Pitiful Clover

When I get the whole day off like this, I started to write nuts. Sorry readers, what’s the next best thing to do in holiday when you feel Mall’s suck? Drooling your bed?

I was a girl made of fables, social construction of value, when people started to differ man from woman, the next part will be feed their offspring with fables. The dolls and cars, the pink and blue, the short and skirt, and the most powerful—hegemony that man can do what woman can’t do—in love. It broke my heart deeply that I had to hold my feeling to several names in my elementary and junior high school because my friends told me that it’s not my roles to make confessions, or asked them to be my lover. I broke those idea and running for the senior-class boy named Iwan, and as what people told me so, it was so wreck. The way he looked in terrifying way, several gesture of disgust, the total change on how he acted while I was there, made me bet for everything I owned I wouldn’t say what my heart told me about. Better left alone, better left to not known. I took my own sanity in front line to just show him how much he made my day bright and shine and he flipped that up in less than three seconds. So I started to believe the fables.

Less painful than getting someone ditch you like a worthless whore, but I ensure myself that I was not made by stone and steel—because pretending something didn’t gloom big within a heart was futile. I should bare the stab of having the persons I love have their own happy couples, watching them in tolerated distance (so I still could see his face as not like dots and lines) just to secure myself that they wouldn’t know there’s someone nut enough to be a stalker rather than confess. I know I’m good for something else, but not hiding. So I started to lost my interest in heart since I was so dull and ugly skinny girl, leave alone to the dust I was uglier than a stray cat.

Can you imagined that today I’m standing myself as an anti-gender especially for people that cowards enough to tell their words? No, leave the queer opinions here and I’ll swat you out the door. I just don’t want to regret, losing something important. Coz if you dare to say you love him, proved it by showing, by fight him as much as you do. I lost count on how many times I’ve been rejected, but I always have those glories in the end of my path. The lost was deserved to let you get the best. It was a big script ‘the upstairs’ played along with your fate. Laugh, please, but I believe this.

In billion times of chances,

In billion times of choices,

I end up hanging neathly and seductively on Cubung’s warmness and I’m blessed. Thought of losing him was the most terrible nightmare I would never want to experienced. It help me digest on how much miracle was worked by God to let us both has this ‘thing’ grew so big in our each other heart. I was there, in apocalypse of frustrated love. I hit the pit and I lost my legs to step out from there. Azmi didn’t has any ability to move me out, and all the male was just a sex appetites in my eyes, tortilla on my wine, walking deep fried turkeys of my starving. Less than that, I leave Azmi untouched by my devil’s desire and ended up like we didn’t care each others. I walked to the SUB airport heading to WordsNation in Jakarta after I ditch his offer to accompany me there. Why should I came to Jakarta alone?

The answer : To be found by his eyes.

I swore I didn’t have any clouded mind or the dirties intention to have affair there except to meet Bayu. I didn’t mind anyone with any shits they do, or any dick they thought about me. And I never knew too there was a pair of eyes abusing my abs.

And the whole boring life run on me. Back to Surabaya means back to be a septic-tank-girl, full of shits. I grabbed several chances that bring someone called ‘male’ and screw with them. I was in my way to called myself Mrs-too-good-to-get-boyfriend but never deserved the good one. I was just tired to convince myself that everything will be a good set for my future. I grew sick in idea how much my mom wants me to bring the man. So I was absent.

Absent on chasing something, someone…

…to be too busy watching someone’s timeline. Everytime.

He’s sloppy and slut—his words, I mean. I never agree with internet-based relationship and never believed one of them came as a good choice. I don’t want someone change me into Facebook-whore, but totally he knew so many spell to cast me to be twitter-slut. And we talked, and we have everything in the world to be shared with. I was sorry I didn't see him at the WN, I must be missed him. Don't think I did that shit intentionally just to diss him. And when I realized now, I sat in front of God and asked where was my blind faith come from to believe those little avatar of him in twitter was really him. If people needs to know the face before they fall to each other, I won’t say I was fall for a little crap of his face with black T-shirt and super minimal expression of him. I mean, if I need someone prettier than him, handsome in many ways, hell, I’ll meet them in every street. I knew I didn’t need a face to be fall in. I didn’t need a good profile to be amazed with. I didn’t even need to meet the man first place to have this faith. This amazing blind faith, really so blind.

Cubung’s not God, none close a bit to angel. He’s the best magician, change a frigid dick to be a sweet girl clinging him around. And when I believe that miracle exist, I could digest everything clearly. Look dear, if you choose someone out there but me, I believe I would let you cut your wrist and bleed you dry. I won’t let you regret to ditch Ceria, Alita, or many more I lost cont, coz you have the fullest under-spell sexy girl here. You call it.

Kalau post-post sebelumnya lebih berbentuk tulisan bebas, yang ini mungkin lebih personal. Jadi, untuk yang tau blog ini, siapapun anda, kalau nggak kepengen baca tulisan menye-menye yang dikeluarin sama cowok 21 tahun gahar sangar berjenggot tebel dan berbadan baja, silahkan pejret tanda [x] di bagian tab page ini.

Percuma juga menggambarkan disadventage yang dialami selama nggak ada kamu. Satu, itu nggak ada gunanya, dua, itu nggak menolong memperbaiki keadaan, tiga, yang dibutuhkan sekarang adalah kejujuran, pengakuan, keabsahan fakta dan keberanian untuk berbicara, empat, yang namanya inisiatif itu jauh lebih berharga pada masa sekarang ini dibandingkan urgensi memulangkan Nazaruddin hanya untuk diteror “kamu mau saya hilangkan?” Ya nggak nyambung sih.

Intinya, kangen kamu.

Udah, itu doang.


Ya enggaklah, mau ditampar bolak-balik pake karung semen tiga roda emangnya?

Seperti yang kamu tahu, dan sayapun tahu, segala permasalahan yang kita alami itu awalnya hanya satu, salah paham. Kita nggak pernah masalahin soal cemburu, sesif-posesif, insecure tanpa kabar dan hal-hal lainnya yang bentuknya teknikal. Permasalahan macam itu cuma buat lesbian. Nah, salah paham. Apa sih awalnya kemaren? Sepele, yang juga salah paham. Yang saya yakin, nggak sebegitu hebatnya sampai ngebuat kamu badmood dan mogok ngomong. Saya berani taruhan potong titit kalau yang ngebuat kamu seperti itu lebih ke.. bagaimana saya (salah) menanggapi tanggapan kamu yang (sayangnya) juga salah sangka.

Salah paham.

Duer.

Seharusnya semua bisa baik dalam kurun waktu dua belas jam dalam kesendirian, kamu minta diberikan waktu, yang mana saya berikan juga dengan (sedikit tidak) ikhlas. Udah baik kan? Saya rasa kamu udah baik tuh, tapi.. sayangnya, love, cintaku, manisku, imut, brown sugar yang kalau senyum keriputnya lipet tiga, keadaan saya, yang nggak kondusif, sakit (ngaku), menjadikan pembicaraan kita nggak menyenangkan. Saya bertaruh titit saya di ceples karet kalau kamu menganggap saya waktu itu tuh masih badmood kebawa semalem, dan nggak kepengen ngomong sama kamu. Penjelasannya: nggak. Murni flu. Dan saya hanya kepengen kamu menjalankan plan utama kamu yang udah direncanain dari masih di kantor dan akhirnya sampe di rumah: istirahat. Sesimpel itu.

Tapi kayaknya saya salah interpretasi juga. Belasan jam tanpa kontak buat kita berdua itu neraka *cie*, harusnya saya ngebaca kalau kamu masih pengen ngobrol dulu barang sebentar. Kebaca kok, tapi ya.. karena.. kamu pengen istirahat (katanya) yaudah, sayanya agak memaksa jadinya. Salah pahem lage.

305 kata, dan tau nan, percobaan saya akan blak-blakan tertulis ini udah meringankan beban hati saya jauh lebih ringan dibadingkan jalan kaki semaleman dan ngerokok tanpa putus. Hweih.

Saya minta maaf, love. Emosi yang belum stabil, ditambah emang bentukan karakter yang seperti ini ngebuat kamu susah. Selalu panasan, apalagi kalau kamu lebih dulu panas. Kamu bisa bilang saya lebih dewasa dari ukuran laki-laki seusia saya, lebih mateng atau lainnya. Tapi ya, tetep, kekurangan nggak bisa ditutupi dengan batako apalagi paving blok, kelemahan saya di sumbu yang pendek belum teratasi dengan baik. Dan kalau mau tahu nih, kalau mau.. inipun udah usaha loh. *gananya*kalau masih dengan mindset yang dulu, mungkin di malam kamu minta waktu sendiri, saya udah mledagdug duluan.

Kaya begitu ya.. Capek. Garansi. Pola itu udah saya lakukan ratusan, bahkan ribuan kali selama saya idup dan menjalin hubungan. Meledak-ledak, duar duer, dan ujungnya malah kedua pihak yang babak belur lebam legam. Cukup kayaknya. Makanya saya mau mencoba cara lain, seperti yang udah saya bilang ke kamu sebelumnya, “saya akan coba cara lain, yang lebih manusiawi, relationshipawi.” Tapi.. bekas-bekasnya masih ada. Saya tetep impulsif, tetep ada rasa nggak tenang, bahkan ketika mengetik tulisan ini. Rasanya mustahil untuk mengacuhkan kamu—pasangan saya—begitu aja dan saya cengangas cengenges masa bodo. Mustahil. Yaiya, karena saya sayang sama kamu sih. Kalau sama Bisma SMASH mah saya udah ngimpi ngarep bisa dua-duaan dinner di Sky Dining Jakarta.

Kita satu takson nan. Orang-orang yang performa hidupnya menurun jauh drastis ketika ada satu hal yang nggak beres di hati. Kamu nggak pengen seperti ini, dan sayapun nggak. Tapi entah apa ya yang menghalangi kita untuk bisa kembali berjalan di satu jalur, dempetan berdua menuju matahari senja nan apik menggoda. Apa? Gengsi kah? Kurang inisiatif? Tidak ingin disalahkan? Ingin dimengerti secara penuh? Sayapun nggak tau yang mana. Karena, ketika kita mulai memperbaiki keadaan, saya ngerasa, “ah, gini doang, ngobrol sedikit pasti beres.” Yang pada prakteknya, susah setengah mati. Keinginan ada, tapi kok yo eksekusinya kayak narik gajah sirkus masuk ke kandang ayam?

Satu kata, hanya satu yang pengen saya ucapin buat kamu, satu.

Iloveyoujanganmarahanlagiyukkamucapeksayacapektohkitasamasamasalingsayangdanpengennyasenengsenengbarengapalagikitaudahlamanggakngasihjatahhayolonantianakkitatanyagimanadongyukyukbaikanloveyoupokoknyamybrownsugar.

Satu kata.

*Palelu palelu!

Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds
It's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me
See everything you say is real, and I respect you cause you tell it
My girlfriend's jealous cause I talk about you 24/7
But she don't know you like I know you Slim, no one does
She don't know what it was like for people like us growin up
[EMINEM – STAN]

Today I felt honestly sick, mentally and physically. I drugged myself just to erase the pain which is won’t dissapearing my problem. I started abusing my eyes, for didn’t sleep and started the job earlier. I couldn’t say I’m in control right now too coz everytime I look at the watch, I couldn’t stop thinking any than killing the time. Microsoft Words seems like a dim flat monitor of blankness that I can’t fill anything with. My works all mess, my body so wreck and I—don’t know why—started to think that Bloody Marry could ditch my eyes out so I death.

I don’t know how to start this, but I know I should tell someone out there that I learned a lot just for a night that love is so wild so hard to tame. Even I could grab it, seems like I’m not strong enough to hold and the battle begin. I got injured, yet someone got more too. If this happens more frequent, I bet someone or both of us will die.

Yet, I could see that the fire of this rumbling flame was not something I should bother. It was so small, so unsignificant, irrational if you relate this to the big problem I face now. I never expect that this little lit of thing could burn us crips. Correct me if I’m wrong.

I may born ignorant and I’m a sucker in taming people. I don’t do smooth talk if there’s no something I want to ask. Experience teaches me how to not blend emotion into man business coz they won’t feel better if I do so. It’s like I don’t trust them to make things work good again or just stepping their pride with shitfull of shoes. Where does this learning come from? Of course from my father. I know how chicken ass he would be whenever it related with my Mom’s over-authority. Well, I wont tell people how vulnerable a man could be, but the pictures of watching my dad crying was engraved firmly I couldn’t forget. He said that man never has option to bawl, but whenever he did, it means to hold something so tight beneath every breath, muscle, and blood which his heart absorbed.

Cubung is easily cracked.

Despite his big and husky appearance, deep down there is vulnerable. Sometimes, something which won’t gonna hurt me for million years could scratch him deep and make him bleed. And my ease talking doesn’t so much worked. I know I was a bull to calm him. Everyw ords I choose was frantic and flick another fire to the decent flame, and he tried so much telling me that it won’t work but I don’t know how to do anymore.Part of me thought that maybe we could talk it privately, calm, and easy when this fight’s over. But seems like Cubung never want to dig up what was already restored. Which this thing leads into something repeatance because I didn’t know how to fix and what was caused it. Seriously, I never wanted this to happen again, but when you don’t know what caused that, every step you do possibly hit jackpot. And then battling something shallow is already in your face.

Still now, I used to not knowing what and how we couldn’t resist the fight.

If you claimed this as psychological phenomenon, welll go a head. I know this pattern could have been done by many people with many reasons. Maybe there are some theories beyond this act, and please ask to psycholog if you want to know. I am a man learned from lives, from tears and blood, from hugs and slaps. Sometimes its better than any practicion and doctor that doesn’t know anything and write prescriptions just to shut our mouth. You trust them? Well, I did, past tense.

I born lucky. My family is loud, my Mom is fat, my Dad is calm and my sisters deserve bitchslap. We are happy, safe and sound, and I don’t do drama about how sad my life. But sometimes the drama is not started in front of your TV or your family room. It came to you by his own feet. Smile at you and show his dazzling teeth. And you caught by that, and there’s restrain but you cant pull yourself together. I know I write a shit.

But some people didn’t as lucky as I am. I mean, maybe their family is a wreck, and their own life is a pain in ass. My boyriend, Cubung Hanito, could be the perfect example of those unluckyness. Well, he’s a damn smart, with a good background, he learned everything so fast for people in his age. He is a good listenner and a great writer, he could tell you much more than I am. I just want to write my own point of view as his girlfriend.

For people who has lot scars (more than any punk in his city), he used to see blood. And as a heavy smoker, he knew that coughing and has difficultness of breathing is a risk he’ll bear for entire life. It is his choices, his deal with his faith. I am outta his way for it. But if you ask me did I feel okay with his usual temper in jumping boat so quick? No I am not. I know it requires patience, and I would be so hard to do it since I never good in patience myself. But I kinda love him so much I feel so scared most of time when he hurt himself. I was so scared losing him, and I felt so angry whenever he did it by the chance of me—helping him—is similar to zero. The distance is a son of bitch if it came to helping a suicider. You just hear his ranting voice, his hissing painful, and his howling pain. I want to ripp my ears so I couldn’t hear it.

At first, I thought it was his way to show me how powerful he was cornering me. He used himself as the barter of my patience. And the scars was made because I didn’t do what he wanted me to. It was like awards of my blockhead to just didn’t give what he need. And it was reminder for my entire life that sometimes when you had this kind of boyfriend you should hold your own ego and let he get what he wanted, or not, there’s something would bleed. At least I had this kind of thought whenever we got fight. I crawled in beg for him to stop, told him that putting trigger in my head is hurting me, and maybe I just do what he wants but I don’t feel so into it.

But the fact, he did all of it in reward of his blissness. He would feel better by hurting himself, put his life on a line like I did before. It was the result of running out options. And back to self hurting, this is his way to ease his heart pain.

Now give me slap.

-to be continued-

About self hurting,

I could write more than dozen shit about this thing. I don’t know what inspiring me to write this down when I get a lotta things to wreck in my cubicle. Offices things nowdays could drown me sick. If people who barely know what this thing about and protest me, then go ahead, I wouldn’t run. This is about my feeling, I’m the subject and the object. I’m the actor and sometimes the caused too. So if you think I don’t know anything, well, this refference will help you.

I started trying this thing when I was 20. I had no clue how to convince people that I meant my words, that I was on the verge, that I need them to believe me what I’m saying. Coz if they don’t, I would risk my own life trying to. Yes sir, the big part of why I did those thing is to make them believe my words. That I meant it. That if he leave me and broke up, I’ll die. And I insist on it. I don’t know what demon possesed me, it felt so easy to swing my hand and grab the drug. I started drugging myself coz I know the risk to have lotta scars. Scars is a mark, traces, and I don’t want people to know it, I don’t need people to help me, or pity me. And if the destruction is inside, no one will ever know about it so it’s safe. But I told you what, the mess you did inside is more dangerous than any scars. It consumed your organ, your life, it degenerate you by their invisible hand, and sometimes people don’t survive a lot before its too late.

It came to be an addiction,

The first time I did it myself, it was a damn hell hurt. My body was trembling and I couldn’t find something to cure it. The bed I used to sleep wet by cold sweat, and every nerves in my body was aching. Yet, I couldn’t say anything since this was unexpected hurt. But when the pain’s gone, there were something unexplain. It cames to bliss, as if the pain could ditch my mind from the real problem—the heart. I was busy writhle in pain and forgot what was beyond the main problem caused this. I forgot about the relationship, I forgot about people. I just focused on my own and that’s why I felt lighter. And because of it, I did the repeat. Everytime I felt lonely and cornered by my own problem, I used to run to it. And it deserved repeat.

I didn’t count how many pills, and how many injection. It was so easy. Whenever the problem came, I was the first person jump the boat so fast. I drifted myself to the dullness of overdoses. And the world would stop to round, or it was stil running but I didn’t care anymore.

Just to remind this thing I laugh a loud. I did the stupid thing just because one person—one singular stupid person—which now I don’t care where. I was so closed to death just because a single ridicilous love story and I ditch my family, future, almost everything, even God. And when I wake up with multiple infusion, and a snuggle cried of my mother, I realized that I won’t do that again.

-to be continued-


----------
maaf kalo bhs enggris saya nggilani.

God said, something too much is bad. Too much eating, too much napping, too much love? Definitely does. Have you ever thought how many suicide attempts has occurred due to heart-breaking? Well, never count, but unfortunately I did the process, once, so I knew how terrible it was. To love someone too much was a double edge knife sharps. One, it hurt him/her by the enormous of feelings you have towards. Two, it kills you right up if you didn’t consider your life among the feelings. I still didn’t count the needy aspect and how fragile your heart toward the unfaithfulness.

It was so bad. It hits so hard and you’ll lost your hold. It striked in the most fragile side and consumed your emotions faster than fire eats the rye.

But when we talked about the good aspect of too much loving, there are more things, good things, come up. By have those feeeling too much, you’ll find yourself so much joyful if you knew she/he has something good to hear. You’ll hit the highest peak everytime you spend your time with him/her. Works and study spirit increased more than any consultant or motivator could done. You have a bright aim to set up with him/her, graduated with her, married her, have her offspring, blabla. It always lots step further than what the present had in store for us.

Bright shine, right?

The thing is, sometimes, when we know what is the good and the bad, we can’t stop ourself for doing so. I was a lot more than knowing them, I EVER did them myself. The negative and positif, the finest and the most difficult, the lovely and the unclean, I felt that by my own skin. But if you asked me, did I change? Did I stay repeating this thing with my new boyfriend even I knew the bad side? I will always said, YES. Definitely.

I’m not an accountant, I’m not a gold counters, I’m not a pharmacist, I don’t do counting and differ bad seed from good. I just do what every lover in the world did, I give, and take what he gave me. We are reciprocal, we did the ‘each other’-ing. I don’t care how many things I’ve bough, how much cost the law, how much sacrifice shall be done, as long we have each other. As long what we fight is getting real.

I love Hani.

And he loves me the way he does.

Regret is a word we can’t found the description on ourself.

Tunggu. Kalau Nanda bilang, siapa yang begitu gobloknya istirahat seminggu di kasur karena tipes? Jawabannya, semua orang, sayang. Sekarang gue mengkaji ulang kata-kata gue, tindakan yang gue lakukan tempo hari, pacar mana sih yang akan ngebiarin mentari paginya melakukan perjalanan jauh 14 jam, sementara di tubuhnya lagi beranak pinak bakteri penghancur usus? Ada? Kalaupun ada, pastilah orang itu idiot secara masif dan punya gangguan perasaan akut yang mungkin menghantam modula oblongatanya sampe dia begitu frigid. Oh yeah, itu gue. Sekejam apapun gue meneriakkan “tidur!” “makan yang banyak!” “jadi anak bandel amat kalo dibilangin!” tetep, sebagai lelaki berhati kaca, gue nggak bisa menutup kuping saat Nanda merengek manja mesra meminta ijin ke gue, pasti mulutnya manyun-manyun sensual deh.

Dan gue pun ijinin, dengan kepaksa.

Apa sih.

Kalau dia mau memaksakan datang sebegitu kuatnya, sampai memaksakan diri melawan rasa sakit yang ada di badan, hanya untuk ketemu gue? Yang orang-orang mungkin bilang ‘cuma pacar’, apakah gue berhak melawan keinginannya itu? Ketika gue berada di posisi Nanda, mungkin gue akan melakukan hal yang sama. lihat sesuatu disini? Perhatikan poin ‘jika kita bertukar posisi’, apa artinya? Artinya, secara naif, gue mengatakan bahwa dia adalah orang yang mau susah-susah buat gue, mau mengorbankan banyak hal hanya untuk gue yang bertitel ‘cuma pacar’ ini—karena, gue pun akan melakukan sebaliknya. Pertukaran yang setara, apa gue harus menawar lebih lagi?

Nggak.

Gue jujur, gue nggak bisa mengontrol kadar cinta yang gue berikan kepada seseorang, pada Nanda. Bahkan awalnya, gue berusaha untuk nggak memberikan semuanya, beberapa persen cukup, gue nggak mau terjerumus di lembah needy dan impulsif untuk yang kesekian kalinya. Tapi apa? Pada Nanda gue melakukan kesalahan dalam tanda kutip yang sama, gue memberikan semua stok cinta yang ada di gudang hati, tanpa ada ketakutan untuk kelaparan pangan pada musim kemarau, nggak, gue nggak takut. Kenapa? Dia bukan worth dying, tapi worth living.

Huruf menjadi kata yang berikutnya menjadi kalimat, paragraf tersusun yang berujung pada wacana. Ciuman, pelukan, dekapan, nafas yang memburu, jerit yang tertahan, itu semua berarti hidup yang membuat gue penasaran, seperti apa hari berikutnya? Apa kata-kata yang akan dia lontarkan? Seperti apa balasan yang gue berikan? Seperti apa marahnya Nanda? Dan bagaimana gue berusaha mendamaikannya? Yang pada akhirnya, berujung pada sebuah keinginan, gue mau terus melihat Nanda senyum dengan begitu manis, yap, plus keriput di sudut mata kanannya yang menjadi favorit gue.

Stasiun, pulang.

Setelah beberapa hari yang dilewati bersama, akhirnya ada yang dinamakan perpisahan. Menyebalkan, pasti. Gue hanya pengen cemberut di hari terakhir, menunjukkan muka kusut nggak disetrika, diam total dan ingin Nanda menghibur gue dengan lawakan-lawakan garingnya. Tapi nggak, sayangnya. Daripada melakukan itu semua, bukannya malah memberatkan dia untuk pulang ninggalin beruang grizzly desperate di stasiun? Hayah. Makanya gue cengengesan, ketawa-ketiwi menghibur Nanda yang tiba-tiba berubah emo dahsyat. Sedikit-sedikit nunduk, sedikit-sedikit murung, apa jadinya kalau gue ikutan seperti itu? Yang ada dicap pasangan suram sama mas-mas tukang anter makanan di Madtari.

Pasrah, gue hanya bisa melihat Nanda dari balik kaca jendela kereta, ngeliat dia merajuk manja dengan ekspresi-ekspresi manisnya. Haaaaah.. pengen rasanya njitak. Tapi tahu endingnya? Dia turun, lima menit sebelum kereta berangkat, senyum-senyum melihat gue haha-hihi yang ketauan palsunya. Minta cium pipi, katanya. Diciumlah kedua pipi, dan bonus.. satu ciuman tepat di bibir, di tengah stasiun besar Bandung yang lagi ramai-ramainya. Nggak terasal amoral, nggak terasa mesum, itu hanya sesimpel tanda cinta. Sesimpel itu.

Kereta berangkat, dan gue ngaso setengah jam di stasiun, ngerokok. Cuma mikir..

Yeah, she’s worth living.

There were times when you just can’t elude yourself from something unpredictable, there were chances where they wouldn’t run into you twice, there were point when you though you could just kick your ass out and said ‘this gotta be something! And I wil kiss my knee crying if I miss this!’. It came to me, twice. I let the first gone, but the second time… I ran into it, spread my arm wide, I won’t miss this.


It was just typical long week end, one big Christian day on Thursday. And the almighty Director lend his helpful hand by adding another ‘forced vacation’ as people used to call cuti bersama on the Friday. Means, my Saturday comes on Wednesday and what is more than miracle when I just get my mind bored by the usual-do-nothing-vacation in home and though maybe I could have long-date with Hani since he seems okay with my idea.


I grabbed my ticket to Bandung, nearly one week before the big day.


And what else more than a fuck if the H-3 typus shot you down like a birdie. Like you’re boneless useless and your morning glory was so another life a go. I was deadly weak in the point my mom thought I should get hospitalized. And I felt so cracked a bit when Hani said I should be on my bed for week if I want to get well soon. No fucking way, the ticket was on my pocket! And who’s the stupid one getting rest on typus for a week? So gay.


If I should die on my way to reach you, so be it.


I mean it.


And there we fall again. Like little birds in springtime, every drop of words mean everything when I could grab him in hug, kiss him like we never did, and have our time like we never get life before. I got well soon as I step my wedges in Bandung. Even mostly I still have some difficulties in eating (habit huh), everything never felt so fine like that. We ran into so much places, holding hand each other, kissing, make love (typically, it is our freedom of speech if we call it that way or not, eh?). He was my cure, and God blessed me with this beautiful moment. I could watch the sprinkle of lights in the high slope of Upper High Dago with a glass of warm milk and fascinating boyfriend. What is more heaven-like than this?


So, when I grade how much I love Hani, like now, I’d like to say the most delicate sentences. One, he’s not an artificial substitutional of persons you may thought related to my unrequited love. Two, I would definitely leave one Nash, two Nash, hundred of Nash, thousand of Nash if it means this thing I should did to get Hani. He is everything, right now, all last. And I would definitely kick one, two, three, thousand Alita, thousand more of Ruri, thousand more of Tika, of every woman that interested in him. I hate competition.