Several years ago, in Yogyakarta, the address book I had kept since graduating, well not the exact same, as they do fall to pieces after years of intensive use, but the old addresses were entered into replacement versions, unless I decided to the contrary, was stolen. From one day to the next I had lost all means of contacting a lifetime of friends. Have you ever had the same experience? I felt lost, abandoned, utterly helpless, naked. Rape probably has a similar effect on the victim.
It took quite some time and effort to compile a new set of entries. Of course a number of the original names, telephone numbers and addresses could not be retrieved. However, the overall effect on my daily routine proved to be rather limited as, first, the missing ones were apparently not part of my then circles of interactive affairs. Second, I realised that the person might still be alive—at my age I live with an increasing stream of dwindling numbers—but the address not (what's the use of a name with an expired address); and third, in many cases I didn't even know who was missing.
Among the missing entries there is David P, last known location Cambridge, and no amount of googling turned up the person I'm looking for. And then of course there is Alexander vS, last seen in Frankfurt a/Main in 1969, that is 43 years ago! The third one in this line-up is Robert V. While not lost in respect of no idea where and what—being a high ranking civil servant, public sector records provided details of his whereabouts—I nevertheless had lost contact with him since the late 70s when I moved to Indonesia.
Before I left on my visit of Europe—OK, only part of it, but Stockholm, Munich, Amsterdam, The Hague, Rotterdam and Bussum cover quite a chunk of it.
Google found Alexander on my smart phone, but strangely enough not on my laptop, should the two browser not come up with the same results? Any way, I got a telephone number and I got through to him. Hansje, he exclaimed, is that really you? Of course he wanted to know how I had found him and where I was and for how long. We alternated providing some key elements of our lives of the past four decades, or what at that moment we thought was important to relay. We regretfully concluded that we did not have the opportunity to meet before I returned to Indonesia, and after exchanging email addresses we hung up.
The contact with Robert had been re-established through LinkedIn and before arriving in Holland we had already agreed to meet. Slightly apprehensive I set off to have dinner at his house. But upon seeing him, after all these 30+ years, it was as if we had last met the week before. Several times that night we expressed our surprise and delight about this and decided to have lunch before I would leave to delve into our days all those years ago in Kuala Lumpur, Kuala Trengganu, Singapore, Hong Kong, Macau and Manila. We did, and though it was a miserable rainy day—just walking the few hundred meters from the bus stop to the café got me soaked—it was as joyful as the dinner at his house.
And, while in Munich visiting aunt Selma, I also met her son, cousin Dominik, last seen some 50 years go when he was 10. He is now a famous director of German films and TV, and with him too, we exchanged email addresses and agreed to remain in contact.
Remains David P. But who knows, one day he might suddenly appear out of the digital aether of the internet.
