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| 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.
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.
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
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.
***
