“Just do, whatever,” Lyla tells him, “makes me happy.”
He gives her a stare, and imagining himself a psychic attempting to decipher someone’s minds.
“Everything I do will please you?” Now his voice is ringing with sound of doubts.
He sees her chin moves up and down. “Just do whatever makes me happy.” He hears her repeating the sentence again.
“Just do whatever things that bring joy…..”
“Joy into my life!” Lyla cuts him midsentence.
He catches her eyes again, locking them with his gaze, “Say that sentence to yourself instead; because you are the maker of your own happiness, and the sole master of your own destiny, not me, not even the world, Lyla.”
“This shall be my mantra until the next twelve months expire on July 30, 2010.”
“I know, today, you are thirty-two!”
“And where is the ‘happy birthday‘?” Asks Lyla, her voice softened and spoiled; but when she looks at his cheeks, she wonders why they become pink like the colour on her fingernails.
Thirty seconds pass without any response from him. Finally, he opens the door behind her; leaves her, but not before giving Lyla his best smile and telling her, “Joyeux anniversaire, Lyla.”
(Jakarta, July 31, 2009)