Summary

A poet named Harun, seeking solace, encounters a profound connection with a woman on Trikora Beach, which inspires a reflection on love, loss, and the search for happiness.

Abstract

The narrative describes a weary traveler, Harun, who arrives at Trikora Beach after a long journey, hoping to find peace. He is drawn to the beach's serene beauty and encounters a solitary woman engrossed in a book. As he connects with the environment and the woman, he realizes the book she's reading contains his own words about his lost love, "Olive Black Eyes." This serendipitous moment leads to an exchange that suggests the interconnectedness of their experiences with love and sorrow. Harun's reflections on his journey and the brief interaction with the woman underscore the idea that the pieces of one's happiness are scattered across the world, and sometimes, they come together in unexpected ways.

Opinions

The author, Harun Resit Aydin, conveys a deep personal connection to the theme of love and the pain of lost love, suggesting that such experiences are universal and can resonate with strangers.
The beach is personified as a nurturing entity, offering to wash away the narrator's worries and pain, indicating the author's belief in the healing power of nature.
The narrative implies that meaningful connections can occur without words, as demonstrated by the silent understanding between Harun and the woman.
The woman's parting words suggest a philosophical view that timing and readiness are crucial in matters of love and personal growth, hinting at the author's opinion on the complexity of human relationships.
The story reflects the author's perspective that life's journey is a quest for understanding and completing the puzzle of happiness, which often requires travel, both literal and metaphorical.

Olive black eyes at Trikora Beach

I had more than 32 hours of flight behind me, had to come to Indonesia via various countries and stopovers because, as always, I just wanted to get away and my thoughts thwarted the last minute.

Only a photo in my hand, with the inscription ‘’ Trikora Beach ‘’ and nothing else, at a time when the internet and social media were not so advanced, maybe even at a time when everything was still very innocent.

As soon as I left my bag in the hotel without changing my clothes, no swimsuit, I immediately ran to the beach, was so fast that I even took off my shoes here and there and left them behind.

I just wanted to get rid of the burden of my soul immediately, let it into the light blue water that stood in front of me.

It was early in the morning and almost no one was there except for a woman who was alone and was reading the book in her hand with great concentration. In order not to scare her with my hasty run, I slowed down and slowly sat down a few meters further and started to look at the sea.

The waves hit so hard, the wind smelled so nice and salty in front of me as if all the poets of this world spoke directly into my soul. The blue one shouted to me loudly:

‘’ Hey child, send all your worries here, we will now and just clean everything away … ‘’

My heart was asking them: ‘’ are you really doing this for me? ‘’

Yes, I had asked even the sea whether it would really do it because so far this soul has suffered so much pain and betrayal that it has even lost its belief in nature itself.

At that moment all my worries came into my memory, one after the other, the lost loved ones, the not lived life and I just wanted to breathe deeply every wave of this beautiful sea on Trikora Beach, very deep that it could reach all my blood vessels and let out all the poison of sorrow down to the last pores.

With all my thoughts in my head, I turned around and looked at the woman next to me. Her eyes were also full of sadness, you could see the loneliness of her soul from miles away and her desire to fish out of the book in her hand the love that she had lost.

When I took a closer look at the book in her hand…

…I couldn’t believe it, but on the back, it wrote ‘’ Olive Black Eyes ‘’.

These words were mine, I had called my love so, and with every time that came out of my mouth, my hands trembled, my heart, the earth turned around. I had never heard these words from anyone else, it was a moment of shock.

But as the poet Harun said once:

‘’ No matter how far you travel, as long as your inside is packed in your travel bag, the worry is your home, in your country or another … ‘’

With this in mind, I opened my book of poems and wrote these words, which until now are still in the middle of my throat and never came out again:

‘’You’re falling as the only one from all the books I’ve read, deep down on my bloody hands.

The night lamp under the shadow of the dusty room shows me only your face.

The dreams transform your olive-black eyes into a nightmare of loneliness.

You may be absent for a lifetime, but as long as your fragrance floats in the air, that soul will always be the hostage of another story.

If you decide one day to come, please do not forget to bring the key of my handcuff, before the steel of the heart melts and the soul dies forever.

Oh my dear, my last breath, I’m the captive of your thoughts in both worlds.’’

I put my pen aside and started breathing in the waves while a few tears flowed down my face. It had been half an hour and neither my soul nor my body wanted to move away from this place.

Then, then, a hand from behind touched me, it was like a shiver that ran all over my body, it was the woman next to me before I could open my mouth, she closed it with her finger and wiped my tears and gave me that Book.

All I could say was: ‘’ Nice to meet you, I’m Harun and you? ‘’

She turned with a bitter smile and said only one sentence:

‘’ Sometimes the olives are not ripe enough to come to a poet’s breakfast table … ‘’

And without saying anything else, she left and I wasn’t able to stop her, at least after hearing these words, there was no power in me to do so.

Love had sent me again to other countries so that I could piece by piece complete the puzzle of ‘’happiness’’ in this world. And this sea, the woman with the book, my poem, all of them were individual pieces of this puzzle.

Unfortunately, it seemed that I would have to travel very long to get the answer, or maybe not.

Who knows what’s written for each of us at the end of the horizon.

Author: Harun Resit Aydin