Fourth Saturday night in
Honolulu. A hundred plus Indie Rock songs blaring out from the laptop.
After dinner, I continue my weekly ironing with the new Black and
Decker. Previously I used shared iron belongs to the dorm which melted
it's own plastic.After that, the black leather shoes I brought from
Indonesia had their first ever Hawai'ian pampering with some water and
Kiwi polish. Some military-looking guy in Youtube showed me how to do it
many, many years ago.
All is well in Honolulu. In this capital of leisure and vacation, once more I become a wayfarer; a student-wayfarer. Courses may be more advanced than what I was prepared for, but everyone is so helpful to this kid.
Did I mention that I live in THE vacation place? Well, I haven't even venture farther than the campus and Walmart, but I did scratch my lovely blue pen in Fodor's tourist guidebook "O'ahu and Honolulu". I dive with the green turtles, ride the monster surf on North Shore, sip the Aloha spirit from every Hawai'ians, all in my dreams after passing out from that book. Dreams are free, they said. Vacations? Not so much.
Yeah. I'm a student AND a wayfarer. Twice the poorer. Which was elegantly noticed by a young lady staffing a perfume booth at Ala Moana Center, the biggest (and maybe the only) open air mall in the whole country.
"Hi, Sir, where are you from?" she shot her first round. I don't need any perfume, and I know she's not gonna even offer me her collection once she knows what I do here. So I just smiled, nodded and waved. And kept walking.
"Hi, where are you from?
Persistent. A real saleswoman, then. "I'm from Indonesia.""Woooww!" The way she said that triggered some burst in my head.
"Do you even know where Indonesia is?" The burst in my head didn't reach my tongue. Thank God.
"How long have you been here? Are you on vacation?" She has some kind of European accent. Central European, maybe.
"No, I'm a student here." Aha! There's the off switch to any salesperson.
"How do find your study, then?" They taught her well. Before I knew, I explained more than what I expected. Thankfully she cued her goodbye.
"Well, good luck in your study,"
"Good luck to you too. Bye," I pulled away form her booth.
I felt a strange thing leaving that booth, 'though. Somehow I wanted to be offered one of those perfumes. I mean, that's what always happen in Indonesia when I have the heart to stop at a random "Hello" in the malls; I always ended up offered something: perfumes, health insurances, credit cards, motorbike installment plans, you name it.
Not this saleswoman. It seemed that she just wanted to have an honest little chat with me. On the other hand, the skeptic side of me was assured that she actually wanted to offer me something but turned off by the fact that I'm a student from some country she has never heard of.
I left Ala Moana choosing to believe that she was initially interested with the batik shirt I wore. The batik shirt was indeed a special one; it belonged to my late grandfather. My prayers for you there, Grandpa. Your grandson ventures again.
All is well in Honolulu. In this capital of leisure and vacation, once more I become a wayfarer; a student-wayfarer. Courses may be more advanced than what I was prepared for, but everyone is so helpful to this kid.
Did I mention that I live in THE vacation place? Well, I haven't even venture farther than the campus and Walmart, but I did scratch my lovely blue pen in Fodor's tourist guidebook "O'ahu and Honolulu". I dive with the green turtles, ride the monster surf on North Shore, sip the Aloha spirit from every Hawai'ians, all in my dreams after passing out from that book. Dreams are free, they said. Vacations? Not so much.
Yeah. I'm a student AND a wayfarer. Twice the poorer. Which was elegantly noticed by a young lady staffing a perfume booth at Ala Moana Center, the biggest (and maybe the only) open air mall in the whole country.
"Hi, Sir, where are you from?" she shot her first round. I don't need any perfume, and I know she's not gonna even offer me her collection once she knows what I do here. So I just smiled, nodded and waved. And kept walking.
"Hi, where are you from?
Persistent. A real saleswoman, then. "I'm from Indonesia.""Woooww!" The way she said that triggered some burst in my head.
"Do you even know where Indonesia is?" The burst in my head didn't reach my tongue. Thank God.
"How long have you been here? Are you on vacation?" She has some kind of European accent. Central European, maybe.
"No, I'm a student here." Aha! There's the off switch to any salesperson.
"How do find your study, then?" They taught her well. Before I knew, I explained more than what I expected. Thankfully she cued her goodbye.
"Well, good luck in your study,"
"Good luck to you too. Bye," I pulled away form her booth.
I felt a strange thing leaving that booth, 'though. Somehow I wanted to be offered one of those perfumes. I mean, that's what always happen in Indonesia when I have the heart to stop at a random "Hello" in the malls; I always ended up offered something: perfumes, health insurances, credit cards, motorbike installment plans, you name it.
Not this saleswoman. It seemed that she just wanted to have an honest little chat with me. On the other hand, the skeptic side of me was assured that she actually wanted to offer me something but turned off by the fact that I'm a student from some country she has never heard of.
I left Ala Moana choosing to believe that she was initially interested with the batik shirt I wore. The batik shirt was indeed a special one; it belonged to my late grandfather. My prayers for you there, Grandpa. Your grandson ventures again.
