Mom, I did it again.

(Sekadar Gambar Hiasan)

Mom, I did it again

When I first confessed the sin of riding a bike in this jagged city to my mom, she was just shocked.

Yes, I grew up in a small town, down there on the southern part of this peninsula, and I still remember my sister brought me my first bike, when I was about 9 years old as a gift for my good result in my class. It was a cheap BMX bike with a Kuwahara handle bar given by my childhood friend.

I grew up, by paddling around my mom’s neighborhood, and sometimes when it’s time for me to do some groceries, I’d happily ride my bike, and bring back all those stuff which should be pretty much heavy, for me at that age.

I remember hanging those big plastic bags on the handle bar and I remember hanging those 5 kilos of rice right over there.

Then, as the times pass by, I am not riding anymore. I’d rather walking or, sometimes I’d be glad to get a bus ride to go out of that village. I gave my bike to my sister’s son as it’s no longer under the good preservation, and I am no longer using it as much as I used to.

For the next few years, I am cycling again, and that was when I am starting to know all these punk rock shits. It is not that I am cycling against the petrol price’s hiking cause for most of the times, I don’t really care about that shits. There are plenty of our activities that need me to have a bike again. So, I am paddling again, fighting against that heat from our mother son, and for most of the times, those crazy dick sucker dogs. Those dog who thought that they are macho enough to chase us cluelessly.

For the next few years, I am still keep on paddling for most of the times- during those splendid sober days, to those drunkard nights I ever remember. I am still remembering taking all those synthetic drugs and paddling back home.

And when I finished my school, and started to work in a few places around town, I am still riding my bike. It was just a cheap second hand mountain bike, and I do love it.

That was years before, and when I moved into this city, far away from my mom’s place, I am not having any interest to do it again. For me, I’d be in real crazy if I ever thought to do that kind of shit here, I mean cycling. Yet, something had just being good enough to encourage me to do it again, anyway.

And about my mom, she’s quite shock when she knew that her last son, who had- unluckily found himself as a homosexual, riding a bike to go to work. My mom was quite shocked when she knew that her last and final sluggish son, sweating himself like a pig- does really cycles when there are still any other undemanding options.

Mom says, it’s good for me to do some exercise, anyway. But, I am just explained to her that all these cycling shits have nothing to do with my health. I am just doing it for nothing good. I just want to lose all these beer-belly so that I could wear all my favorite pants again. And I could wear all those punk rock shirts without having any fear about size.

Mom, I do drugs sometimes and it would be a total ashamed for me to admit that I used to puke like a fucker for having too much drink at one point.

But, my mom she’s never knew that at all, I guess.

“Mom, it was created not only for sport and exercise…” I told her.

That such kind of thinking sometimes annoys me. Sometimes I do felt infuriating when people starting to talk about healthy with me. Look at me; I’d be the first one to volunteer myself if there’s a beer tester kind of thing. I rather get drunk than sitting in front of that tube and screaming all loud to those expensive ball games.

I don’t care about sports, and my mom knew it. When I was about 13 or 14, I don’t have any Manchester United VCR or shits. Instead, I watched that Nirvana’s Live in Roma VCR over and over again.

But my mom seems to be in a state that believing in commuting by bike in this vicious city is really bullshit. And I can smell her worries thru the conversations we had. So, I’ve just says things that’d make her feel better cause I just want her to think about anything bad or something. I knew that in this modern day of this country, people seem to love to move faster than any other else. It is indeed a huge competition.

So, for me it is not that confusing for me to hear my mom’s confusion. It is not easy to accept her last son is not that normal as everyone else. It is not that easy, indeed.

In the other end, she’s asked me once again and I can strongly smell her hesitation;

“Are you sure?”