The more you try to forget someone, the longer he stays in your mind.
I believed in it. When you put an effort to get someone out of your system, you unconsciously think about them all the time.
I believed in it. When you put an effort to get someone out of your system, you unconsciously think about them all the time.
But it is not 100% true. I am fully aware of everything I went through in my life especially when it comes to him. It’s like a vivid picture of every moments living in the back of my mind; the sound of his husky voice when he said my name for the first time, the date when he lent me his textbook just because I forgot to bring mine, the color of the sky when we talked for hours waiting for his friend, the scar in his ear, the look on his face when he got annoyed of me and my friend’s fussy babble, the seat of his which is one row away from mine at the computer lab, our group’s thriller story I wrote in drama class which is cancelled in the end of semester (I still remember his compliment about the script, by the way).
I thought I failed to forget it all because I always think of him. But I found out that there is one moment in my life I barely knew existed until yesterday, when I looked at that book. I was strolling solo at my favorite bookstore. The time when I set my eyes on that book, my mind throw me back into a drawer in hospital room where I put the book in it. I take it in my hand and traced my finger on the paper. I knew I never had this book. As I read the synopsis, a hundred of images rushing into my mind; he read the book under the table in the middle of class and I watched him, he read the book when he stand in line at the cafeteria and I watched him, he read the book when he walk to the toilet and he ended up bumping into me when he return to class. I almost think it was only my imagination. But then again I remember his excitement when he told me about what he read.
“You know what, you should read this. Actually I insist you to read this,” he said to me and I freeze, unable to get any word out of my mouth. He wasn’t the kind of guy who reads, I knew it. And seeing him with his big eyes telling me how great the story is made me want to say yes in everything he said that time.
“Yeah, I will definitely read it as soon as I buy the book which is gonna be next month because I’ve already bought some novels last week,” I gave him a sad smile.
“You can borrow mine if you want,” he gave me the book and the very stunning smile of his.
The next image in my memory took place in the hospital room where I have been hospitalized for a week. I lied in bed reading the book he lent me. But it stopped there, I didn’t remember the next. Whether I return the book to him at school after I read it or actually never finished it, I don’t know. I didn’t recall the story of the book, not even after I read the synopsis. I was stunned for a minute because I never remember this was happening before. It was something which is completely wiped out of my mind. And I sit there, in the middle of a bookstore, holding that book with tears leaking from my eyes. I don’t know which one is more agonizing, trying to forget him but never does or being struck by a random memory about him I never knew existed because I tried so hard to forget it and somehow it works. Maybe someday you will try real hard until you don’t realize that it happens for real.
That book is a novel written by Andrea Hirata, the one with the orange cover. For three seconds I was thinking to buy it and re-read it, but I put that book back on the shelf realizing that I will forget it again anyway—or probably not, maybe this time it lingers in my mind way longer because I let it to.
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