Page 12: Sleep Tight, Matin

And we all went to heaven in a little row boat
There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt
- Radiohead, Pyramid Song-

Just like déjà vu. My grandmother's death in the past, and yours. It feels like both of you haven’t really died. Maybe because I never really see your bodies. Whether when you were lying on the casket or when they put you to the grave. Or when you’re dealing with your disease.

Lately I’ve been trying to remember where did i put that cassette with your voice recorded in it. I'm afraid I’ll forget. A little. How’s exactly the sound of your voice. I don’t know. Maybe because I want to try to remember the lessons that come out from your mouth about doing job with sincerity, things that will make us feel great in life. Advices that I’d doubted at that time and make you shocked a little when hearing it. It wasn’t felt like an interview, eh? More like a debate between two friends. In fact, we only met a few minutes that night. On the campus where you used to park that motorcycle with a bike basket on the front.

You're a silly psycho. Hehe. Always do things spontaneously. Suddenly hiking without wearing thick clothes and brought other supplies. Go to the beach instantly. Resign from a company just because they want you to change your appearance. But you did it all because you think it could make you happy. And it’s true. You’re happy for following your passion. Making comics, or becoming art teacher at kindergarten; persuade your students to paint, dance, sing, or learn to love nature. And you keep trying to prove that the seeds of happiness are within us and can grow as time flies.

You worshipped morning and sun rise. Even when you go to bed so late, you've always try to watch it.

In the morning your messages would arrived at my cell phone. Telling me about the beauty of morning that I often passed, because I still fall asleep. I said I liked twilight. And we’d argued, which is more beautiful: the sunrise or sunset. It’s not important, right? Haha.

You said you want to meet a person whom you called a big Norvan: my father. Both of you have the same born day. And both of you have the same favorite musical instruments: harmonica. [I still want to see your thumb-sized harmonica]. Even your opinion about celestial objects was similar with his. You’re look like him. Spontaneous and humorous.

And there were stories that only you and I would know. About morning and dusk. About Radiohead. About poems and hope. Oh dear, If only I know your time was this short, I would have come to your wedding. I would’ve come to your comic launch. And maybe I’d have the chance to meet your kids: Ranu and Vulkan.

Well, but there’s no such thing called Time Machine...

So... rest in peace, buddy ... It's really nice to know you ...  :,)

In memoriam, Norvan Hardian

(06.02.1979 - 19.12.2010)
A Friend, a Teacher, a Father