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.

how do you know when it's love?

Dearest people, do you love? Do we love?

This is the question that I've been having in the past few years, right after a bumpy experience that has turned my life upside down, down to the point that I no longer recognize it and still wondering up to this day, was that really my life?

I've grown older, just as that bumpy experience grown on me. And my mind has unconsciously started the process of rearranging the structure of my previous belief on things, on life, and love.

Back in my younger days, love was something undefinable, described only with the fast beating heart, trembling knees, sweating hands, and sudden lost for words upon meeting or a mention of the subject of the feeling. Love was magical. And if there was anything negative about love, was that it is draining. It drains the life out of you, and fill you up with something else, something sparkling, something bigger than life. Something like the celebration of the independence day.

I've past thirty now. And I've learned my lessons well.

Within the years span between the bumpy experience and now, I met a few people, and fell for some of them. And with everyone I met and fell for or had a crush on, one by one all the definitions I used to had about love were proved to be fault, and finally had to be taken out of the list.

So now, to quote from Van Halen, how do you know when it's love?

A friend once insisted that you just knew. You'd just knew when you finally meet your other half. She said, you just need to trust your feeling. Then I said, that's exactly where the problem lies. What kind of feeling that you need to trust?

Is it the heart pounding knee trembling feeling? The sudden inability to speak properly? The sleepless nights that follow after the hours of hours of phone conversation? The feeling of fireworks in your chest that makes your days feel like independence day celebration every time you meet that certain person?

Is it the realization of the similarities that both of you have? The knowledge that both of you turn out to have similar hobbies, read similar kinds of books, watch similar kinds of movies, loves to hang out at similar places, have the same favorite songs?

When I ask these questions, the response I get from my friends would be those of sympathy. They must be thinking how poor this little woman, missing so many beautiful moments people would have when they're in love. How poor this little woman, loosing her faith in love and thus losing her chance of meeting her other half.

It got me thinking.

Someone said to me, be careful, there's a very thin line between being a grown up and being bitter. And I've promised myself, that I'd never, ever, ever, going to be that bitter person carrying dark clouds above her head. I might be silent and distant most of the time, but I don't plan to spend the rest of my life spreading negative energy around me and make the world a bitter place.

But I remember witnessing people I know being in love. They would fluently explaining to me the reasons why they're in love with this certain person, or sometimes, why I should be in love with a certain person: he's handsome, he's nice, he's cute, he's attentive and caring, he's so romantic. He makes my heart flutters with his words. He loves to give surprises. He's always be there for me. He may not be nice but deep down he's a gentle soul. He gets along with my mother. He's the one who understands me better than anyone else. He's a very religious person. He's graduated from this and that. He is very opinionated. He's fun to be with. I love the way he makes me feel. I love how he makes me laugh. We have so many similarities. We read the same books. And the list continues.

Hearing them altogether, that sounds like a perfect quality you want from a partner. But somehow my mind always manage to force me to read them again, one by one. You love him, because he's handsome? Oh, you love him, because he gives you surprises? Let's try again. You love him, because he's a very religious person? Another one. You love him, because you read the same books? Not even five of the criteria above grouped together would be enough to be your reasons for loving someone.

And I finally became fully convinced that no, you cannot reason love like that. That is not love. At least, you don't love  a person for that kind of reasons. You think you love the person, but actually, you don't. You just love what they seem to be to you. You just love the reflection of your imagination. You recreate your imagination on them and you think you love them. You take what you need from them. You think you love them because they make you laugh. Think again, isn't that a selfish motive? Love shouldn't be selfish. You think you love them because you love the way they make you feel. Another selfish motive don't you think? Well, it might be true that you love them, but really, the way they make you feel shouldn't be the only reasons why. You love them because they're always be there for you? Because they always have their shoulders ready for you to cry on? Are you clinging on to them with your dear life? Then what would happen to your own life? Don't you want to claim it? You love them because you read the same books? Uhm, okay. You know the answer.

Most of the people I see, and I have to admit, I've been there too, think that they're in love with a certain person, while actually, they're in love with their own imagination. We don't really love the person. We love them for what we think they are, not what they truly are. We love them because, because perhaps somehow, they look good on us, or we look good on them. We create a picture in our mind, an ideal picture of what our love should be, and pick the most suitable person according to our criteria to be there in the picture. In better situation, they're there because they're assigned by the universe to be there to teach us something. But not necessarily love.

So do we love? Do we love someone? Or do we just love the reflection of our hopes that we put on them? 
And again, isn't that selfish? Wouldn't that be a burden too big to bear for them to have to carry our hopes?

I remember having this feeling for a guy. Despite the fact that I'm not planning to pursue it further, I've been keeping the feeling alive for quite some time, simply because it gives me positive energy. The feeling I had was not the kind of feeling that makes me cringe for feeling insignificant and insecure or uncomfortable, feelings that are usually found in the so called love. The feeling I had was the kind of feeling that makes me feel alive and love myself more than ever. However, no matter how positive the feeling is, I realized that it's the feeling that I've fallen for, not the person. I fell in love with the feeling I had for him, not with him. So I gave it up.

But you cannot just refuse to experience that independence day celebration-like feeling when it comes to you, my friend insisted.

I said, well, most of the time, you have very little control of your feeling, because that's just how feelings are. They're not meant to be tamed. So I wouldn't mind. Such fireworks in your heart would be nice to have. But I wouldn't hold on to it.

The fireworks in your chest are beautiful, just as beautiful as when they're bursting with colors in the night sky. But they don't last. Or rather, most of them don't last. Some of them would last a lifetime, but I'm sure you'd not be able to spot it in the first encounter. You'd probably have to go through all the troubles and accidentally burn your hands on the way to find them. Or you probably would only find them when they're no longer sparkling and bursting in the sky and cheered up by hundreds of people. Probably you'd find them when the sparkles have died down, leaving only a constant glowing light, not too bright, but comforting.

No, I don't despise the ideas of love. But I've learned that it needs more than a pounding heart and fireworks in your chest to spot your other half. And it needs reasons beyond just looks or the impression that the person makes upon you, to say that you love them.

Or perhaps, there's just no reasoning at all. Maybe my friend was right after all. You just knew.

So here's where I finally confess, that I still don't have the answer to that Van Halen's question (which in his song, he said he couldn't tell it either but it last forever_now, that's rather difficult isn't it?). I still can't tell when it's love. But I can confidently say that at least I know when it's not.

Do we give too much credit to the word love? Perhaps we do.
Is love overrated? Perhaps it is.

But sometimes, all we need to do to make sure is to just look on the other side, or take a few steps back and look again, or take a few steps forward and look closer, squint harder, or maybe as simple as tilting our head and look at it sideways. Think again. Take your time. 

Love is a strong word, carrying a noble mission, with the right amount of possibility of destruction when not handled with care. Use it sparingly. Treat it wisely.

That's What Sadness Does

What's left after the excitement and noise and cheers are silence.

Deafening silence.

Falling slowly, creeping to the ground like a brown dry leave floating down at the end of its existence. Slowly, slowly, but with finality, deadly conviction, the force of nature, unbind, without doubt, that it will fall, it will touch the ground.
Oh hell it will.

That's what sadness does.

It will come. It will fall upon you. Blending perfectly into the air particles around you. Forcing themselves into your nose, your lungs, clawing onto your blood cells, running along the flow of your blood, occupying your vein, riding the rhythm of  your pulse, invading your whole being.

There is no way you wouldn't feel it.

You will.
Feel.
Sad.
Oh hell you will.

And for a moment everything stills.

That's what sadness does.

Three Years Ago

"Let this be the last tears shed for you.

Please, let this be. 

Let us go our own separate ways in peace, and compassion, from now on. 

Let's not carry any more of what's left of our bitterness.

Please, let's just not. 

If there's still somewhere in the darkest secluded forgotten corner of your mind, a small place left for me

If there's any way, any wicked way the universe allows you to hear what I'm saying now, if there's any way somewhere in some parallel world, that you can hear me now

Hear me out

Please, say what you need to say, if you must.

Or hold your silence forever. And let this be the last.

Please."

Luna (3)

Luna,

Bukankah setiap hidup layak dipertahankan, seperti apapun itu. Bukankah memang seperti itulah kita menjalaninya. Berjalan, terjatuh, dan tersungkur. Terluka sesekali. Atau bahkan ribuan kali. Untuk kemudian bangkit lagi.

Bukankah begitu?

Luna, apakah kau dengar aku? 
Pernahkan kau mendengarkan aku sebetulnya?

Tapi seberapa banyak yang bisa kukatakan padanya?. Seberapa besar yang bisa kusumbangkan untuk hati yang sudah tertoreh begitu dalam, untuk luka yang sudah menganga begitu lama.

Dan untuk kali pertama sejak aku mengenalnya, aku merasa putus asa. Tak ada lagi yang bisa kulakukan untuknya. Tidak sepatah katapun.

Aku tidak bisa lagi mengatakan padanya tentang ombak dan batu karang. Berdirilah, tegakkan kepalamu dan tantanglah angin. Ombak selalu datang dan pergi. Tetapi batu karang tetap tegak berdiri. Aku lupa, batu karang akan habis terkikis, seiring dengan berjalannya waktu, dan takdir.
Kata-kata bijak, hanya hidup bila ada keyakinan. Ternyata. Dan betapa keyakinan ternyata sangat rapuh. Sesaat saja ia meninggalkanmu, maka habislah.

Seperti Luna.

****

Kubasuh wajahku.
Tanganku.
Telingaku.
Kepalaku.
Kakiku.
Kuambil sajadah dan kukenakan mukenaku dengan bibir bergetar menahan tangis.

Ya Allah, bisikku dalam hati.
Ya Allah.
Dan aku tak bisa berkata yang lain lagi.

Entah sudah berapa lama sejak terakhir kali aku mengucap istighfar tanpa tangis penyesalan. Alhamdulillah tanpa rasa syukur yang tulus. Allahuakbar tanpa hati menggigil ketakutan.

Entah sudah berapa lama sejak aku menundukkan kepalaku di atas sajadah, tanpa merasakan betapa kecil dan sia-sianya manusia.

Luna (2)

I'm not something special, katanya suatu kali.

Something.

Ya. Dan tidak istimewa sama sekali.

Aku hanya diam.

Karena hari ini hari ulang tahunku, lanjutnya. Dan tidak satu orang pun ingat.

Sudahlah, banyak orang bahkan tidak tahu hari ulang tahunnya. Bersyukurlah kau masih bisa ingat ulang tahunmu sendiri.

Tapi kau tahu kan, akan beda ceritanya kalau hari ini Aryo yang berulang tahun? Luna memandangku dari sudut matanya.

Tanpa bisa kucegah, pikiran yang sejak tadi kutahan-tahan membebaskan dirinya di kepalaku dan mulai merembet ke mana-mana. Kalau hari ini ulang tahun Aryo, ceritanya memang pasti berbeda.
Aku tahu, ini bukan tentang ulang tahun dan kuenya. Bukan juga tentang feminisme seperti yang dituduhkan orang-orang. Ah. Aku bahkan tidak tahu ini tentang apa.

Untuk sesaat kami terdiam.

Sore itu panas dan berdebu, Hanya ada hembusan angin dan deru mobil yang menghamburkan butir-butir debu ke udara. Kering.


Luna, aku tak tahu peran apa yang sedang kau mainkan saat ini. Aku tidak berani menunjukkan ketidakmengertianku akan dirimu.  Aku tidak ingin kau tahu, bahwa aku, orang terdekatmu, juga sudah mulai kehilanganmu. Karena kau akan berkata kalau aku pun, pada akhirnya meninggalkanmu. Dan kau akan semakin yakin kalau langit perlahan-lahan runtuh di atas kepalamu.

Kuputuskan untuk tetap diam, dan menemaninya berjalan di sepanjang jalan yang berdebu sore itu.

Luna (1)

Aku Luna.

Begitu selalu katanya.

Seperti bulan yang bersinar pucat di kemuraman malam. Bulan yang dilihat ibuku dari celah jendela ketika berjuang membawaku ke dunia. Yang memberinya alasan untuk terus mempertahankan hidup. Hidup yang tak layak dipertahankan.

Hidup seperti apakah yang tak layak dipertahankan? Tanyaku suatu kali.

Hidup yang dijalani dengan berlari, terjatuh, tersuruk, tersungkur, berdiri lagi untuk kemudian terjatuh lagi, dan merangkak tersaruk-saruk. Hidup seperti hidup ibuku.

Ibumu yang hingga kini masih terus bertahan hidup?

Ya.

And how's that?

Ia hanya mengangkat bahunya.


(Tangerang Selatan, bertahun-tahun lalu)

Butterfly Chaos

What you gave me

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

Snail

Tuesday afternoon, 3.04 pm.


You know G, I’m listening to your song now.

I wonder what are you doing now? Are you walking somewhere now with your feet deep in the snow? Because the rain is pouring almost every day now in Jakarta and despite all the differences, I imagine the sky would be just the same. Cloudy, misty sky, a color of broken white, a hint of sad romance in a faraway land.

Oh by the way, the sky was beautiful last night.
I don’t like it when it’s too clear. Or simply cloudy.
Last night was a sky with subtle patterns of clouds, forming soft strikes from one end to another, twirling in beautiful curves, a dance of vast universe.
I feel at home looking at it.
A strange comfort.

And look at me now, doing my daily pages in the middle of working hours.

(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Listen to Me

My mind feels like it was going to blow away any minute. Multitasking is never a good thing.

Please, please, please, listen to me.

Listen to my subtle voice carried by the unheard wind.
Listen well. Think of the universe. Think of the connected, moving particles, older than the universe itself. We are not separated. We are forever connected. We have always been connected.

Clear your head, space out like you usually do, and try to hear me. Find me in the deafening silence when you’re alone and no one’s around. No music, no dancing, no spotlight. Just you, and the silence.

Listen well, and find me there.
I am there. In the snowflakes falling on your head and clinging to your hair when you walk under the open early winter sky. In the drops of snow melting from the leaves you see in the trees around you. The cold air of winter that you try to grab with your hands. The promise of spring afterward.

Listen well, G. Please, listen well. I am there.


(South Jakarta, 4 years ago)

Calling You

I wish you’d hear the smallest sound my dreams make.
Calling you.

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

When The Sun Rises

Every time I tell myself that this is a new day and the thought of you will fade as the sun rises. Every single time I learn that just like the sun, the thought of you returns. Every. Single. Day.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Does It Ever

One of those days I spend alone sitting at my front yard, waiting for the sun to set.
Wondering, does the color look the same from where you are standing?
Does it ever, look the same, from the place where you stand, walk, breath, talk, laugh, sleep, and dream?
Does it ever?

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

When Morning Comes

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 subtle feeling of a déjà vu, so subtle like a thin transparent fabric on your window. It has died down over night.

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. And then 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 shore line. Cleaning up the surface, leaving nothing but the sands, no foot prints, 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.

(South Tangerang, 4 years ago)

One chaotic rainy afternoon

I remember Murakami, and the Wild Sheep Chase, and how everything is so chaotic yet so lonely.

(Central Jakarta, 4 years ago)

I Can't Name It

What would you call a feeling that gives you a warm sensation creeping down from your chest to your stomach when you think of a particular person?
What would you call a feeling that stretch your heart from head to toe, and stretch it even further, far, far to the furthest impossibility, only with the slightest thought of the person?
What would you call a feeling that always gets you thinking of that particular person when you see a beautiful path with the color of autumn, or a beautiful house with a soft, dim light and a sofa with old cushions, next to a long wooden paneled window looking out to the garden full of trees and flowers?

Tell me, what would you call a feeling that makes me think of you at the sight of that beautiful serenity of a comfortable, safe place to return to… The images of home…


I cannot name it.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Meringue

Dear G, 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 G, this is nothing but another nonsensical thoughts appear 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 thoughts appear out of nowhere. Yet even the most nonsense things seem to be triggering the thought of you.

Dear G, 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.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Mid Afternoon

I’m sipping my coffee now. No, I’m not thinking of you.
I’m just sipping my coffee, sitting still on my chair at my cubicle, staring at the monitor, catching up with the morning news streaming like waters.

Really, I’m just sipping my coffee. I’m sipping my coffee, typing words and words and numbers into the screen, talking to my colleagues, making some phone calls to some clients, texting some friends, moving on with life.

I’m not thinking of you.
Just like the other days before this, the days when my mind was not too occupied with the thought of you, I’m just sipping my coffee.

No, I’m not thinking of you.


(Kebayoran, 4 years ago)

Melancholy

I was talking to my brother on the phone yesterday. It was a small talk about small unimportant things, simply to catching up with each other’s life. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, I started to wonder, what were you doing at the moment? Were you talking on the phone with someone too? Was it your sister? Or your parents? Or perhaps your friends? Some important people in your life that you don’t see every day? What were you talking about with them? Was it the small unimportant things in your life too? Something along the line of what are you doing for the weekend? Something like how life has been going so far? Something like have you heard about auntie something and her daughter cousin something? Was it the same small unimportant things of everyday life of people like me? What kind of life is the life you’re living?

All the questions brought me to a realization that I know very little about your life. That there are so many unimportant yet interesting things in my life that I want to share with you. The unimportant things that decorate the simple, uneventful life of the people like me. Wouldn’t it be nice to share them with you? Wouldn’t you love to hear that? Have you ever wonder what kind of life that people like me is living?  What are our everyday lives made of? What are our small talks on the phone consist of? The small unimportant things in my life, are they actually the same small unimportant things as yours? Do you ever wonder how life looks like, how life feels like, here in my part of the world? Have you ever thought about them, as much as I do about your world?

Then I felt tears forming in the corner of my eyes.

I think I miss you. In the most impossible way that could possibly exist. I miss you.

(South Jakarta, 4 years ago)

Late Autumn (And Rainy Days)

Here I am, sitting and listening to late autumn while watching the cars and motorcycles rushing their way home on this rainy night.

I’m thinking about you, about the difference between autumn breeze and drizzling rain. I’m thinking about how autumn turns everything brown and reddish around you, and how rain leaves small charming droplets on my window. I’m thinking about what you’re thinking when you pull the scarf around your neck and step outside your door; looking at the sky. Are you aware that hundred of miles from where you stand, there’s someone who’s also looking at the same sky, that very sky that you’re staring at? Do you know how that someone wonders what does autumn feels like while she opens her umbrella and walk outside her door in the middle of the pouring rain? Do you know how that someone wonders what it feels like to be standing next to you, watching the leaves falling to the earth, to be walking next to you along the small path, relishing the sound of brown and red leaves under your feet?

I’m thinking about you; about the grey sky above our heads, about how different things are, about the fact that the only connection between us is the cold weather that’s been lingering around us since the beginning of the autumn and the rainy season, about how it will never make any difference.

I’ve been pondering about this for some time now and I wonder, what would you think if you know that I am here, thinking about you?

(South Jakarta, 4 years ago)

Cleaning up

Doing some cleaning up and re-organizing.

Will gradually moving and (re) posting some old stuff.

Hopefully

Undelivered Messages for everyone

When undeliveredmessages makes an appearance at Pojok Nestapa 24th.

Pojok ekspresi dedicated to the lonely and longing souls out there (well, not so far out yes, secara tempelannya di Lt.24)

The Year of Letting Go

She was walking among the midst of mangrove forest, slowly tracing the rows of logs that made the pathway under her feet,while absentmindedly scanned her surrounding, taking in the view of the thick tangle of branches and leaves. The saltwater around her reflecting the sky above, clear blue decorated with spots of clean white fluffs.

The sun was glaring fiercely above the trees, as if trying to make a statement about its existence, just in case any of the earthlings below forgets, drowned in the constant noise and things to run for. The air has this hushed quality of a quiet lazy afternoon that lulls you to sleep, with occasional soft sound of motorboat slowing down, navigating its way through the forest.

She felt contented.

It was a very small mistake.

A press of finger that is a few seconds too long, until she realized that she was in the process of deleting all the gallery folders in her phone memory. All three thousand something of images, now gone, and irretrievable.

Is it really irretrievable? Sitting herself on a bench nearby, she asked herself that question, her first reaction to the disaster.

And then, does it really matter? She found herself already moved to the next question. And somehow it felt more important than the first one.

A motorboat passed in front of her, gliding smoothly above the murky water, and disappeared behind the forest on her right side, She stared at the rippled water left by the motorboat, gurgling quietly and died, returned to its silent form.

Her mind started to reeling, recounting names that she could contact to save the three thousand something of images, trying hard to remember the folders in her external hard disk, or any other back up that she might have made. Might have, but not really sure.

The tangled branch in the forest was messy but real, like a house that is not too neat and pristine. A home. The murky water was so murky and looked so comfortable and secure in its murkiness and firm in its silence, despite the motorboat traffic on its surface. And the frogs. Now she realized, there were the frogs, making their noises from one end of the forest to another. It wasn't loud enough to be distracting, but it was loud enough to confirm presence. It was constant, like the sound of muted radio frequency.

Yes, muted.

Everything was lovely, and muted. Even the glaring sun was muted by the thick layers of leaves.
And to her surprise, she found that brokenhearted as she was, the shock, irritation, and whatever negative emotion supposed to be existed in the wake of the missing of thousands of images, was muted. They rippled for a moment, gurgling out of obligation, and died down without struggle.

With this thought, she continued her steps on the pathway made of logs, in the midst of the thickly tangled mangrove branches.


"So you're going to try to retrieve it?"
"No, I don't think so,"
"Why?"
"I don't know."

Of course she knows why. She didn't have it in her to fight for it, for the thousands of images she held so dearly. It was not there. Whatever it is that should be there in the mind of a person who claim to love taking pictures and had just lost thousands of unprocessed images, it was just not there.

"I decided to let them go. The images. I'm not going to try to retrieve them."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It feels like the right thing to do. Letting them go."
"Three thousands is a lot, you know"
"Yeah, it is."
"Imagine how much space it takes in your heart, how much weight it carries in your heart, all this time."
"Yeah.That's surely one way to look at it."
"It is."
"And I think it's kinda fit for the situation. Some of the images have been there for too long. I kept procrastinating to process and post them. Some images have been there for years. And some images are of people that I'm not very keen on remembering, people I had part ways with on an unpleasant note or disappointment. And I just realized that."
"Then it is time to free some space in your head, in your heart."
"I guess it is, yeah."

It was right before the new year, anyway. It's only fair to give the space for new things to come; new images to capture, new stories to tell, and more room for the steps to move forward, freed from the weight of memories holding them down.

She smiled a little at the thought.

The heart is a mystic

They say follow your heart because the heart always knows what the mind doesn’t. And the heart is always right.

I guess it’s true.

But it also true, that the heart leads you to unfamiliar places.
It brings you face to face with the scariest of feelings,
it makes you jump head first to unknown territory,
swim in the darkest of water, walk hand in hand with strange beings,
lost in the realm of  a different world

You can never have the full grasp of what the heart wants.

Because it dances and dances around, eluding the mind that persistently tries to reason with it
Because it speaks in otherworldly language that you find difficult to understand
And the only thing you manage to grasp is ‘you should’ve known, you’ve known long before you even realize it’

It changes the perspective of things.
Scary beings are not so scary anymore,
strange ideas are not so strange anymore,
It makes you remember the first thing you managed to hear on your first encounter with it:
‘Fear me not’

It gets you permanent bruises and marks all over your soul.
But you still have to thank the heart, because, after all, it leads you to where you’re supposed to be.

31 Days of Randomness - Day 3: On torn between choices and the hands of time

Wednesday morning. Torn between writing (as a good writer-wannabe should be doing), or cleaning the house (as a good mom should be doing), or just keep reading whatever it is I'm reading (as a good-for-nothing person should be doing early in the beginning of the day).

I'm torn between choices.

Choices, choices, choices.

I'm never one to make choices. What's with all the Libra sign and a condition of acute procrastinator. Too many choices to make, nothing seems to be better _or worse_ than the others, and then it gets oh so confusing so better leave it at that and think about it later; when my head is clearer, or when there's no sun outside threatening to rise and glare its way up to the morning hours fiercely (letting everyone knows that the morning is rolling and the time is ticking).

Time does tick louder after the sun rises, don't you think?'
I suppose the hands of time are a bit like plants. Feeding from sun lights, growing firmer and sharper with every bit of light it consume, leaving no room for arguments from those who still have doubt about time's power to move everything forward.

Arguments from people like me, who can't make choices.

31 Days of Randomness, Day 2: Regret

Regret is.

The unfinished coffee in the mug.
Coffee leftover in the french press. Stale. Forgotten.
Undelivered messages (obviously).
Message distortion. Failure in encoding decoding process somewhere between your grey cells and your mouth. Harsh words that you can't take back.
Nice words that you can't take back.
Dreams, premature one, never had the chance to actually form into shape. Not even a blur one.
Missed chance. Of course. Although, do we need to regret those?
Living your life day to day with avoiding regret as the sole purpose and motivator. No harsh word, you might never get a chance to apologize. No second guessing, you might never get a second chance.

There it is.
I've used all my 'being positive' quota for the day. Or the week.

31 Days of Randomness - Day 1: Another Undelivered Message

Hi you,
I hope this undelivered message finds you well.

I had lunch with a couple of friends yesterday, when one of my friends received  a news that her uncle passed away that morning, so she had to leave the office early to catch a flight to her hometown.

Surely the universe has a lot to say to me in this 'apparently not moved on from you' phase of my life, because suddenly my mind went back to you and our conversation a few years ago. I remember you told me at the time, that you would be staying at the office that night, because your driver was not in that day and you didn't want to drive alone because the traffic is so frustrating.

You were frustrated.
(Now if I recall all the times I've known you, I can say that you were always frustrated. Although you never want to talk about it).

'My driver took a short notice leave. Said he'd need to go back to his hometown. His grandma died'.
You said with a snort. (You didn't use any emoticon but I'm very sure I can hear you snorting. It would be weird if you didn't anyway, knowing you.)

'Oh okay', I said.

'Pssshh. Grandmother dies and he went back home'.You continued.

I didn't say anything.

'I don't think I care when my grandparents passed away. I  didn't go back home'. You added.

I stayed quiet.

'Who cares. It's only grandparents'.

'Right'. I said cautiously.

'You know what, I haven't even go home for 6 months. My mom has been nagging me to come and visit but I don't care'.

'You don't', I said again. It's not a question.

'No. I don't care. It annoys me'.

'But your Mom is waiting for you', I said. Again, not a question.

'Yeah, she is'. A laugh emoticon. 'Oh but who cares. I can't stand to be there'.

'Such an ungrateful son you are, I said'. Gave a laugh emoticon too. Because, of course, that should be a joke, right?

'I know. I know I am. That's why I don't want to have kids :)'. And there's the smiley added to your sentence.

Unlike laugh emoticon, smiley unsettles me. Two dots and a curve that tend to say too much because they obviously hide too much.

So I added yet another laugh emoticon. And despite the absence of sound, I think it was an awkward one. It was awkward because I think there was this uncomfortable feeling creeping slowly into my chest. Out of embarrassment (of what, I don't know). Out of the sharp pang of understanding silently dawn on me. A realization that you are a lost cause. And I am a lost cause for thinking that you're probably not and hoping against hope for it.

We are a lost cause. All hopes are gone. Or never there in the first place. The glass walls were broken and shattered. The wind broke loose, confused as it was and died down before it had the chance to break anything breakable or touch anything touchable. Chances never had a chance.

Of course, it was a message.
Something you've been trying to tell me without hurting your ego by bringing whatever it was going on between us to the table.
Of course, it's what you've been trying to say since the very beginning of our... friendship?Acquaintance? Something close to 'being in a position of knowing someone'?  A mistake?

I should have listened.

It took me years of faithfully nurturing a heartbreak, a handful of streaks of tears (yes, only a handful, and no, I didn't cried that much for it to be more than a handful, no, despite the whirlwind of emotions you inflicted on me).
It took me hundreds of back and forth between hoping and stop hoping, waiting and letting go, continue crying or start smiling, to finally understand everything.

Still, I'm not letting you go.

Pertama di tahun 2015

"Dia menantinya
dalam jeda-jeda hening musim yang berganti
kemarau dan hujan dan kemarau dan hujan lagi
yang datang tanpa jeda untuk membasahi jiwa atau mengeringkan air mata


Dia
telah
dan selalu
untuk pertemuan sesaat
merindukannya
dengan rasa sakit"


Demikianlah, postingan pertama di tahun 2015 (yang sudah berjalan sebulan ini), adalah potongan puisi yang saya buat sekitar satu dekade lalu.

Untuk pengingat saja, betapa saya dulu sangat piawai dan percaya diri dalam memetik dawai-dawai kegalauan dan menyandingkannya dengan rangkaian kalimat mewakili suara hati terdalam yang tak tersampaikan. Betapa saya dulu adalah salah satu pengguna jaring laba-laba raksasa dunia ini yang aktif menyebarkan pesan-pesan kepedihan hati dan cinta tak berbalas.

Mungkin, sekarang saya juga masih sepiawai itu.
Mungkin.
Tapi lalu ada 'bisa' dan 'mau', yang merupakan binatang yang berbeda meskipun masih saudara. Kemudian ada 'perlu', binatang yang berbeda, tidak ada hubungan saudara, tapi seringkali dilibatkan dalam rembugan-rembugan antara 'bisa' dan 'mau'.

'Bisa', 'mau', dan 'perlu' sibuk berdebat dalam kepala saya. Hasilnya kemudian adalah saya yang tidak menulis apa-apa.

Mudah-mudahan situasi ini segera berubah, dan saya kembali bisa menuliskan hal-hal tidak penting seperti biasa tanpa harus berpikir mengenai perdebatan 'bisa' 'mau' dan 'perlu'.
Tidak berarti suara hati saya itu penting untuk dunia atau memiliki nilai keindahan yang tak terbantahkan. Tapi saya rasa penting untuk memberi ruang pada hal-hal yang tidak bisa disampaikan dalam kehidupan nyata, untuk kemudian disampaikan kepada alam semesta melalui jaring laba-laba raksasa ini.

Siapa tahu alam semesta berbaik hati, menempatkan pesan-pesan tak terkatakan itu dalam orbit yang tepat sehingga mereka sampai di tempat tujuan dan diterima dengan baik oleh yang berkepentingan.

Kita tidak pernah tahu kan ya?


2.36, Senin dinihari

Nobody Cares About What Has Been

So she took a peek into the driver’s room.

It was dark, with only small ray of lights coming in through the front (or back, in this case) window.

But does it matter?

We are all moving forward, she thinks. Nobody cares about the lights behind us, despite its persistence on staying. Nobody cares about what’s left behind.

And that’s the kind of question that never fails to struck her. The kind of question that will tear all her confidence and defenses down, and shredded them to pieces as if some mysterious paper shredder have magically made its way into her mind, stole the delicate faith that she has been building slowly from nothing, and crushing it slowly through its sharp little knives with robotic indifference, non-humanly innocence.

Nobody cares about what has been.

Why should she?

She Recognizes Him

It's a wonder to her how she still remembers even the smallest details about him.

She stared at the square image of a pair of hands in front of her, and through the limited size of her cellphone screen, she recognized him.

It’s him. She recognizes the hand.

She recognizes the fingers, the way they are curled as if ready to grasp something, anything, that comes his way. Exactly how he lives his life.

She could tell it was him in the picture from the shape of the nails; the way they are trimmed, and how the edges are always a bit dirty, though she never understands why they are dirty.

She never asks.

There were many things she understands about him, just as many as the things she doesn't. But she stopped asking since a long time ago. She learned that questions unsettled him. And after some time, questions unsettled her too. So she stopped asking questions, not only to him, but also to life.

What people talked about as moving with the flow of life, is more like a merry-go-round to her.  Sometimes you’re a few inches below life, sometimes you’re a few inches off the ground. Never too high, never too low, and even if it is, it doesn't feel like it, especially when you look back over your shoulders when everything has passed, because we are the masters of denial of our own misery. That’s what she thought.

The world is a merry-go-round, a few inches up, a few inches down, a few inches further, and before you know it you’re back where you were before, ready to be spinning in the same orbit again, running on the same path again, chasing whatever it is in front of you, reaching out to grasp whatever it is in front of you and fail every single time because they are just like you, spinning in the same orbit, running on the same path, just a few inches ahead of you.

So there's not point asking questions to life. The world is a merry-go-round and it is easier if you just know your place and stop asking questions.

‘That's pathetic’, he said, with a pair of eyes looking at hers sadly. And he left whatever questions he had hanging in the air because like her, he also knows that questions unsettle her too.

Being her usual sensitive self, she recognized the sadness in his eyes. She wondered why but kept it to herself.

‘The world is a merry-go-round, flowing like water and philosophy be damned.’ Thus, she said.

The world is a merry-go-round but somehow they never really return to where they were before. Probably there's a glitch in the mechanism of the universe. Probably all the spinning and twirling got a little too harsh and things and particles and fate and wishes are thrown out of orbit.

Probably.

Because it seems that something has been shifting along the way, and every single time, they were brought back a few inches further from where they were. Just a few inches further, but never closer to each other.

She stared at the pair of hands in the square image on her screen. Judging from the way the picture was taken, it seems that it was made based on his request. It wasn't like him to leave his face out of the frame though, but perhaps he's changed now. With all the spinning and twirling of the merry-go-round, it's only normal, she thinks.

Once again she finds herself in amazement. How easy it is for her to recognize him, even when he's moved a few inches from where he was before, changed a little bit from how he was before, hiding a little bit more than he used to.

She recognizes the hands, the veins that run from his wrist to the tips of his fingers, the way it held out in front of him, embracing everything that life has to offer, or the way it curled back moving away from her, some time during the bumpy ride of the merry-go-round. She recognizes him, from afar, from up close, with closed eyes, through the brightest day, under the darkest shadow.

They can zoom in his picture down to pixels, she thinks, and she would still be able to recognize him.

With that thought, she leaned herself back to the chair and close her eyes. It's not so much of a consolation, but it is the one thing about him that doesn't leave her unsettled.

She recognizes him, and the life in him.

A professional procrastinator, a fail multitasker, or acute introvert?

I do everything to procrastinate, especially for the things I consider as important to me. I tend to put these supposed to be important things aside, for later on, for a better time, a quieter time, time when I get to dedicate all my attention to whatever the important thing is, undivided.

Honestly, I should've known better.
Such time is rare, hardly ever easily presented before me, and when it does, I usually manage to find a way to distract myself and doing something else instead.

No question about the importance because I know how important these things are for me. And no questions about whether I'm procrastinating because I am. I am one of those successful procrastinators. Always been one. The question is why.

Putting off something that I don't like doing is no mystery. I'd procrastinate simply because I don't want to do it. But procrastinating something I like doing and consider important, makes me wonder.

I finally found out that all these important things I tend to procrastinate, I usually get them done in the unlikeliest times. The realization came down on me one day during a family gathering, when there were about fifteen people in the room, including children running around, with all the people talking. I remember I went to my room to get my drawing book, and then start drawing in the middle of the conversation around me. It was one of the things that I've been planning to do, been wanting to do, for weeks, but was kept put off because 'I couldn't find the right time to do it'. There's always some other works to do, some other house chores waiting, some phone calls to make, emails to send, and when I finally got a break and some alone time, there would be a book to read, or a daydreaming to do.

I noticed that this also happens to my plan to write (which usually was done while I'm baking a cake, or during lunch break at the office, instead of a quiet time before I sleep at night). The same thing happens to the stack of article links piled up in my evernote, saved for later to read. The plan is to read the articles before sleeping. I imagined it would be really nice to sit on my bed with my laptop, reading all the articles in silence.

The reality is, I usually finished reading most of them while I'm on the train on my way to the office. Yes, inside the crowded train, among the chaotic rush of people jammed into the confined space, swaying from time to time, leaning involuntarily to other people's shoulders or armpits because there simply is no room left to complain.

I started to think that this is probably something to do with my inability to actually face myself.

I enjoy being alone, being with my own company. But writing, and drawing, is an activity that expose us to ourselves. Or the other way round. The point is, these activities will lead you to find whatever it is hidden under the lid of your mind, and sometimes, your heart.

While I always feel the presence of other people around me when I'm writing or drawing as an intrusion to my privacy (this is me being too territorial), I started to notice that their presence ease the tension you cannot avoid to occur during the encounter with whatever it is hidden under the lid of your mind and heart. The presence of other people distract you from the real focus.

I don't know if it's a good thing though. Because, well, you face what you need to face and you just have to do it from time to time. You cannot runaway or hide forever, or pretending to forget about the things that you want to do. Things that you know you really really want to do, things that you cannot get your mind off of them no matter how hard you try avoiding them.

Or maybe I'm just too good at multitasking that I cannot help doing it whenever I get a chance to.
(*sounds very unlikely)

Either that, or I simply don't like people (as some people accused me of doing). So it's actually a good tactic to be present during any kind of gathering, without actually being present.

I don't think I'm that evil though.

So that leaves me with a question hanging: am I actually a professional procrastinator, a fail multitasker, or an acute introvert?



2.28 am, Tuesday early in the morning.
Such a deep, life changing question to ask in such an interesting hours. 

Silence

Is being outspoken really that important?

Can we take a moment to try to appreciate the silence, and those who are silent, around us?

Yang Akan Terjadi Jika Kau Minum Kopi di Sore Hari

1. Kau jadi giddy dan gelisah. Kau akan merasa kelebihan energi, dan tiba-tiba sangat bersemangat bekerja sampai tengah malam atau bahkan besok paginya, tanpa mengantuk.
2. Kau  jadi giddy dan gelisah. Terlalu gelisah untuk bisa konsentrasi dan fokus mengerjakan pekerjaan apapun, sehingga akhirnya tidak ada satu pekerjaan pun yang selesai.
3. Perutmu jadi kembung. Kau akan terjaga sepanjang malam meresapi sakit di lambung; tidak bisa tidur, tapi juga tidak bisa bekerja.
4. Kopinya tidak memberikan efek apa-apa. Kau akan mengantuk tepat jam 10 malam dan tertidur limabelas menit setelahnya. Sampai besok pagi. Sama sekali tidak menyelesaikan pekerjaan apapun.

Urutan kejadian berbanding terbalik dengan kemungkinannya untuk terjadi.

Demikianlah.

Why Keep A Journal?

So, 1.5 years after this post, I finally (yes, finally), decided to keep a journal again.

Life's different now and finding time to sit and write about different things is challenging for me, so I decided to have this one book to be my journal, where I'll write not only about the mundane things I do everyday, but also to keep my daily pages (which was supposed to be 'morning pages' as suggested by Julia Cameron_I changed it to daily because my mornings tend to be very hectic unless I wake up at 4am and write).

A colleague said he keeps a journal and wants his future children and grandchildren to read it one day, maybe when he's old or no longer there.

Now, while I'm not sure about the idea of my grandchildren reading my personal journal (because I write awful things), I think I really need to get into the habit again.

For one, it helps my relentless mind to calm down a bit. Sometimes it gets too crowded in my head. The thoughts can't stop shouting at each other. But I found that the intensity tends to lessen when they're on paper, so keeping a journal should be good for my health.

Two, it keeps me from posting too personal things in my social media accounts. 

I'd save the netizens around the world the unnecessary information about my uneventful life, and save the use of bandwidth and energy for electricity for more useful things, you know, for a greater good.

By doing that, I'd also save myself from any future embarrassment (which I predict mostly would consist of me being embarrassed about myself) from throwing too much nonsense. This way I also get to avoid the possibility of having to have my angst-decorated memories to exist forever in the virtual world.

Because I believe that the things you don't want people to comment about or respond to (liked, loved, laughed, frowned, shared, or questioned in real life), belongs only in your personal journal. 

So every time the urge to splutter things inside my head comes I'd remember to do it properly. That is either in the safe protection of the sheets in my personal journal because, well, it's personal, or in the middle of the competing noises in the chaotic world of social media (which leads to the possibility that those angst-ridden/happiness-overdosed/too-sweet-it's-nauseating too personal postings to go unnoticed anyway but hey, better be safe than sorry).

So help me God.

Flow

My taichi instructor used to tell me during our exercises that if it hurts, than you're not doing it right.

He said, it's not supposed to hurt.

If it hurts, that means you're fighting something.
If it hurts, that means you're fighting the flow, fighting the way your body works.
He said again, I just need to go as far as my body allows. Move as my body allows.

Recently, the words came back to me like a wave. And I don't know if I had drown in realization already, or just, simply, drowning.

Excuses for no excuses

It's been quite some time since the last time I visit my own blog. I guess I'm just not made for commitment in the first place. I can't even commit to my own life (oh yes, bitter mood is on).

No excuses for the commitment, I'm just that lousy. But I think it's also a good thing to settle with just short posts, considering my mind is actually still relentless as ever, and with such minimum release it might lead to mental explosion (is there even such a thing?) like, I guess, the one I'm currently having right now. My tongue is practically a flying dagger ready to tear at anyone insensitive enough to read the sign.

My former boss used to tell me that my subconscious is just too intense, that's why every little thing out of order, even as small as some iseng colleagues shaking my chair playfully while passing next to my desk would shock me to the point where it takes me a few seconds to return to the real world, and that by the time I do, I've completely forgot everything I was doing previously.

I don't think that's the problem now. I think it's just solitude deprived at its worst.

Life happens, life grows, and life doesn't bother to ask whether I'm ready or not. I guess that's what happened.

My workload is getting crazier, the stake is getting higher, it's rainy season the traffic is getting more impossible for everyone to commute in less than 2 hours (unless, of course, they don't commute), longer hours on the street, shorter quality hours at home, brain's getting even wearier.

Again, no excuses. I'm completely aware of that. And I've been trying to accept the fact that this is just the life I have to go through for now, so yeah, personal dreams shoved into the closet for now. And turns out that it doesn't do me good.

I need to stick to short posts if that's all that I can make for now. Because making a decent, thoroughly thought posts takes time and energy, which I'm currently lack of. And not letting is also counterproductive. Add the solitude deprived and here I am now, a collection of all forms of rage, ready to blow up with even the smallest ignition.

I just need to settle with what little I can do right now.

My Mind

I planned to work, but then I opened my blogger account. There were also days when I planned to draw or write, but then stuck with the office email and started to develop a document, happily.

Sometimes I don't understand the way my mind works. It seems like it has a life of its own.

Another solitude deprived moment

One of those days when everything is just too much; the works, the people, the emotion, the dreams. I needed to grab a pencil and a paper and find a quiet corner. But I couldn't

I just realized that I can't draw anything or write anything when there's someone around, even if it's my own Mom reading or watching TV on the other room. I found out that I need to be alone when doing these things that I consider as releasing my emotional excess. Alone as in no one around me to realize what I'm doing. This is very important since what I'm doing (when drawing or writing) is basically pouring out my real self on to the paper and it's a very private moment for me that I find it irritating when someone finds out.

It's not that I have that much insecurity, but I just don't like it when people see too much of me.

At the office it's much easier. I could just draw whenever I have spare time, on my desk, not minding people walking back and forth around me. I've been thinking about it and wondering why. I guess perhaps it's because I know no one there really cares what I'm doing. Even if they found me drawing something they probably just think that I'm bored with the work and try to find distraction. 

At home, everything is more personal. And it really frustrates me how I can't do anything when I'm in the just right environment to do it.

These are some of the mandalas  I drew when I'm at the office.