Doodles Noodles

Now, I don’t know about you, but there's something irrefutably spellbinding about waking up to the melodic twittering of a multicolored bird perched on my window, it's array of feathers shimmering under the first light of day.

The air carries with it a fragrance so sweet and inviting that it makes me question if I'm dreaming – the scent of blooming petals, in an array of hues so vibrant and varied that they could very well send Picasso into a fit of jealous rage. The beauty here is not confined to a canvas; it's alive, blossoming and thriving in every nook and corner.

And then there’s the sunrise. The gentle ascension of the radiant sun, meticulously painting the vast sky in shades and colors that I've only ever dared to experiment with on a palette. It's a sight that makes the heart skip a beat, an artwork in motion that transcends the boundary of human imagination.

However, this immersive orchestra of nature serves as more than just a feast for my senses. It presents a stark contrast, a reminder of the world I've left behind. The relentless, grating roar of an airport, the scent of gasoline, the constant hustle and bustle of travelers in transit – these elements of my reality seem like echoes from a different lifetime, slowly fading into the abyss of memory.

The irrefutable conclusion, as peculiar as it may seem, is that I'm not waking up to the monotonous sights and sounds of an airport. No, the discordant melody of bustling terminals and frantic announcements has been replaced by a harmonious symphony of natural wonders, an entirely different world – an 'isekai', if you will. It's a revelation that's equally terrifying as it is exhilarating, but it's a truth I've come to accept: I'm not just visiting this enchanting land; I'm living in it.

That morning, I found myself strolling through the vibrant forest with Pyuan, her infectious joy turning the walk into a pleasant escapade. She was quite the enthusiastic tour guide, pointing out flora and fauna that would leave Charles Darwin scratching his head in utter confusion.

“These are the Jubjubs and the Flibberjays~pyu!” Pyuan exclaimed with the excitement of a kid at a candy store. I couldn’t help but smile at her infectious joy. It was, after all, quite the spectacle. But beneath the surface of wonder, a strange sensation gnawed at me.

'Déjà vu' ?

It doesn't quite cut it.

My goal, however, was more pragmatic. I was keen on understanding the natural resources around me, their utility, their potential. Could any of these strange fruits be sold? Could the vibrant feathers of a these animals catch a fair price? My mind was awhirl with possibilities, filtering the scenic spectacle through the lens of necessity.

The generosity of Mr. Orym had given me a place to stay, but I knew I couldn't free load for long. I had to pull my weight somehow. And until I found a job in my field (I hear the demand for airport guides is rather low in the fantasy world), these natural resources were my best shot.

I found myself strangely drawn to the idea, an artist turned gatherer, a dealer of the exotic and colorful. The very concept had a certain ring to it that was both terrifying and exhilarating. My mind started churning out a million questions a minute. How much could a Jubjub feather fetch? Or a Flibberjay egg, perhaps? And then there was the question of who would buy them, where would I sell them? My head started spinning just thinking about the logistics of it all. But it was a start, a point from which to navigate through this strange new reality.

But... this 'Déjà vu' ...

I still can't shake the feeling of it. As if something already happen, or more exactly, already seen for me.

Something is just so... familiar. 

The Jubjubs, those oddballs of the animal kingdom with a style that could only be described as 'rabbit meets lizard on a blind date', and the Flibberjays, birds with plumage so dazzling they'd make a disco ball jealous, stirred up a strange sense of déjà vu in me. I had met them before, but the venue of our introduction was certainly not this fantasy-land.

A light bulb flickered in the attic of my mind. My sketchbook. That faithful A6 companion of my idle afternoons. Was it possible? Could the doodles that I had given life to with pencil strokes be frolicking around me now, a 3D rendition of my artistic flights of fancy? I gave the Jubjubs a closer inspection, a dormant memory of a leisurely afternoon, sketchpad in hand, stirring in the depths of my mind.

But, hold on. Even by my standards, that was a far-fetched theory. The idea that my doodles had taken a leap off the page, passed through the wardrobe, and landed up in Narnia was... well, ludicrous. So, I decided to put this theory to rest, reaching out for my sketchbook, craving the reassuring presence of my artistic accomplice. But my fingers found nothing but air. My sketchbook was missing.

"Where did I drop it?" I mused aloud, scratching my head. "Didn't it come along for the ride?" 

The gears in my mind started turning. When I had landed up in this world, I wasn't decked out in my airport uniform but was wearing an outfit that would make any fantasy novel protagonist proud. My sketchbook, it appeared, didn't get the memo.

A shudder of uncertainty tiptoed down my spine. The unanswered questions hung in the air like an overripe fruit, tantalizing and out of reach. With my sketchbook gone AWOL and only fragmented memories for company, the truth was as elusive as a unicorn in this curious, color-splashed land.

Well, wouldn't this give Sherlock a run for his money? Guess there's never a dull day when you're an unwilling participant in a real-life fantasy novel.

Good job, Nanang.

"What happened~pyu?" Pyuan asked, her bright eyes full of concern as she looked up at me. Maybe she noticed the consternation furrowing my brow or the distant gaze as I ruminated over my missing sketchbook.

But in the grand tradition of confused protagonists everywhere, I chose to keep my mouth shut. Sure, it would have been interesting to tell her about my half-baked theory about my doodles deciding to play a real-life game of Dungeons and Dragons. But no, I wasn't about to make myself seem more out of place than I already was.

"Nothing," I finally replied with an airy wave of my hand, brushing off her concern as if it were an annoying fly. "Just lost in thought. You know, pondering over the mysteries of life, the universe, and why Jubjubs have such peculiarly fluffy tails."

She laughed, her voice echoing through the forest, and in that moment, the weight of my unanswered questions felt a little lighter. "Nanang," she said, "you're an odd one~pyu."

And I couldn't help but agree. Welcome to the life of Nanang, folks. It's a one-way ticket to the theater of the absurd. And unfortunately, refunds are not available.

We journeyed further into the forest, and with each step, the familiarity intensified. Every detail, every creature, every leaf seemed to be plucked out from my sketches. My heart hammered against my chest, a loud echo in the otherwise peaceful forest. 

Could it be possible?

Were these my creations?

The concept seemed ludicrous, yet the evidence was all around me.

Ah, I don't know. There is no time to think about that. I still need to find a way to make money in this world.