Think of it this way. If I want to cook boiled egg only for my consumption, I would be required to fill the pot with a particular amount of water, put the one egg into it, and boil it for about 8 minutes (I do prefer hard-boiled eggs). If I have more people wanting hard-boiled egg, say, three more, I would be required to fill the pot with water of the same amount as I have to when I cook for myself, put the four raw eggs in, and boil for the same 8 minutes. In other words, the effort, the ingredients, and the time is the same, but you get more boiled eggs.
Sure, it could be different in other cases, like the comparison when you make pancakes for yourself vs for the whole family. You need more eggs, flour, etc, and time, but in the end, you'll be left with equally dirty dishes than when you make pancakes for yourself. At least you feed more stomach, and you don't feel really alone.
But I digress. This kind of thinking is what keeps me from actually doing things. I still lay on my bed, tossing and turning, scrolling my phone on some social media application where you can see people posting their wonderful life moments and makes your grass paler in comparison.
My stomach finally rumbles. I finally decide to order some takeouts instead of cooking for one. And bless this century, I can order stuffs only by tapping on my touch-screen phone, without having to talk to anyone and mess my order up. As I'm torn deciding the menu I should order for dinner, I think about how amazing it is that nobody literally mentions the word "touch-screen phone" as every phone right now is touch-screen...
---
As an introvert, choosing this place to stay seems to be against my nature. Privacy is minimum to none, the landlady just doesn't want to miss anything from anyone renting from her, and I can hear almost anything from the kitchen just literally three steps away from my room. Anyone living here can know about my story, of where I am from and what metal music I like to blast in my room. That's a minus for secretive person like me. At the very least, though, it's two-way, so I know a few things about everyone living here.
For example, the girl that lives upstairs by the staircase has a particular taste in classical music, and majors in industrial engineering management. She's from Jakarta and her family owns a heavy industrial machinery business back home. The girl living next to her room is an active member of student exchange community who likes to drink infused lemon water regularly every morning. Her family is way far in northern Sumatra, so only her father visits her once in a while.
That's why when I sit in the dining room, eating cheese chicken rice box and drinking coconut soda from plastic cup, the landlady just appears from the TV room and asks me what I'm eating and how much it all costs. Without forgetting to comment how costly the whole meal is, she treads away to continue whatever it is she's doing. Just a normal Saturday night.
I like the fact that I never feel truly alone when I'm living here. I'm not exactly an outgoing person by nature, but there's a secure feeling when you know that you're surrounded by real, actual people and it does seem like time is flowing naturally around you. Even when I'm just lying around in my room, not meeting a single soul outside.
I still can hear the landlady conversing with the maid, when she tells her not to put fragrant in residents' clothes because it costs her too much. I still can hear the footsteps going up, shaking the rickety wooden staircase and its loud steel beams. I can also hear the flush of the toilet, or the splashing of cooking oil when someone is frying in the kitchen.
But it's nighttime now, which means less lively sounds outside my room. Other than the occasional cricket sounds, music blasting from residents' rooms indicates the existence of life. I decide to do the same. I finish my cheese chicken rice and throw the empty box in the trash bin. I enter my room, also bringing the unfinished soda inside and open my laptop, trying to find the perfect song to play on this night.
---
I actually like cooking, but as I said, I thought cooking for one is a bad investment. Perhaps it's an excuse and I'm just terribly lazy, but the fact stands that I barely cook during my university days. My preference to eating out or takeaways might seem like excessive spending to you, but believe me, compared to buying cooking equipment and food ingredients that would go to waste because I'm too lazy to cook on most days, it's better this way. Besides, I'm saving up on other living costs, and takeaway foods are too tasty and practical to be given up.
My finger's quiet tap on the keyboard is almost rhythmic to Radiohead's Subterranean Homesick Alien playing from my laptop. I put on my earphones so the music doesn't clash against other residents' loud music that could still be heard even from my room. I'm amazed how they could enjoy music in such way. I continue typing my project report's introductory page, occasionally taking time sipping the remaining of the coconut soda, with Subterranean Homesick Alien almost over.
I could tell writing report is a lame way to spend Saturday night, especially after I hear footsteps and giggles and girls talking outside my room just before midnight. They just get home, and guessing from their conversation they just had a really good time. Almost makes me wish I have a friend to spend Saturday night with. Oh well, I'm almost finished with the report introduction anyway. I hope I can wrap this up and get at least a few hours of sleep.
---
I wake up at 5 in the morning.
Apparently, the landlady also gets up in the same hour, also comes the maid, so the kitchen is occupied with all sorts of heavy cooking. The landlady boils water for hot water thermos to be used during the day, and the maid does all kind of chores, so she gets busy walking back and forth around the house, cooking and cleaning stuff.
I leave at 7.30 am, when the coast is clear of people, because as usual, I don't feel like talking to anyone. It's kind of a bummer, really. I want to leave just before the sun rises, when it's still cold outside so I can wear my thick Sharks hoodie and there's less people on the street. I don't expect the landlady to wake up and do stuff so early in the morning. Old people, old habit, I guess.
I like to travel light, but when you have to fit your whole life in a 23-liter Eiger backpack and a hand-me-down canvas totebag, morning commutes aren't very pleasant. Luckily, bless the technology and information advance, now we can order online ojek or motorcycle rides, so traveling anywhere is really easy in this city. This morning, though, my destination isn't really far, so I decide to walk.
One of my morning routine is stopping by a McDonald's by the main intersection. They have a McCafe outlet as well, but their fancy coffee choices are too sweet for my taste, so I prefer to just order a black coffee from the main McD menu because it's cheaper. This time, I order a big breakfast and choose black coffee as the menu set drink. After the cashier confirms to me what I just order is a black coffee, which is black, and not some sweet fancy-cappuccino coffee, and I won't come back to protest after I take a sip, and I tell him that's precisely what I want, I pay for the meal. I don't mess around with my breakfast.
I pick a seat, put the tray on the table and set all my baggage down. One of the reason I like to go out for breakfast here is mainly less people. McD gets super crowded on lunch or dinner time, but not in the morning. I open the syrup package and pour the content on the pancakes. Besides the pancakes, sit a piece of hash brown and scrambled eggs sandwiched between two English muffins. I should take a picture and post it on Instagram.
Wait, I just realize that I don't have my phone with me. Darn, I must have left it at the kosan, by the charger. If only I leave a less valuable item, I could just let it go, but it's my damn phone. You know how important a mobile phone is, especially at this day and age. Bringing all my stuff would be a hassle if I want to go quick, so I decide to gamble and entrust my bags to a McD employee, and promise him I would come back and retrieve it as soon as possible.
As I scurry to the kosan, my heart beats and my thoughts race. All kind of worry envelops me. I hope nobody finds it before I get it. I hope I don't get caught. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How can I forget something so important?
I finally arrive, but now panic is all that I am. My poker face is gone, my words are bound to stutter. I take a few deep breaths, and open the back door. Unlocked. I can get in. I hope nobody notices. See, the thing about secretly living under someone's roof without them knowing is, you cannot forget something of massive importance, like mobile phone, wallet, or IDs, stuffs that you need to get by and contain fatal information of you. On the case of left IDs, the resident who finds it might think it's just an ID left by the previous resident, but phone? No way man, people just don't leave their phone around, especially if it's a fantastic three-years-old Google Nexus 5 with Quadcore Snapdragon processor.
I don't see any sights of the landlady, but the maid is in the kitchen boiling something that smells spicy. I squint a bit and try keeping a low profile as I walk into the empty room I slept in last night. The door is still unlocked, and the lights still off. The power socket is located on the wall behind the bed, just under the bed head, and to reach it I have to duck under the bed and reach out. That's where I charged my phone last night. I unplug the charger from the socket and my phone, and roll the cables neatly. I tuck both the charger and the phone each into separate pocket of my trousers, and head out, still trying to keep low profile.
The maid glances at me. As far as the landlady knows, I sleep over a friend's room in this house every Saturday, but she never actually sees me going in or out of which room. The maid, however, now sees me getting out of a room that's supposedly has no resident whatsoever. I don't know if the maid knows the whole residence situation here or she's just here doing her job oblivious to other things.
I walk towards the back door. I don't know if it's the panic effect or it's real, but I can feel her eyes still following me, curious or suspicious I have no idea. All I know is I have to find another house for me to stay in on Saturdays, and far from here, because my routine has been ruined by the small act of leaving my phone.
I leave the house, heading back to the McD where I left my bags, and wondering if I can last until the end of university year living like this.
For example, the girl that lives upstairs by the staircase has a particular taste in classical music, and majors in industrial engineering management. She's from Jakarta and her family owns a heavy industrial machinery business back home. The girl living next to her room is an active member of student exchange community who likes to drink infused lemon water regularly every morning. Her family is way far in northern Sumatra, so only her father visits her once in a while.
That's why when I sit in the dining room, eating cheese chicken rice box and drinking coconut soda from plastic cup, the landlady just appears from the TV room and asks me what I'm eating and how much it all costs. Without forgetting to comment how costly the whole meal is, she treads away to continue whatever it is she's doing. Just a normal Saturday night.
I like the fact that I never feel truly alone when I'm living here. I'm not exactly an outgoing person by nature, but there's a secure feeling when you know that you're surrounded by real, actual people and it does seem like time is flowing naturally around you. Even when I'm just lying around in my room, not meeting a single soul outside.
I still can hear the landlady conversing with the maid, when she tells her not to put fragrant in residents' clothes because it costs her too much. I still can hear the footsteps going up, shaking the rickety wooden staircase and its loud steel beams. I can also hear the flush of the toilet, or the splashing of cooking oil when someone is frying in the kitchen.
But it's nighttime now, which means less lively sounds outside my room. Other than the occasional cricket sounds, music blasting from residents' rooms indicates the existence of life. I decide to do the same. I finish my cheese chicken rice and throw the empty box in the trash bin. I enter my room, also bringing the unfinished soda inside and open my laptop, trying to find the perfect song to play on this night.
---
I actually like cooking, but as I said, I thought cooking for one is a bad investment. Perhaps it's an excuse and I'm just terribly lazy, but the fact stands that I barely cook during my university days. My preference to eating out or takeaways might seem like excessive spending to you, but believe me, compared to buying cooking equipment and food ingredients that would go to waste because I'm too lazy to cook on most days, it's better this way. Besides, I'm saving up on other living costs, and takeaway foods are too tasty and practical to be given up.
My finger's quiet tap on the keyboard is almost rhythmic to Radiohead's Subterranean Homesick Alien playing from my laptop. I put on my earphones so the music doesn't clash against other residents' loud music that could still be heard even from my room. I'm amazed how they could enjoy music in such way. I continue typing my project report's introductory page, occasionally taking time sipping the remaining of the coconut soda, with Subterranean Homesick Alien almost over.
I could tell writing report is a lame way to spend Saturday night, especially after I hear footsteps and giggles and girls talking outside my room just before midnight. They just get home, and guessing from their conversation they just had a really good time. Almost makes me wish I have a friend to spend Saturday night with. Oh well, I'm almost finished with the report introduction anyway. I hope I can wrap this up and get at least a few hours of sleep.
---
I wake up at 5 in the morning.
Apparently, the landlady also gets up in the same hour, also comes the maid, so the kitchen is occupied with all sorts of heavy cooking. The landlady boils water for hot water thermos to be used during the day, and the maid does all kind of chores, so she gets busy walking back and forth around the house, cooking and cleaning stuff.
I leave at 7.30 am, when the coast is clear of people, because as usual, I don't feel like talking to anyone. It's kind of a bummer, really. I want to leave just before the sun rises, when it's still cold outside so I can wear my thick Sharks hoodie and there's less people on the street. I don't expect the landlady to wake up and do stuff so early in the morning. Old people, old habit, I guess.
I like to travel light, but when you have to fit your whole life in a 23-liter Eiger backpack and a hand-me-down canvas totebag, morning commutes aren't very pleasant. Luckily, bless the technology and information advance, now we can order online ojek or motorcycle rides, so traveling anywhere is really easy in this city. This morning, though, my destination isn't really far, so I decide to walk.
One of my morning routine is stopping by a McDonald's by the main intersection. They have a McCafe outlet as well, but their fancy coffee choices are too sweet for my taste, so I prefer to just order a black coffee from the main McD menu because it's cheaper. This time, I order a big breakfast and choose black coffee as the menu set drink. After the cashier confirms to me what I just order is a black coffee, which is black, and not some sweet fancy-cappuccino coffee, and I won't come back to protest after I take a sip, and I tell him that's precisely what I want, I pay for the meal. I don't mess around with my breakfast.
I pick a seat, put the tray on the table and set all my baggage down. One of the reason I like to go out for breakfast here is mainly less people. McD gets super crowded on lunch or dinner time, but not in the morning. I open the syrup package and pour the content on the pancakes. Besides the pancakes, sit a piece of hash brown and scrambled eggs sandwiched between two English muffins. I should take a picture and post it on Instagram.
Wait, I just realize that I don't have my phone with me. Darn, I must have left it at the kosan, by the charger. If only I leave a less valuable item, I could just let it go, but it's my damn phone. You know how important a mobile phone is, especially at this day and age. Bringing all my stuff would be a hassle if I want to go quick, so I decide to gamble and entrust my bags to a McD employee, and promise him I would come back and retrieve it as soon as possible.
As I scurry to the kosan, my heart beats and my thoughts race. All kind of worry envelops me. I hope nobody finds it before I get it. I hope I don't get caught. Stupid, stupid, stupid. How can I forget something so important?
I finally arrive, but now panic is all that I am. My poker face is gone, my words are bound to stutter. I take a few deep breaths, and open the back door. Unlocked. I can get in. I hope nobody notices. See, the thing about secretly living under someone's roof without them knowing is, you cannot forget something of massive importance, like mobile phone, wallet, or IDs, stuffs that you need to get by and contain fatal information of you. On the case of left IDs, the resident who finds it might think it's just an ID left by the previous resident, but phone? No way man, people just don't leave their phone around, especially if it's a fantastic three-years-old Google Nexus 5 with Quadcore Snapdragon processor.
I don't see any sights of the landlady, but the maid is in the kitchen boiling something that smells spicy. I squint a bit and try keeping a low profile as I walk into the empty room I slept in last night. The door is still unlocked, and the lights still off. The power socket is located on the wall behind the bed, just under the bed head, and to reach it I have to duck under the bed and reach out. That's where I charged my phone last night. I unplug the charger from the socket and my phone, and roll the cables neatly. I tuck both the charger and the phone each into separate pocket of my trousers, and head out, still trying to keep low profile.
The maid glances at me. As far as the landlady knows, I sleep over a friend's room in this house every Saturday, but she never actually sees me going in or out of which room. The maid, however, now sees me getting out of a room that's supposedly has no resident whatsoever. I don't know if the maid knows the whole residence situation here or she's just here doing her job oblivious to other things.
I walk towards the back door. I don't know if it's the panic effect or it's real, but I can feel her eyes still following me, curious or suspicious I have no idea. All I know is I have to find another house for me to stay in on Saturdays, and far from here, because my routine has been ruined by the small act of leaving my phone.
I leave the house, heading back to the McD where I left my bags, and wondering if I can last until the end of university year living like this.
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