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Jakarta Post

Short story: Something Poetic

  • By Rain Chudori-Soerjoatmodjo

  /   Sun, March 22 2009   /  02:46 pm

  There's something poetic about my grandfather, but I cannot put a definite cause to this sentiment I feel when I see him. Maybe it's his harmlessly toothless grin. Maybe it's his odd way of scratching his head, forgetting that he was once a brilliant scholar. Maybe it's his cackle whenever someone says something that amuses him. Maybe it's his intense ignorance of the goings-on in the house, which my grandmother usually takes care of. Maybe it's the fact that I know that whenever I visit him and my grandmother, he'll be sitting upstairs, in his bedroom, with a tray of fried bananas and cake and coffee, blowing his days off as he listens to the droning television in his room. Maybe it's his overall presence, the smile, the cackle, the scratch, the ignorance, the mundane choice of food, the listening to the television as if it was a radio from days of yore, his ...