comfortable seat, and life happens. What happens outside the theatre was not important anymore, whatever people say or judge or any worries were no longer reside inside my head or big imaginary bubble I setup to protect myself.
For a while, in that (approximately) 2 hours running time, I’m gladly-happily-let my self lost in that world. And never once disappointed, because everything will be okay in the end.
Everything will always be okay in the end. All you need to do is just get through it.
Oh, well. What a hollywood-brat I was.