I’m Too Busy For You

Last week I went back home. When I say home, it means where my parents live; since to me home is a vague concept (is home where you’ve spent most of your time in your life? is it where you were born? is it where your parents originally come from? is it where you like to be? or is it where you live and work now? what? because I have different answer for each question).

Anyway, I went back to Surabaya. It only takes 1 hour and 10 minutes flight from Jakarta, but it’s not that easy since I didn’t sleep the night before. Not by choice though. I was forced to do so, because I went home (again, by ‘home’ here I mean where I live now!) at 2.30 in the morning and my flight was at 8.00 AM. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to wake up so I took a shower (2.30 AM!!), got my stuff packed then watched TV until 6.00 AM, the time when taxicab arrived to take me to airport.

I was excited because I was gonna see my old friends there, have had traditional food, shop with mom (she’s the champion, 8 hours straight and didn’t miss a single step!), and basically do nothing more than eat, sleep, and shop. No night out, as I was tired and I needed to gain my strength for this upcoming weekend in Spore (ehm…).

My friend Teresa, who’s originally from Bandung, was in Surabaya, and we planned to meet, as we haven’t seen each other since I left Sydney (4 years ago!).

Best friend A sent a reply right away when I told him I’d be home on Saturday, saying he was in Yogya for the weekend, so sorry couldn’t make it.

Another friend, didn’t reply my text at all. Well, she has a difficulty with gadgets, two babies and a husband, and two full-time jobs as well, so I bet she’s too busy to meet me.

Another friend, who usually was able to catch up with me, replied after I frantically sent the third text. And surprisingly, she’s also verrrryyyy busy, and guess what, she only could make time for me on Sunday night, after 7.30 PM. I was tired after accompanying the champion (a.k.a mom) walking around the shopping malls for 8 hours straight ( with only 1 break for coffee at 4.00 PM), looking for fabrics and clothes for my cousin’s wedding, so eventually I said I couldn’t make it. She asked me when I’d be back to Jakarta, and when she found out my flight was the next day at 6.00 PM, she didn’t make any raincheck.

Which now makes me wonder. How busy are you for your good friend? My own answer is never. I try to be available for my friends, especially those who are in misery and those who travel thousand miles to where I am at the moment. And I guess they would do the same to me. My friend Maggie, despite her super-duper big belly, in a very pregnant state, took a train in a cold September last year from her house to meet me in Convent Garden (well turned out London was very forgiving that day, it was hot so I survived!), at 9.00 AM. Yolanda showed up in my apartment at 10.30 PM, because I cried and begged her to come. I picked her up 8.00 AM one day because of the similar reason. Melly and Jen took all my calls during the day at work when I was in my most difficult moment, listening my soppy moanings about guys, love and life altogether. My cousin, who’s also the best friend I have, took a train from Rotterdam to pick me up at Amsterdam, spent half an hour with me at the coffee shop, then rushed back to his rehearsal; and did the same thing again on my way back.

You are never too busy to people who are important to you. You are never too busy to people whom you love and care.

I‘m blessed I have those people in my life. Those who would lend their ears, hands and hearts whenever I need them, and those who believe that I would do the same right in the second they need me.

And about my friends in Surabaya? Well, I guess priority has changed. Like Prior Walter said in “Angels in America”, we are spinning forward.

Nothing stands still. Not time. Nor them.

I must love them just the way you are.

And it’s no good looking back

Because time’s a thief and I believe that

I’m too old for that

We’re just saying the things that we have said

Forever

(It Doesn’t Really Matter – George Michael)

 

 

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