Himpunan Status II (2014 - 2015)

Photo by Januarain

Ini postingan tentang himpunan status saya yang ke dua. Hanya saja, kali ini, saya tidak mencantumkan tulisan-tulisan saya dari status Facebook saja, tapi juga dari caption  Instagram. Jadi ya judulnya memang agak kurang pas. Dikit.

Saya, kalau sedang mellow, mungkin karena terbawa mood dari novel yang sedang saya baca, atau film yang sedang saya tonton, atau lagu yang sedang saya dengarkan, atau karena cuaca, atau bahkan tanpa alasan sama sekali, kadang suka menulis paragraf-paragraf singkat (atau agak panjang) yang rasanya kurang cocok dijadikan postingan blog. Kenapa? Nggak tau juga. Bagi saya kurang pas saja kalau di-post di sini. Nah, berhubung menurut hemat saya blog ini bukan rumah yang tepat, paragraf-paragraf tersebut lantas saya sumbangkan ke Facebook. Atau kadang-kadang caption foto di Instagram. 

Lha? Kalau sudah di-post di situs lain, kenapa harus di-post di sini juga?

Karena saya tidak mau mereka hilang. Itulah mengapa saya memilih kata "himpunan". Saya ingin menghimpun tulisan-tulisan "random" saya tadi ke dalam satu wadah. Agar mereka tidak hanya menumpuk menjadi arsip-arsip tua yang lantas terlupa.

Ini adalah kumpulan tulisan saya dari akhir tahun 2014 sampai Maret 2015. Sayangnya (kalau bisa dibilang begitu) mereka semua saya tulis dalam Bahasa Inggris. Untuk semua kesalahan grammar dan pemakaian diksi, sebelumnya, saya mohon maaf. Biar bagaimanapun juga, saya adalah mahasiswa Sastra Inggris yang pernah menulis kalimat 'Turn off your shoes' dan dapat nilai C di mata kuliah Writing. Jadi, harap maklum ^^;

**

September 13, 2014

She remembered the taste of abandonment too well. She, of all people, understood what it felt like to go to bed with the hurricane in her heart and heavy rain pouring on her cheek. At that time, she was so sure no one was able to save her. She'd be swallowed up completely by sadness and disappeared. Soon enough no one was going to remember the girl whose eyes painted with emptiness and heart broken into a million splinters. She'd be gone without anyone noticed. And that was one sad imagery she'd been holding for so long.

But from pain, she chose to learn about letting go than holding on. She chose to learn how to wave goodbye with a sincere smile than crying over someone that, in a very painful way, slipped out of her life purposely. She tried to believe that, one day in the future, she'd be the girl whose heart filled up with flowers and sunshine. Her rose-colored lips would never forget smiling that strangers oftentimes wondered whether she had ever felt unhappy in her life. And she won't have to worry about the hurricane and heavy rain again because, after the man left, she has been learning how to grow her own little sun. Right inside her heart. The home where her strength resides and belongs.

September 15, 2014

It was October 3rd. The wind was chilly and the sky was colorless and she was on the edge of believing that love was a lie. She woke up everyday with a tsunami of sadness. The pique and anguish curled up into her bosom, covered up her bruised heart with darkness and made her world into a sunless one. She was the lonely winter from that moment on.

He was the man with the touch of joyful summer. It was on December 14th that he met this particular girl whose eyes looked like a starless night sky. So alluring, magical yet lifeless. Out of curiosity, he brought his half-full cup of coffee and sat in front of her. She glanced at him. He smiled. It was just then he noticed how her wine-colored lips was in contrast with her snow white skin. Those lips were so... enticing he could almost imagine touching them with his and tasted the sweetness of it. He giggled quietly thinking how crazy and impolite he was for wanting to breath her in and pour the stars and rainbow into her mouth on their very first meeting. The girl left him without saying a word.

Their “date” went on for a month without a single word spoken. The winter girl would order a cup of earl grey tea and the summer man would sip his black coffee silently before continuing his observation. The girl often brought a book and ignored the man, but on some occasions she would stared at him back as if they were in a serious staring competition. Oftentimes, the man broke into a smile and looked at her so tenderly as if he yearned for her. As if they knew each other for thousands years already and he missed her so much he couldn’t even bring himself to embrace her. Sometimes, he wondered what kind of a demon that daringly snatched the life out of those beautiful eyes and turning them into blank pages of a forgotten fairytale. Every single day he would imagine tracing her scars with his fingertip, kissed them, and breath the fire into her soul. Waking up the merry princess inside her being. And if he could, he really wanted to press his lips against her warm neck so that he could send the seeds into her veins, hoping the seeds would arrive at her heart because he dreamt of growing a sunflower garden on it.

On the windy afternoon in the middle of January, after a month and a day, bravely the man broke the silence. “You know Miss, I’ve never been so in love with solitude before I met you.” he said. “But I am thankful for all the silence because I can look at you closer. I can admire you better. And I found solace in it. There is also a certain romantic clandestinity about our solitariness. I like that. But, you know what, Miss. There are just so many stories that one can read from another person’s eyes. And I read a painful tale in yours. I have always wondered why.”

She hesitantly abandoned the words on her book and stared at him back. Not blankly as usual.

And then it hit him hard when he realized the light was started glimmering inside those starless-sky eyes. Shyly, silently, nervously. Just like the flicker of a candle on a stormy night.

When the cold of winter collided with the merriness of summer, they created a bang of a beautiful spring.

“You flirt with me without even saying something. Isn’t that amazing?” he giggled. “Well, just like Augustus Waters, I'm not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. You’re beautiful, Miss. And I want to know you better. I just wanted to say that.”

He planted roses on her cheeks.

She smiled. 

February 11, 2015

For her, sadness is just one of the alleys in life. A passageway that you have to go through every day before going to the office. A dark path that you often ignored when you're about to go home. Remembered. Forgotten. A sadness. It lingers with her longer than it ever did to human. And she likes it. She likes how it tastes like blood. She likes how bruised its skin is. Beaten. Crushed. Shattered. A sadness.

For her, sadness is a comrade. She often said to me over our breakfast, ''Dear, a little sadness in life will never hurt anybody'' and I smiled. Faintly. Disapprovingly. Because right after that, she'd retreat herself from the world I live in. Gone into her own bubble made of cold nostalgia and quietness. I marvel at how sadness could swallow her up like a tsunami in seconds. But then she doesn't think of it as something bad. She grew up clutching a sadness dearly upon her breast. For her it's just an old friend. Sadly, a loyal one.

February 13, 2015

 

A happy and giggly girl with infectious smile. She hates girls like that. She despises them. They always remind her of how boring she is. A calculating, un-funny, and too self-conscious gal. Men do not like girls like her. Men like dumb and hot chicks. And those two are the last things that you could possibly imagine to describe a girl like her. She doesn’t like laughing at un-funny jokes. She doesn’t like commenting on topics that she thought silly. She loathes girls who are disgustingly always happy. Twenty-four-fucking-hours. Every-fucking-day. 

She holds such an unhealthy and disturbing ill will towards love and happiness. She abhors but also desires for both. Weird. She IS weird. She is a big fat mass of confusion. A gigantic burrito made of broken dreams. She detests sweet and kind girls because she is not one of them. She can’t be them. And she doesn’t like dreaming something she can never achieve. To be giggly. To be funny. To be not so self-aware. Those are list of impossibilities. Aside from being loved back and appreciated. She is a very pathetic girl, isn’t she? “Very,” she says, somewhat proudly. “Very.” And I looked at her eyes, wanting to say, “You’re not,” before I realized, she would never believe me. Not in this life. Never.

So I hugged myself in front of the mirror last night, and cried.

February 15, 2015

 

It came to me in an epiphany. A satellite. All this time I am no more than a satellite. They are the beautiful Earth. And I am just the satellite. I am there. Orbiting. Communicating. But I am not a part of them. I am not a mountain. Or a river. Or a street. Or even a ravine. I am the satellite. A strange object outside their happy bubble. I float around dead and lonely stuffs inside a grandiose yet scary and soundless and dark place they called ‘space’. But that is the point. I am floating alone. They ejected me from the Earth. They threw me like a garbage. But they still want me to be around them. Orbiting them. Why? Why they don’t want me? And as I float for an eternity, I realize my question will never reach them. I will never have the answer. Because I am just the stupid and hopeless satellite. I was this odd object that they threw into a place with absolute solitude and incalculable emptiness. I am doomed for oblivion. My voice is forever trapped in this no-air space. And in space, darling, voice does not exist. No sound. No messages. No goodbye. 

People think we’re the true definition of camaraderie. Always together. Happy orbiting each other. But, really, baby? Tell me. What are we?

February 24, 2015

It baffles me sometimes thinking how in love I was with you. I was so inexplicably insane I could write hundreds of poems based only on your smile. The picturesque image of you wearing glasses and that endearing smile of yours will always be my all time favorite. 

I was enchanted, my dear. Badly. I often said to myself that the young love I had towards you was just a fling. Two or four months later, every time your presence graced my sight, that tingling sensation in my bosom would have gone. And I swear to God, I've never been so wrong in my life. Because if forgetting you is a victory, I just found myself standing millions miles away from it. 

(Writing this after seeing you again last night. A short prose for the boy everybody knows from the girl nobody notices. It's been a while, isn't it? Nine years melted away between us, sweetheart. Nine years. And you never knew who I am. Ah, my ever not-knowing November man. The one who generously brought me sunflower seeds and planted them on my heart. Because of him, my stomach fats with butterflies. Deliciously obese with love. And it is such a sugary pleasant surprise knowing that we're currently sharing the same favorite activity. Freezing time. Crystallizing the moments. It's such an insignificant fact yet I almost died from ardor. Ah, the effect you have on me, my dear. Both mystifying and amusing. Yet I still treasure how distinct we are in almost all aspects despite that one similarity. For example the way you fly with music and I swim in colors. How obsessed you are with keys and I with brushes. The fact that you ignore me and I dream of your caress.
 

Simple. Different. Us.)

 

March 3, 2015

This is a tale of how a negligible, plain shadow falls for a human man whom the auburn end of June sun has chosen for her to stick around till the twilight comes and lights up the bleached moon. With unmistakable comprehension, she admits somewhat proudly of knowing every single human being from the beginning of time. Man and woman. Male and female-child. Boy and girl. And yet no one, YES, no one was quite like him.

It gives her a pang of genuine and silent pleasure recalling as for today, and today only, they are one. A singular form. A perfect match.

'Isn't that beautiful?' she whispers, with full knowing her message won't be heard by the flawless man forever.

Oh, how it feels like to be besotted with someone whom she knows with unparalleled clarity that, by the end of the day, needs to be waved a forlorn goodbye? So she guesses this is the 'thing' that some poets referred to as 'the shortcut to taste the menacing and bittersweet flavour of hell'.

Falling in love.

And yet, even after knowing its hellish aftereffects, still, she falls hard and deep to the navel of the grim world human called ‘one-sided affection’. The lone, beguiled shadow thus travels the day with such a sticky poignant feeling. The bliss that comes when thinking their inseparable bond is greater than any human love story, always followed by the icy vividness of the farewell bluest colour.

Interdependent and separate. So close, yet so far. One, but also two at the same time.

When the bronze sun lies low at the horizon, the honey-coloured summer sky asks the inky miserable shadow to part ways with her beloved human. The shabby shadow wails sorrowfully while the universe cocoons her into a deafening solitary. The moon waits patiently behind the amber tinge of grey clouds, witnessing a soul-shattering adieu in its own melancholy, silently also weeps. The seagull orchestra heard from far beyond the mist, the wind blows softly, and the sky starts to turn into jet black.

A line has been drawn.

For once the shadow believes in two things. First, human is all alone. Second, some things are meant to be broken. She cannot speak for the former, but the latter is, she knows for sure (now), an atrociously cruel veracity.

Today has chosen her foremost belonging, her heart, to be butchered and scattered around like pieces of invaluable vases. It all feels lucid and it hurts so badly. When will or will she ever meet that ethereal human man again is a question she would probably never have the answer. Life finally kisses her with the bitterness of uncertainty. The good ol’ sweet and ever wise life.

For now and then, the phrase “I miss you” always feels like a mantra for her. The safe haven where she could store and relive the experience of falling for a mortal being. Of recklessly planted a premature love deep inside her core.

Her taciturn, heart-rending love story has now become a stellar classic. Narrated for centuries by the lonely moon, the melancholic drizzle, the vastly blue sky, and the majestic celestial universe. It is a note in morning birds’ songs. It is a palpable softness of the alizarin crimson petals from an unnamed bloom. It is a swash in every breaking wave. It is a colour in rainbow.

“I miss you,” she said.

Alas, darling, some things are indeed meant to be broken.

 ***

Kesedihan

[October 2014]

Saya menulis dua post tentang "kesedihan" beberapa minggu yang lalu. Mereka saya tulis di tempat dan waktu yang berbeda. Dan berhubung mereka bertema sama, saya berniat untuk menggabungkan mereka saja. Mengingat saya menulis post yang kedua karena alasan 'lupa pernah menulis hal serupa sebelumnya', saya berkesimpulan kalau saya memang benar-benar ingin menulis tentang kesedihan.

*

Perempuan Penyuka Kesedihan

Saya adalah seseorang yang menemukan kesenangan di dalam hal-hal yang sedih. Saya adalah perempuan penyuka kesedihan.

Bersedih sudah semacam rutinitas. Mengecapnya membuat saya senyum dan bahagia. Beberapa orang menganggap saya menyedihkan dan butuh pengasihan. Saya bilang, ini sih cuma soal selera saja.

Seperti halnya kamu suka pizza dan saya suka nasi padang.

Kamu ingin bahagia, saya senang berduka.

Tak ada beda.

Sejauh peraturan yang mengharuskan seluruh umat manusia untuk hidup berbahagia belum dilegalkan, saya ingin menikmati hidup dalam kesedihan yang sepi ini dengan khidmat.

Dengan catatan "hidup dalam kesedihan" bukan berarti saya senang jika orang-orang terdekat saya kejatuhan musibah. Atau saya senang kalau lamaran kerja saya ditolak terus-terusan. Bukan itu.

"Hidup dalam kesedihan" versi saya adalah hidup dalam perasaan sendu.

Tentu tak sedikit yang menganggap bahwa hidup yang melankolis adalah hidup yang sungguh tidak keren. Itu, saya kembalikan lagi ke masing-masing orang. Seperti yang sudah saya bilang di awal. Ini hanya soal selera.

Entah mengapa saya selalu merasa puitis ketika sedang bersedih. Mungkin itu lah salah satu alasan mengapa saya begitu mencintai kesenduan yang gemar merapat diam-diam ketika saya sendiri. Bagi saya menangis bukan bukti bahwa seseorang itu pengecut. Seseorang itu lemah. Bagi saya menangis adalah bentuk apresiasi akan kesedihan. Apresiasi kecil yang bisa saya tunjukkan untuk kesedihan yang kerap dianaktirikan.

Kesedihan selalu berhasil membuat saya merasa lebih manusia.   

**

Mereka yang Menghargai Kesedihan

Saya sebenarnya agak kurang setuju dengan penyamarataan pendapat bahwa orang yang mudah meneteskan air mata adalah orang yang lemah, rapuh dan lelet. Tidak bisa diberi tanggung jawab yang berat. Atau dianggap hanya ingin bersenang-senang saja. Tidak mau hidup susah.

Saya tidak bilang kalau pendapat ini salah. Saya cuma kurang setuju.

Saya bisa jadi perempuan paling cengeng yang pernah kamu temui. Nomer dua setelah adik bayimu. Tapi bukan berarti saya bisa menangis seenaknya di mana-mana. Saya tidak gila. Saya hanya mudah tersentuh. Perempuan perasa. Nah, salahkah menjadi perasa? Jawabannya tentu “Tidak”. Tapi teman-teman dekat saya mungkin akan berpendapat lain, “Lha, kamu itu ‘perasa’-nya keterlaluan kok, ris. Nggak lumrah. Terlalu sensitif. Lemah!” Lalu detik setelahnya, saya akan merasa jadi orang paling tidak berguna sedunia..

Begitulah. Saya senang menukar gelembung-gelembung kebahagiaan saya dengan paku-paku milik ocehan pedas orang lain.

Sejak lama saya berusaha mendeskripsikan sikap saya yang satu ini, baru malam ini saya menemukan padanan kata yang tepat. Self-destructive. Saya membawa ribuan bom bunuh diri di dalam kantung-kantung kasat mata yang saya sendiri tak pernah tahu letaknya di mana. Dan kadang saya meledakkan mereka dengan suka rela. Saya malah mikir, mungkin saya ini masokis. Masokis dalam  artian saya kerap menemukan percik kebahagiaan ketika saya sakit hati. Bukan masokis yang senang dipecuti.

Ngomong-ngomong tentang perempuan perasa, beberapa menganggap kalau perempuan-perempuan macam ini seharusnya disimpan saja di dalam kandang emas. Tidak usah diperkenalkan dengan dunia luar. Biar nggak usah dikit-dikit sakit hati. Tapi saya kembali tidak sependapat. Perempuan perasa bukan berarti perempuan yang takut terluka. Salahkah jika ia terlahir dengan hati yang lebih lembut dari hati manusia pada umumnya?

Entah ya, tapi saya lebih senang menganggap orang-orang perasa ini adalah mereka yang justru melihat kesedihan dari sudut yang sama sekali tidak menyedihkan. Mereka yang kebetulan menghargai kesedihan sedikit lebih besar dari rasa bahagia. Tentu saja hal ini akan dengan mudah dianggap tidak lumrah mengingat trend “pamer siapa-siapa yang lebih bahagia dari siapa-siapa yang lain” kian menjamur di nyaris semua sosial media. Di tengah masyarakat yang lebih mengagungkan kebahagiaan, mereka-mereka yang menghargai kesedihan barang sedikit saja lantas sangat mudah dicap abnormal. Tidak biasa. Asing.  

**

Dua post di atas pada dasarnya sama. Sama-sama menyiratkan bahwa saya adalah perempuan yang pandai dan senang bersedih. Sejujurnya kadang saya capek dengan generalisasi stereotype yang menganggap bahwa orang-orang yang pandai bersedih (macam saya) adalah juga orang-orang yang manja. Kadang kami, saya lebih tepatnya, hanya ingin bersedih saja. Tanpa alasan yang jelas. Kadang ada malam di mana saya tidur telentang, menyetel musik-musik sedih, dan tiba-tiba menangis. Sesimpel itu.

** 

Saya nemu gambar ini di news feed Facebook saya beberapa hari lalu.  

Sebagai seseorang yang begitu sensitif, begitu mudah tersentuh, kutipan di atas begitu membantu saya untuk tidak melihat sifat saya yang satu ini sebagai kutukan. Bertahun-tahun saya merasa malu, merasa mati-matian bersalah karena saya begitu perasa. Begitu berbeda. Walaupun seharusnya itu tak perlu.

"Artists are more sensitive and more gifted to feel every emotion to the fullest... it is a gift that gives you the ability to create."

-Anon-

Yes. I wear my heart on my sleeve, I am sensitive, I cry easily and I am not ashamed of it. 

 

Menangislah kalau memang perlu. Tak apa. Kamu manusia, bukan batu pondasi gedung-gedung pencakar langit di ibu kota. Yang harus selalu kokoh. Selalu kuat. Sampai kadang kamu lupa bagaimana rasanya meringkuk bisu di sudut kamar, ditemani beberapa tetes air mata dan kesedihan.

 

Maka mari, luangkan waktumu beberapa jenak untuk menghargai kesenduan. Karena tanpanya, apalah arti kebahagiaanmu selain toples-toples cantik berisi air tawar. 

 

Hambar.

**

Help.

Photo by Nishe

"The thing that sucks about mental illness is that if you aren’t depressed enough, suicidal enough, bad enough, nobody cares. Nobody cares until you reach their standard, and that standard is when your problem is bad enough to effect them." 

 (Unknown)

Mental illness bukan penyakit yang mudah dideteksi. Ia tidak seperti flu. Atau tumor. Efeknya kadang ringan. Namun di lain waktu bisa juga fatal. Kadang ada beberapa orang yang tidak sadar telah berpengaruh besar pada penyakit kejiwaan seseorang. Mereka dengan mudah mengucap ini, mengucap itu. Berharap membantu. Namun kenyataannya ucapan mereka justru berbuah luka. Dan luka yang kamu sayat di dalam kepala manusia tentu lebih sulit dicermati. Ah, padahal betapa mudahnya menyembunyikan luka macam ini. Cukup tertawa. Tersenyum. Jangan curhat aneh-aneh di sosial media. Maka mayoritas teman-temanmu akan menganggapmu baik-baik saja.

I've been dealing with depression for some time. It's kinda embarrassing to admit, but I have to write this fact in order to tell you something. Jangan pernah sekali-kali menganggap semua orang sekuat kamu. Jangan.

For you  it might be weird, but yes, some people find it hard to be always happy. To be strong. Jangan pernah beranggapan karena kamu berhasil push-up 100 kali dalam hitungan detik, lantas orang lain pun pasti bisa. "Oh, c'mon. I've been there! I had it worse than you! Your struggle is easy compared to mine. How come you can't do that?" Never say something like this to anyone. Never. Karena dianggap bodoh dan lemah itu menyakitkan. No matter how you say it. 

After all you've never been inside her head and seen the monsters she had to fight.

Saya tidak pernah menyukai sindiran. Ibu saya tidak pernah berhasil menyuruh saya menyapu dengan cara menyindir saya. Berulang kali saya mengingatkan beliau, katakan langsung ibu mau apa. Tidak perlu menyindir. Tidak perlu membandingkan saya dengan anak tetangga yang lebih rajin. Ibu mau saya menyapu, suruhlah saya menyapu. Kalau saya masih tidak mau, maka cubit saya yang keras, tapi jangan pernah menyindir saya.

Sejauh ini sindiran tak pernah berhasil membantu saya melangkah maju. Untuk beberapa orang mungkin sindiran adalah pecutan. Bagi saya sindiran adalah kapak yang setiap kali dilontarkan maka satu per satu kaki saya dipatahkan.  

Blaming myself for everything is my default action. I'm beating myself harder than anyone ever thought. It is a bad habit and I don't want you to be like this. Saya sedang berusaha untuk lebih pemaaf pada diri saya sendiri dan sejauh ini saya gagal. Saya tidak tahu bagaimana caranya.

Karena itu, untukmu saya berpesan. Berbaikhatilah pada kepedihan milik orang lain. Siapapun itu. Do not mock the pain you've never endured. Jangan pernah salahkan siapapun semata-mata karena kamu menganggap mereka lemah. Karena menurut hemat saya, satu-satunya hal yang pantas diberikan dari manusia satu ke manusia lain adalah dukungan. Support.

A depressed person is not a brainless one. Mereka tidak meminta untuk disalahkan, dicaci karena tidak berjalan di jalan yang sama dan dengan cara yang sama denganmu. Sometimes all they need is someone who believes them, who believes their seemingly insignificant efforts.

Beberapa orang tidak pandai menjelaskan diri mereka dan  pilihan-pilihan yang mereka ambil. Kalau kamu menemukan keputusan-keputusan yang ganjil, keputusan-keputusan yang menurutmu bodoh, tak ada salahnya bertanya. Never put a finger on something you don't understand. Dan kalaupun setelah dijelaskan kamu masih tidak paham, masih menganggap keputusan-keputusan itu bodoh luar biasa, sejauh mereka tidak merugikan manusia lain, cobalah untuk menghargai. Trust me, it means a lot.

Jangan pernah menganggap hanya karena semuanya terlihat baik-baik saja, lantas kamu merasa berhak untuk mencela prinsip yang terlihat asing bagimu.

Sebelum terlambat, jangan pernah biarkan kata-katamu menjadi salah satu alasan seseorang lain untuk menggantung hidupnya pada seutas tali di kamar kosnya yang sepi. Do not let your words to be the trigger.

Yang baik dan benar bagimu, belum tentu baik dan benar bagi orang lain.

Berhematlah dalam mencaci hal-hal yang belum kamu mengerti. 

Jangan pernah sekali-kali menganggap semua orang sekuat kamu.

*

Walaupun aku tak pernah meminta

Photo by Rona Keller

[November 21, 2014]

Walaupun aku tak pernah meminta.

Walaupun kau tahu benar aku tak pernah menjanjikan "kita".

Kunyalakan tungku kecil di hatimu tanpa sengaja.

Menghangatkan jantungmu. Pelan-pelan dan dengan cara yang sederhana.

Cara yang paling kau suka.

Dan kau menjaga nyalanya begitu lama.

Walaupun aku tak pernah meminta.

Walaupun kau tahu benar aku tak pernah menjanjikan "cinta".

Aku ingat sekali pagi berhujan di bulan Desember.

Hari pertama aku putuskan untuk membuka lenganku lebar-lebar sebagai tempatmu pulang.

Dan kau, seperti anak kecil yang dilepas di toko permen, menubrukku sambil tersenyum senang.

Hari itu, bahagiamu seolah-olah memeluk semua resahku.

Dan aku, seperti peserta ujian yang tak sempat belajar, menganggap, mungkin pilihanku kali ini benar.

Kau mencintaiku seperti halnya lingkaran. 

Penuh. 

Tanpa ujung dan celah.

Tawamu seperti anak-anak yang tak pernah kenal kesedihan.

Dan aku kadang lupa caranya berduka hanya dengan melihat senyummu saja.

Namun, hei..

yang ada padaku nyatanya bukan cinta.

Bukan.

Bukan cinta layaknya lingkaran tak berujung seperti yang kau punya.

Bukan cinta yang meminta untuk kau jemput pulang lagi,

seberapapun lamanya aku pergi.

Seharusnya dari awal aku bilang kalau perasaan kita tak pernah sejajar.

Aku tak pernah menabung sayang sedangkan cintamu terlalu besar.

Maafku tak akan pernah sampai kepadamu. Aku tahu.

Luka itu, yang bisa menyembuhkan bukan aku. Kamu tahu.

Untuk semua sesal akan percik nyala yang berubah menjadi api unggun di dadamu.

Kata apa yang lebih pantas kuucapkan selain maaf?

*

"Maaf."

Ucap ini tak manis,

namun pantas.

Dan aku merasa bertanggung jawab untuk mengirimu satu.

Atau seribu.

Walaupun kau tak suka.

Walaupun kau tak pernah meminta.

*

Favorite Tweets (November '14)

Saya jarang sekali buka Twitter belakangan ini. Tapi walaupun jarang nge-twit, waktu sempat buka, saya suka mengamati timeline dan memencet tombol favorite untuk twit-twit yang menurut saya bagus atau sedang pas dengan isi hati. Seperti yang pernah saya bilang, mem-favorite sama saja dengan mengatakan kata "setuju", "gue banget" atau sekedar kagum dengan isi twit tersebut. Hanya saja, dibanding retweet, favorite menurut saya lebih rahasia. Selain si empunya akun (dan mungkin mereka yang sedang selo lalu buka-buka isi favorite milik orang lain) tidak ada yang peduli, terlebih tahu, apa-apa yang ada di balik tab favorite milik seseorang.  

Retweet, kalau menurut saya, semacam mengadu, bercerita, curhat kepada siapa saja yang sedang ada di timeline. Favorite, di lain sisi, gunanya seperti untuk reflecting. A reminder. Semacam diari. Yang sama dari keduanya adalah, baik retweet maupun favorite sama-sama ditulis dengan menggunakan kalimat milik orang lain. Yang karakternya, tentu, tak lebih dari 140.

Saya belakangan ini lebih sering mem-favorite twit yang berisi quotes dari buku-buku Murakami. Atau beberapa puisi singkat yang berhasil saya temukan menyempil di sela-sela lini masa. Ada juga beberapa (well, hmm, sebenarnya banyak) tentang zodiak saya. Tapi lebih baik tidak saya posting yang bagian itu. He he.

*

rejeki orang kan beda-beda. kita ngga tau usahanya dia. (@yeahmahasiswa)

I loved reading novels to distraction, but didn’t write well enough to be a novelist. (@_harukimurakami)

Why don't you turn your anger into a poem and help it fly? (@vaindream)

I write, to reach you, within me. (@NaivePoet)

When something that once was your dream now becomes your to-do list, you're on the right track. (@deelestari)

but then we never really loved each other, just that a boy in me, fell for a girl in you, and dreamed of a non-existent forever. (@NaivePoet)

Sometimes you have to bet on yourself. You have to always follow dreams. And you have to be willing to fail. (@JaredLeto)

I guess I've been waiting so long I'm looking for perfection. That makes it tough. (@_harukimurakami)

The worst way for friendships to end: (@autocorrects)

Music has that power to revive memories, sometimes so intensely that they hurt. (@_harukimurakami)

I am
a realist and a dreamer
a cynic and an optimist
a shadow and a flame
an open book and an enigma
an oxymoron in the flesh
(@dreams_ofyou)

they are never
just words.
(@thegirlshewas)

you and i are nothing more than two pens flirting with the edge of almost. (@dreams_ofyou)

there must be someone who sees me. (@thegirlshewas)

"If you plan everything you’d be kidding your subconscious. So I don’t plan anything." (@_harukimurakami)

You'll end up real disappointed if you think people will do for you as you do for them. Not everyone has the same heart as you. (@9GAG)

“May I give you a piece of advise? Don't feel sorry for yourself, only arseholes do that.” (@_harukimurakami)

What was I hoping to gain from this? Was I hoping to be woven into some new plot, to be given some new and better-defined role to play? (@_harukimurakami)

I'm afraid to let you into my melancholy
Scared you won't like what you see
(@thejunebugfreak)

I can’t describe that feeling of total loneliness. I just wanted to disappear into thin air and not think about anything. (@_harukimurakami)

And there comes a time when you are so comfortable in your broken pieces that you forget how it feels to be whole. (@ItsAPerfectLife)

What is it you can't forget what you really want to forget? (@_harukimurakami)

Do you ever get those pangs of anxiety where you feel like nobody likes you and nobody will ever like you and you will achieve nothing? (@9GAG)

this is my life: (@autocorrects)

tell me what combination of words will make you stay and i will spend an eternity rearranging them to fit between our hands. (@dreams_ofyou)

In a sense, I’m the one who ruined me. I did it myself. (@_harukimurakami)

I started to imagine another me somewhere, sitting in a bar, nursing a whisky, without a care in the world. (@_harukimurakami)

Beberapa hati gemar menyembunyikan rindunya, lalu menangis diam-diam sampai ketiduran. (@gerimis_)

As if to build a fence around the fatal emptiness inside her, she had to create the sunny person that she became. (@_harukimurakami)

The way you hold conversations and I notice how my phrases slowly slip into your vocabulary... (@Foggy_Memories)

Don’t you see? You and he may never cross paths again. Of course, a chance meeting could occur, and I hope it happens. I really do. (@_harukimurakami)

I was raised like a forest fire, and I am not done burning you yet. (@distantraine)

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. (@_harukimurakami)

I wanted to begin a new life where I didn’t know a soul, and forget everything. (@_harukimurakami)

RT @desianwar: Don't let your disappointment last more than a day. (@MarissaAnita)

"Tulis buku yg ingin kita baca dan buat lagu yg ingin kita dengar. Itu lebih dari cukup. Kalau orang lain suka, itu bonus." (@deelestari)

You cannot form any kind of change from just expecting. (@_harukimurakami)

But it’s not too late to recover. You’re young, you’re tough. You’re adaptable. You can patch up your wounds, lift up your head and move on. (@_harukimurakami)

I’m scared I’ll never get better again. I’m scared I’ll always stay twisted like this and grow old and waste away. (@_harukimurakami)

I hate how true this is: (@ComedyOrTruth)

She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, “I sometimes think people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom." (@_harukimurakami)

You are afraid of having to shed the armor with which you have long defended yourself. (@_harukimurakami)

**

Credit pictures go to the rightful owners.