I still remember the first time I saw you. The elevator door opened, and there you were, standing in front of me with your long hair, short pants, and, if I remember correctly, you wear a red T-shirt. You were carrying so many things, a backpack and another bag, probably all the things you had brought after diving. It looked heavy.
I think we were both a little nervous that day. At least, I was. I don’t know if you felt the same way, but somehow it felt like we were both trying to figure each other out.
And yes, I remember thinking that I was taller than you. When I first saw you, you looked quite short and skinny. Maybe you also looked that way because you had just come back from diving a few days before. Your skin looked more tanned than usual.
Then you apologized and said something about your face looking dark after diving.
I laughed. I told you it was okay.
But what I remember most was when you suddenly said, “Oh, you smell so good.” I don’t know why, but that little sentence stayed in my memory.
Then I told you, “I like your long hair.”
And somehow, that was how we started talking.
You opened your laptop and started showing me some pictures from your diving trip to Selayar. You had gone there to check a shipwreck, and you showed me the pictures while telling me about what you had seen. Then our conversation somehow moved to archaeology.
There were so many things you told me that were unfamiliar to me. Honestly, I didn’t know much about them. But I was interested. I liked listening to you explain things, especially when you talked about something you really cared about. So even though I didn’t understand everything, I wanted to hear all your stories.
And then, because I liked your long hair, I asked you,
“Can I touch it?”
You told me that you liked my hair too, especially because it was straight.
Then you started telling me why you kept your hair long.
You said you wanted to change the way people thought about men with long hair. You told me that people often judged them before knowing them. When they saw a man with long hair, they might immediately think of a gangster, or someone rough, dangerous, or with a bad character.
And that was exactly what you wanted to challenge.
You wanted people to understand that a man having long hair didn’t automatically mean he was a bad person.
You even told me about your graduation. Your lecturer had asked you to cut your hair, but you didn’t. You chose to keep it, and in the end, you graduated with your long hair.
I remember that story.
And now, I miss it.
I miss your long hair.
I miss you.
And I miss that feeling.
That strange, nervous feeling when you don’t really know what is going to happen, but somehow you are excited about it. The feeling of seeing someone for the first time and feeling something you can’t quite explain yet. Like having butterflies in your stomach, even though you don’t know why.
Maybe that’s what I really miss.
Not only your long hair, or that first day, or all the little things I remember.
I miss the way I felt when I was still discovering you.
When everything about you was still new. When every story you told me made me want to know a little more. When a simple conversation could make me nervous and happy at the same time.
And sometimes, I wish I could go back to that moment, just for a little while, and see you again for the first time