You Look the Same

Summer's evening is warm while inside the room people are casting curses and spells to High School reunion night where suddenly all of us are seventeen again. You lured in to my company when I am alone by the balcony of town house at the heart of West Java's capital, catching my breath from the fast-paced conversations. I tried to hide the excitement by looking away from your eyes, drinking the remaining Coke in my plastic cup and continue watching the traffic that looks like half-a-year too early Christmas tree. You leaned back on the pillar next to me before you casually lit your cigarette. "You look English." teased you as soon you open a conversation. I chuckled, considering the non-sense as the only English thing about me was this oversize Union Jack jumper I bought from a lousy shop in Camden Town.

I glanced at you and said, "You, look the same." Except you are not. You look anything but the same. Your hair is much shorter and neat, unlike the messy teenage angst look of yours three years ago. The black-framed glasses make you look older. We have been in the same room for the past hour but it still feels odd having you in front of me, since the last time I saw you was the graduation day. I cannot dismiss the overwhelming feeling of the past towering my head like grey clouds that bound to rain. I was doing perfectly fine before I walked in to the room where everyone that I hold dear are there. You, are there. Here, for now, as you moved closer and rested your elbows on the railing less than ten centimeters away, things are starting to shake; I feel the question mark weighing my breath again.

I managed to slip away from the crowds, for the sake of a minute of solitude before I crash and burn to the sea of yearbook memories. Although secretly, I want you to look for me. So I can have you all for myself, without having to pretend as if you have to fulfil a role in order to make them amused. You tend to discreet your deepest, utmost sincere passion and interest when no one else is watching; like that one time, in senior year when you sat next to me during lunch break and started to tell a story about this girl. I sat there, thinking I have not met any seventeen year old that was so certain about the person they want to marry — although you might have said it spontaneously, but boy, I was impressed. I remember I immediately ran to my best friends in the next room and realised, I was talking about you like you were talking about her.

There, the moment I thought high school just started soon clashed to an end. The story about the girl never come up again, not that I was brave enough to listen or ask. But three months later, you broke the news you were moving to Seattle. I never liked Seattle. The city looks bland and the idea of West Coast is just too far away. But you told me Seattle is much better than this concrete jungle of skyscrapers and traffic. You were certain that was the place to be. I couldn't argue. And I could not ask you to stay, too. Cause who am I to say, let's just carrying on being young, skipping classes and driving from dusk till dawn with cigarettes hanging over the half opened window in your car, at least a little longer. With that, I lost the reason to stay. Broken was still far to describe what I felt back then. I swore I never wanted to be the one who stays. Then, the next thing I knew, I was in London and forgot about high school. About you. Until today, when home is calling for a little reunion.

I thought, I would see you differently after so many years. But it almost feels like although life goes on, I have fall in and out of love, met so many people, but the idea of you stopped when I watched you get on that plane. And now, when you stand before me, the memory resume from that very last scene as if life never moved on. Everything in between is just a fragment of dream. You always resemble the sense of adolescence when all I ever wanted to believe was love. You are the young love that I selfishly pour myself into. And I don't think I can change the way I see you. Not even after we are coming back in to the room and out of the yearbook. You will always look the same. You will always be the young love I could never have.