Day 19 - Sepia Portrait

Day nineteen of the quarantine.

The sun is bright but not too much to be annoying. I can still feel the presence of clouds somewhere in the background. I can feel them looming not too far behind the morning sun, waiting for their turn to take over the sky and rule the mood of the day.

Funny how I feel their presence more even when they are hiding, even when the sun is glaring.

Funny how you can feel the tale tell of impending gloom, in the middle of a bright morning.

Ever since the beginning of this whole chaos, I’ve been training myself, or rather, forcing myself, to do normal. To make normal the new necessity to survive. Wake up at dawn, make the bed, open the window, exercise, greet the sun, greet the plants on my front yard, clean the house, breakfast with toast and jam while talking to my Mom. I feel like we need to hold on to what little normalcy we have in our lives.

It’s the same ritual this morning. As the sun rose higher, I figured it would be nice to capture the brightness in which this day is started. So I took my camera and walked to the front yard. I crouched in front of one of the greens and shifting my position to find the best angle where the sunlight is filtered by the thin transparent leaves while getting the sun itself in the frame.



I see skies of blue

and clouds of white

The bright blessed day

the dark sacred night

And I think to myself

what a wonderful world



I just noticed Louis Armstrong's What A Wonderful World playing in the background. I figured my Mom must have turned on her playlist while sewing the cloth masks.

I kept on taking pictures, as the songs come flowing through the speaker.

Suddenly, like a reel of film, images after images invaded my mind. I was transported to a time where old songs played from the radio and we were little kids playing with our board game, watching TV from a TV set in a saloon, sitting on the couch staring at the tree branches swayed by the wind of dry season, nodding our heads sleepily on a Sunday afternoon, ready for a nap because there wasn't much to do back then. Everything was fine, back then. And we were convinced that everything will always be fine, back then. The world was so much slower.

I let my guard off and let myself basked in the wave of childhood memories in a soft brown and yellow hue. For a moment I felt peaceful and nostalgic.

But I couldn't help but feel that this serene moment is tinged with something. Everything is perfect. The day is bright, the flowers are fresh, the leaves are green, the world is fine, but something, somewhere, is off.

The nostalgic images reeling in my head blurred and slowly came to a halt. And then I saw myself in the frame, the me from decades ago, staring back at me with a solemn and detached expression.

I know. We're just picture, frozen in time in sepia-colored portrait.

And then it dawned on me.

I’m feeling like I'm starring in the opening scene of a horror apocalyptic movie.

Day Sixteen

I lost track of time.

Some people lost their job.



I have just spent eight hours of not talking to anyone verbally, and only very minimum chat with a few people over whatsapp.

I am completely okay with that. Oh you know I've always been okay with that. I love being alone and uninterrupted by random and mundane talks. Not talking for hours on end is never a problem for me.

But I feel like I have to change the way I see this right now.

I have always refrained from overstating my inclination toward solitude. While I prefer solitude in most days, I don't want to glorify this, because I know, one day I might going to regret it. And this one day might come sooner than I expected.

Every time I was on the verge of thinking or saying something like ugh I hate people or oh how nice it is being alone in the world, I stopped, and think about what would I feel should the world end when I'm still here. What would I feel when there is actually no one left on earth and I am free to be alone as long as I want.

Locked in a confined space for weeks like this, despite enjoying it so far, I can tell that my mind has to get more creative in conjuring many scenarios, which, I don't like to visit further.

By now I'm already quite agile in avoiding the dangerous territory, and stay focus on the only track worth walking on.

I think I'd have to start appreciating human interaction.

What day is it

This is day 'I don't even remember anymore' of the quarantine.

Things are getting worse out there.

At least that's how it looks from Twitter. So currently I'm taking a break from it. Checking only for important updates.

In real life, here in this part of the city, things are still more or less like usual. The only difference is the road is less busy.

I'm trying to keep my mind on track and not running to dangerous territory where gloom and darkness reign. I'm trying.

Last night I talked to a friend. Before the outbreak, we used to see each other every day, talking in between works, having lunch together, afternoon coffee together. In the middle of our conversation, he asked,

"What happened? What the hell has happened? The world was fine two weeks ago. And now everything is turned upside down. How did we get here?"

"Yeah, who would've thought", I replied.

Nobody knows.

While I'm typing this, gratefulness and guilt rose simultaneously in me.

I guess I'm lucky enough to be able to sit through this shit storm while literally sitting in my home, not much but pretty comfortable, with windows and garden and trees and all, and a view of my neighbor's roof.

On a rainy day like today, I am also blessed with a view of the rain flowing down the drainage pipe. It's a view so nostalgic, so unique of the old times when all you do in the afternoon is listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof or having just woke up from your nap, sitting by the window and watching the rain doing their rainy thing, punching needles on the water covered street, running down the sewer and disappear and running again and disappear again on an on like a hypnotic.

It's a privilege of childhood.

One we take for granted now that we're decades into this world.

Kabar Duka Keempat

"Halo?"

"Halo? Ya Buk?"

"Aku baru teirma kabar duka."

"Oh..."

"Temanku waktu SMP kemarin meninggal dunia. Sakit jantung."

"Innalillahi wainna ilaihi rojiuun."

"Dia seumur aku. Kakaknya, temanku satu sekolah juga, sekarang lumpuh habis operasi kaki, pengapuran seperti aku juga."

Aku diam. Tidak tahu harus berucap apa. Seringkali aku merasa, dalam situasi seperti ini, kata-kata jadi tidak berarti. Seringkali, kata-kata jadi basi.

"Dia belum menikah."

"Oh..."

"Seumur aku, dan belum menikah. Padahal dia kepingin sekali menikah, punya keluarga."

Aku masih terdiam. Semakin tidak tahu harus berkata apa.

"Aku takut juga. Sudah empat orang berarti temanku meninggal karena serangan jantung dalam setahun ini."

"Sudah Buk, cukup sampai di situ berpikirnya. Sekarang yang penting Ibuk berdoa. Doakan mereka, berdoa juga buat Ibuk, jaga kesehatan, hidup bahagia. Sudah jangan mikir yang lain-lain lagi. Sudah usia segini, yang dipikir cuma bagaimana hidup tenang bahagia, wis itu saja.

Ibuk terdiam beberapa saat. Aku terpikir, apakah aku sudah menyinggung perasaannya. Kadang aku merasa kasihan pada orang-orang di sekitarku, yang merasa dekat denganku. Perasaan itu bukannya bertepuk sebelah tangan. Aku pun merasa kedekatan emosional yang sama dengan mereka. Tapi tidak banyak yang bisa kutawarkan dari diriku. Menenangkan orang sedih saja aku kikuk tergagap-gagap.

"Iya sih. Kamu benar. Didoakan saja sudah paling betul."

"Iya Buk." Aku menghela napas lega.

"Ya sudah. Kamu kerja lagi sana. Aku mau solat. Mau doakan mereka."

"Iya Buk, sudah ya. Wassalamualaikum."

Aku meletakkan gagang telepon kembali di tempatnya. Kehilangan orientasi untuk sesaat, memandangi monitor laptop yang penuh dengan balok dan lingkarang warna-warni. Apa yang sedang kuketik tadi? Apa yang sedang kulakukan tadi ketika Ibuk di rumah menerima telepon yang menyampaikan kabar duka?

Ini kabar duka keempat di tahun ini.

Dan ini masih bulan Maret.

Does God Forget About Us

Do you think it's possible for God to forget about us?

Do you think it is possible that in one tiny fraction of seconds, His mighty and holy and generous attention faltered, and some of us slipped from His plan?

I wonder.

I just wonder.

End of Year Question

It's September now.

The time of year when the world will be gradually slowing down,

Slowly, slowly, it will come down to a halt.

When the air particles are no longer bouncing frantically against one another. 

The days will last longer, and the night comes slower.

Until it feels like time is frozen,

And the whole world becomes quieter.

And without you realizing, 

December is here.

Another chapter is closed.

Another phase has ended.

I am not sure what to say about me though. While (I am sure) you're going through everything with a full grip on your pen to write whatever you like on your paper, I am here completely at lost at how quick everything has happened and most of the time left dumbfounded, looking at what destiny has left in its wake and how, how, how much did I miss?

A question I am sure you are completely unfamiliar with. 

The case of June when it is ending

It's June. The rainy season has just stopped and technically everything has just been restarted as the holiday is just over and people are just returning to work again.

But.

Days feel like dragging on. Silence is hanging heavy in the air, as if moving in slow motion, blanketing everything around me. Time feels like suspended in the air. Unwilling to leave the damp rainy seasons and greet the dry season. 

Like me.

Unwilling to embrace the necessity, the factuality, the inevitability of change and the turning around of the earth. Trapped in a bubble of uncertainty, suspended in reluctant inertia of life and faith.

Such as the case of the end of June.

It is the beginning of a season, the beginning of everything, but God does it feels like a slow journey toward an end.

It feels like the final part of the song when the chorus is exhausted and overused and started to lose its meaning. When the life of the song slowly diminishing through a weak of repeated lines, over and over until the emotion that fuels their life is running out and echoes are all that's left.

That's how June ends.

Aku dan Kata-Kata

Dear B,

Ada ribuan kata tersangkut di sini, di dalam mulutku. Mendesak ingin berhamburan keluar, menerjang dan menghantam semua dinding-dinding tak terlihat yang berdiri kokoh di sekitarku. Ini adalah sebuah peperangan yang tak akan ada ujungnya, antara aku, dan kata-kata. Sebagaimana tak akan pernah pula berhenti peperangan antara kejujuran, dan ketidakjujuran. Aku tidak jujur. Kata-kata jujur. Maka kami tidak akan pernah akur.

Belum waktunya, begitu selalu kataku. Pada diriku, pada kata-kata itu.

Saat ini belum waktunya bagiku.

Belum waktunya untuk menuntut kepada entah siapa, akan hak atas hidupku.

Belum waktunya untuk menjajal dan menjadi bagian dari euphoria itu. Euphoria yang muncul dari keinginan untuk begitu mencintai jiwa sepenuhnya, memberinya ruang seluas dunia untuk bergerak dan bernafas dan hidup dan menghidupkan.

Belum waktunya bagiku, untuk memberikan ruang bagi diriku.

Dan kau tentu tahu persis kenapa.

Waktu masih terhenti di bagian bumi yang kupijak.

Dan kau tentu tahu persis kenapa.

Aku masih bergulat sendiri di sini, mengurai jalinan benang yang kubuat kusut bertahun lalu.

Meringue

Dear Blue, we are spreading the pink meringues on the paper tissue now. 

We are trying to get the chocolate ones but they were put at the bottom under the pink ones (and no one wants to try the pink ones, you know how it is, chocolates are far more appealing).

So here they are finally spread, all pinks, against the white paper tissue. They looked so cute, with all the tiny dots of red all over them. I love meringue. I always love the way they melt in my mouth.

Dear Blue, this is nothing but another nonsensical thought appears out of nowhere. You don’t have to read it. You’ll probably never read it. You might never even realize that it has been written and posted here, all these things about you. But if one day you read it, you don’t need to cringe or frown. And you don’t have to like meringues.

It’s just me. With another nonsensical thought appear out of nowhere. Yet even the most nonsense things seem to be triggering a thought of you.

Dear Blue, we are spreading the pink meringues on the paper tissue, and I suddenly wondered, do you actually like meringues too?

But again, it’s okay, you don’t have to like it. I was just wondering how you are doing now.

Every Morning

Every morning I’d wake up to a strange realization on how quiet it is inside my head. I’d spend the first few minutes sitting on the edge of the bed, thinking about you, and all the feelings I have about you; the feelings that never stop pounding loudly in my chest, the feelings that have overtaken all my logic and reasons, replacing it with something unidentifiable yet overwhelming. It’s funny how distant and strange the feeling seems to be in the morning. I wonder, what could have possibly happened during my sleep that has erased all the chaos, leaving no trace but the subtle feeling of a déjà vu, so subtle like a thin transparent fabric on your window. It has died down overnight.

At that very brief moment, I thought I finally got over you and all the impossibilities. It feels relieving at the beginning. 

Then I’d start to feel a sense of loss. I’d wonder would it felt not thinking about you every day. How would it felt not longing for you. How would it felt to finally stop dreaming and get my feet on the ground. How unpleasant everything is if I stop dreaming and let logic takes over. How unpleasant it would be for not having you sitting silently at the corner of my mind, listening to all the tales I’ve been telling myself in my quiet moments, hoping that you’d hear, somehow. 

With this doubt creeping, I’d get off my bed, feeling there’s a part of me cried for having to say goodbye to the feeling that (I thought) has ended, and at the same time relieved for finally being able to see things clearly again and continue my life.

And then, just when I finally step my feet on the floor, preparing to start another day, the feeling comes back, sweeping over me like a wave in the ocean. Waves that have reached the shore. Small, slow, uncertain to where to land, where to stop, where to hit, but keep on going nevertheless, dancing their way to the shore, sweeping everything on their way, erasing all the reasons and doubts that have been thrown at the end of the shoreline by confused souls. Drawing a new shoreline. Cleaning up the surface, leaving nothing but the sands, no footprints, no signs, no trace at all, nothing to show that once there were marks of doubts of pains of tears there.

And with that, once again I surrender to the feeling. Embracing the sight of the clean shoreline, instinctively letting in the taste of the air of a new day through my nose and into my lungs, running through my veins, and becoming the breath that I breathe for that day before it ends and another day arrive tomorrow. And it will start all over again. 

And it goes on. And on. And on.