Pitiful Clover

Bandung, 28 October 2011

It was ten months ago that I had basically challenged Hani to a relationship, and I could honestly say I had not regretted a moment.

I smiled at the thought, shifting beneath the blankets, but carefully. I loved this time of the morning, when Hani was peaceful and lax: calm in the way only a warrior could be once battle was done, and I was not about to disturb it for the world. I was the kind of girl who used to lie in until duty or decorum insisted I opened my eyes and faced the world. Hani didn't ask for anything different, but he inspired me to face the early morning sunlight, if only for the reward that awaited.

Perhaps it was shallow, but I had always paid more attention to physical appearance than the person captured within their shell of skin and bone, at least at first. Maybe that's why my previous relationships failed. I had never taken the time to know the soul within.

Hani was another matter. Most people looked at him and saw a broken child who had become a man the world should respect: sharply intelligent and perfectly trained to use both his body and his mind as a weapon, but I knew better. Hani was much more than that, like a mountain hiding precious ore at his heart, there was deep compassion and lasting loyalty, all married together with the kind of mind that made sure such attributes were carefully applied. He did not give his friendship easily, but once it was earned, it was almost impossible to lose. The world could be against you, and Hani would still be standing at your side, calling everyone out on their bullshit. That’s what made an understandable itself within Luthfi, Della and Bunga.

Still, as much as I admired and loved the person Hani was inside, the body that surrounded all that still caught my attention.

I moved his hand, tucking a stray tendril of messy hair behind. It was loose from our fun the night before, and I would probably bitch about having a difficulties with my ass especially for sit, but I loved the message it sent the world. Not one of ownership or possession, but something of life and intensity.

Hani's past was full of good intentions and the heartfelt tragedies that often followed. Sometimes, I had sat on next to him, watching Hani shake and bleed, rage and curse, and wondered how anyone could survive it. Yet all that had turned him into this: perfection at my side. After all the hardship, Hani had emerged growing into himself and reaching his full potential. He had not unfurled like a flower, but matured, like an oak that would withstand centuries: there was nothing temporary or transient about Cubung Hanito, and after the switching vagaries of so many others in his bed, I could only marvel at Hani's constancy.

As if to reassure myself that all this was not a dream, I moved his fingers lightly down Hani's wrist, feeling the scratch of the past scars, before trailing onwards to his throat. A steady beat throbbed against my fingertips, and I lingered there for a moment before tracing the curve of Hani's shoulder. It was a reminder of the simple fact that some parts of Hani, both his body and mind, were about struggle and frustration of relief : immovable. It amazed me, sometimes, how the most mundane parts of Hani's body could make my stomach curl in pleasure and my heart pause in thanks. It’s the same faith, the same invitation to end this silly life—but yet we both survived and met, and fallen in love. With other lovers, I appreciated the obvious and no more. Yet here I was, completely the same pattern with Hani all this time.

A deeper breath swelled the cage harbouring Hani's life. His existence was a bird, trapped behind bars of bone, yet I knew how loud it sang. I only had to see Hani's smile, awkward and strange, rare still, but more common than mine.

Looking up, I quickly checked Hani's face, searching for any signs of wakefulness. Dark lashes still hid those eyes from sight, and his expression was tranquil and serene. His stomach was a hard, strong plane, twitching at my touch. I skirted lightly around Hani's morning erection, promising myself I would have his taste of that later, when Hani was fully awake to enjoy it. Instead I moved around, stroking my hand over the curve of Hani's backside and down his thighs.

All the other things I had termed as “love” paled in comparison to what Hani inspired in him. Sometimes it was almost impossible to breathe around the swell of my heart. In the right frame of mind, my dependence on another was almost embarrassing, but still I knew I would not trade it for anything in the world. Independence was a lonely road to walk, and in Hani, I had found understanding. In Hani, I had found someone who knew that partnership meant two people working together, rather than one consuming the life of another.

'Jam berapa ini'

The words scattered my thoughts, and I lifted my head to see a thin line beneath Hani's lashes. That voice was husky from sleep, the kind that made “Good morning” sound like an invitation to bed, and an appreciative smile curled my lips.

'Hani, pahamu berat' I murmured, nudging at Hani's nose with my own and pressing a soft kiss to the bow of Hani's mouth as Hani allowed my hand to continue its adoring exploration, relishing Hani's soft hum of waking pleasure. 'Telat bangunnya, sejam lalu aku pake tanganmu buat ‘cumming’'

Hani snorted, and there was a hint of a growl behind that laugh. 'Kok ga bangunin sih!'

Hani pinched my backside, making another, more dangerous snarl rumble forward. 'Beauty's in the eye of the beholder,' I reminded in a murmur. ‘Jangan kesorean, jalanan padet, kalo munyer-munyer di kasur aja ga bakal bisa ke Maribaya' And he rolled on top of me, pinning me effectively to the bed and nipping at my pulse.

'Mandi?'

'Iya.'

Nan, what in the world are you doing?
You're making everyone worry about you.
What are you doing?
What are you thinking?
Are you happy to make me frustrate?
Why did you angry to me?
Why did you say something awful to me?
Why didn't you realize that you hurt me?
I'm so tired.
I hate you.

=====

I hate myself
I was so ashamed of myself.
I thought so all along.
I couldn't help thinking that way.

The scariest thing,
The most painful thing is...
to be hated by someone you trully love.

I am a coward.
But yet, I'm still telling myself I love you.
I'm the worst lover after all.
Why am I such a child.
I really hate it.
I should've protected you.
I should've protected us.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wish you read this when there's just small sad memory left. It's just a writing, but there's a heart within each words of it. I wish I could heal you up, so I could heal myself too. So I could forgive myself. Someday, it will make me stronger. And someday, eventually, this would be distant, dim sadness.

I wish you read this when the painful of thinking of me has finally felt dim. Because I'm too coward to say this straightly.

I'm sorry...


Keep spirit for the exam! I'm sure you will successfully pass it.

It’s stupid to write this HERE since it used to be our place to have blasts, but then I don’t think I could post it in my tumblr. Dinda’s there, and it’s not safe at all. I don’t want to raise her worries.

I call it : ANXIETY.

One for you to understand this, because these were what I really felt :

Anxiety defines as a future-oriented mood state in which one is ready or prepared to attempt to cope with upcoming negative events suggesting that it is a distinction between future vs. present dangers which divides anxiety and fear.

Physical effects : include heart palpitations, muscle weakness and tension, fatigue, nausea, chest pain, shortness of breath, stomach aches, or headaches. The body prepares to deal with a threat: blood pressure and heart rate are increased, sweating is increased, blood flow to the major muscle groups is increased, and immune and digestive system functions are inhibited (the fight or flight response). External signs of anxiety may include pale skin, sweating, trembling, and pupillary dilation

Emotional effects : feelings of apprehension or dread, trouble concentrating, feeling tense or jumpy, anticipating the worst, irritability, restlessness, watching (and waiting) for signs (and occurrences) of danger, and, feeling like your mind's gone blank"as well as "nightmares/bad dreams, obsessions about sensations, deja vu, a trapped in your mind feeling, and feeling like everything is scary

Cognitive effects : thoughts about suspected dangers, such as fear of dying. You feel an intense fear when you think of dying, or you may think of it more often than normal, or can’t get it out of your mind.

Anxiety - Wikipedia

First, it’s a common sense that when you feel danger, you’ll take anything serious, even a joke. And saying “don’t worry” is never worked on this phase. Everything I did based on my primordial instinct to secure my living, include my happiness. Once a bug, a tiny, slighty, slutty bug that never concerned me so much come to ruin my mood, I could swing a cupboard to kill it. Include, what I said “a mere bitch that tried her all might to get my boyfriend’s attention”. So, what happen these days really bug me, I mean, really disturbing my nerve and swaying nausea in the pit of my tummy. A girl, ordinary girl, never better, so pure and has jilbab on her head, has something growing so big between her already big boobs toward my boyfriend. MY BOYFRIEND. She really rang war horn.

I know, Hani will said “Don’t ever worry about this thing, its useless.” Include saying silently that ‘I’m a loyal, no one could distract me from your presence’ and he did, he did it in purpose to ease me. But it worked futile when I saw their picture in Hani’s FB, shocked, it really made my blood rushed in different pulmo. I hate to say that what I felt right there was a major defense on what I own. I know that a girlfriend or boyfriend remain a state, and we never completely own each other until the sacrament vow has made, but I just don’t want to lose him. Not now, not today, not even tomorrow—I don’t know the exact time I could let him go. I wish I never.

So that’s why, each second when I couldn’t call him, my head spun like merry go round. Some imaginary pictures of them having a good time in kitchen boiled my blood so well, some other thought was maybe Hani couldn’t reach me because he’s busy to look her. Oh shit. And I know, I’m too much over this, I collapsed my head straight to bed after the cold bath to ease my stammering.

And finally he picked the phone, and I rest in peace.

Finished with this, he made me sure that he wouldn’t ever feed his fans again—like I told him long time ago. Nothing I could do but trustly put my faith on him. I wish he could understand my feeling, and my condition. It’s not that he would betray me, but I never can stand with some lusty eyes tracked his good shape body while I’m here, faraway. I’m obsessive?? Oh God kill me.

Since when….

Oh forget it. I love him too much.

I dont know how to keep it safe without exploding myself. So this, maybe this scrappy thing will do more than an absent boyfriend, or absent cigarette since I decided to stop--willingly at last--consumed.

So this sickness called jealousity. It consumed every part of me faster than Hani's eating speed. I tried to calm myself and thought that it was some jokes, or misunderstanding, or some shitty bitch who doesnt know with whom she's dealing with. But I hate this. In this case, we agree that both of us are so productive to explode many vaginas and dicks, if we willingly want it. And then again, we know that we have a mutual-invisible-but-noticed-agreement that we soberly has something to fight for. We are child of hormone, of love and throne, of estrogen and testosterone. And sometimes, too much spice of it would boil more than what should be.

You said that I'm smart? No, I'm so dumb and useless. There's a hole of shit in my brain right now. And I cant carry it out before getting dirty. Now, even now, I know I have none idea of what I'm talking about. It's like pup, when you have a big disaster storm inside your tummy and you dont know where to explode it. Its not about the trust too, I mean goddamn I'm so confident I'm the only one in your heart, but nah, never confident that I'm the only one in your arms... look at those picture of yours facebook.

We never had this issues before. And now everything comes like bugs in Spring. Can you help me to understand this?


Sincerely yours

I’m not talking about psychology. It’s a science of blabbering and lots bull—no comprehensive rules about human and their behavior—and I’m sick of talking without proof. I definitely made a slow pace on anger, thought my circuit was short and I’m a jumpie, I would rather call myself calmer recently. Calm, doesn’t mean you have control over things. My calm means, I’m tired of struggling. You can imagine how waves build itself before it hits your boat, but you couldn’t calculate how your boat survive without knowing how high the tides. What I’m trying to talk here is, sometime we never know how big the problem, how much it risk. We saw it built itself, grow bigger and bigger, and when it decided to jump on us, that’s the time when we know that it’s not as small as we thought before.

I never wanted us to fight. And we’re not deciding what’s wrong and right. What meant so much right now that we set our grip tight. Where’s the hard part of this?

I decided to take the blame—like always did—and apologize for every bad things happen on us. I was so stupid and fool I never knew what’s good for you and what’s hurt you. But sometimes, let’s take the break and we fall in each other’s palm. You know I mean nothing bad on us, I never did. You know I’m right but you always find the spot to killed us. It’s not fair. The uncomfortable things that you feel is always become a steel knife you used to stab me, in chest and deep. You never know that I was sacrifice myself too, that I should cut through time, hold myself when I need you (and the point is I need you everyday, every time) My own egoism told me that I don’t want to lose you even in second, but my heart wouldn’t let me to do this cruel things. I know we have our own universe outside, that your world doesn’t just orbits on me-only around, and neither mine. I know you always want us to be together, but look dear, we’ll miss too much things, we’ll lose too much chance on what we should achieve. Please remember that you’ve lost your Ospek just to be with me, you want me to not talk about this anymore but doesn’t mean I forget those thing.

There’s people, outside. There’s places, outside. There’s chances, outside. And when you screw around with boredom and loneliness, eager to have so much conversation with living people, meet eyes with eyes, talk lips by lips, see the real emotion not just by symbolic emoticon, how could I choose my ego than this? My heart is raging by this. You don’t know how high the tides inside and I don’t need you to understand. We failed in this pattern. I put my sorry ass and decided that while you have your universe there, I would have my own too. We could still have a talk but make sure that it’s important, so neither of us will be distracted. I want you to gain much. Please tell me I didn’t care.

I care! I put you above all the desire I had. And there’s must be some uncomfortable while we’re away but I’m sure we’re strong enough.

I care.

And you used this careness to stab me, to turn the table and swap me. Just because you don’t like what I decided but keep doing this, you find the right time to punish me, the right moment to say “I told you so, Nan”. When I cracked the rules just to call you in short time, or message you, you have your chance to punish me because I break the rules. You get the chance to fling my words back to me and teach me hard with that. And if “I thought I’m ill and you should know” doesn’t fit as ‘important’ thing, I don’t know anymore what’s important for us to know. And you just quiet. You shut and nothing to talk. You don’t burden yourself to jusk ask “what illness I’ve got”.

You punish me. You’re fucking hate me.

Deep down inside, you know I’m not deserve this cold-hammer punch. But your ego’s too high to set this, and all you need to do is follow the rules, and who violate it needs to face the risk. What? I’m your enemy right now?

Oh its hurt, if you need to know what I feels right now. You’re fucking win this game. You’re the most right man walking on earth . It wasn't your fault, baby it was me. Maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems. Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano. Maybe I’m nothing good for you, what I did always harm you. Next time, just make sure you killed me, and please walk away with it. I’d better let you end up my mysery.

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.

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.

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.

Pada dasarnya post di bawah ini nyindir gw, iya kan sayang? Gw ga produktif udah hitungan bulan. Ga cuma di blog, tumblr, bahkan di RPF yang saban hari gw buka cuma ngeliat siggy gallery setelah itu close lagi. I’m in my darkest pit—sorry. Kalau menulis, mungkin gw bisa bikin satu post baru yang lumayan panjang dengan judul : Basa-Basi Pacar Sok Sibuk. Terlebih kesibukan itu memang satu dari ratusan alasan fundamental kenapa gw setiap nyalain kompi rumah yang dibuka malah Plant Vs Zombie #levelling #plak. Maafkan aku, sayang. Toh cintamu ga berkurang kan? KAN?

Sebenernya sebel juga kalo nulis tapi ga langsung dipost, alias di save, dan ending-endingnya gw lupa ngesave tuh scrap dimana. Nol lagi, mulai lagi, dengan hati mencelos karena sebelumnya udah nulis semuanya dengan gaya tulisan sebagus yang gw bisa. Hasilnya, jelek, klik kanan, delete. Dan roda penantian Hani yang pingin baca tulisan-tulisan gw harus diputar olang lagi dari 0 km. Sebenernya yang salah adalah… kompi! Salahkan dia karena dia lupaan nyimpen file tulisan-tulisanku dimana! Dasar kompi butut! Rongsokan! Bikin bengek aja!

*ga tau diri mode off*

*sungkem lagi di paha Hani*

There’s too much story… *kumat Britishnya*

Bersyukur pada Allah SWT gw dipertemukan sama lelaki ini, yang pertama kalinya gw lihat sendiri—berhasil bermetamorfosis jadi pribadi yang nekan kemarahannya dan lebih stabil, tanpa basa-basi. Gw pernah mengacung sumpah berubah jadi lebih sabar, yang ujung-ujungnya gw langgar, dan begitu banyak hati yang terkapar. Dan dari pengalaman itu gw tahu betapa susahnya, sengsaranya, berubah jadi seseorang yang lebih virtue dari kita yang sekarang. Jadi gw sempet frustasi dan pingin segera mengakhiri hubungan kalau Hani sedang dalam taraf raging blaze, marah yang destruktifnya ke badan dia sendiri sedang gw masih santai nyeruput choconiero, ga sadar dengan apa yang sedang dia lakukan di seberang.

It left scars on his chest, and left trauma planted in my brain.

Gw nangis, kalut, sedih dan takut setiap dia masuk tahap catasthrope itu. Dan betapa beda bobot badan juga sangat memuakkan pada tahap ini. Saat dia sedang ada di motornya, memacu dengan kecepatan di atas rata-rata, menderu-deru, dan gw yang gemetaran di belakang punggungnya. Mungkin kalau gw lebih gede dikitan, Hani sedikit sungkan macu keceng-kenceng #ganyambung.

Sekilas soal insiden KFC (kita namain itu aja ya Hani). Awalnya Cuma gegara blog, yang ternyata baru gw tahu kalo si Hani itu menuliskan mantannya di sana sebagai inspirator. Dan gw ngerasa yang…”HECK! EMANG YANG NGAJARIN LO SABAR DIA DOANG SELAMA INI? GW APA? SANDAL SWALLOW?” dan seperti biasa itu cuma terjadi dalam hati, yang mungkin bisa langsung diraaskan Hani dan endingnya dia yang marah sendiri, frustasi. Dipaculah itu Pulsar segede emak kenceng-kenceng melewati jalanan utama di Surabaya, Jl. A. Yani, menerobos lampu merah, nyelip bus, belok-belok diantara mobil gede dan sepeda motor. Gw takut. Kalau belum pernah liat gw histeris dan teriak-teriak geje say Astagfirullaah, Ya Allah Ya Rabbi, setiap dia macu kecepatan diatas 80 km/jam… yah, lo ga tau betapa putihnya muka gw waktu itu.

Karena waktu itu ada Insan dan Elsa, gw ga terlalu open reaksi. Tahulah kalau gw ngambek gimana, dingin, motionless, expressiveless. Sebagus mungkin gw tutupin borok yang berdenyut-denyut di dada gw dan ninggalin Hani karena telinga gw mendengar instruksi “Sana dulu” yang pada akhirnya berujung salah paham dan makin parah. Gw siapin 2 paket makanan dan minuman sembari nunggu Hani dingin dari semedinya, Insan dan Elsa udah balik pulang duluan. Setengah jam gw tunggu dan Hani belum menampakkan batang hidung. Gw makin frustasi, mungkin daripada keliatan di depan publik lagi nangis galau mending pulang sendirian aja. Gw sms Hani, dan ga ada balasan. Makin ga jelas hati gw, terbakar rasa muak. Pingin rasanya lempar spageti ke udara, tapi sayang, gw laper. Tapi ga mau makan kalo sendirian, ga bisa makan kalo lagi beranteman.

Akhirnya gw telfon Hani, dengar suara dia pecah hampir nangis dan gw tahu kalau dia begitu kalutnya ga ada gw. Apalah arti 40 ribu spageti, colonel spicy, mocca float dsb. Gw jalan ke arah dia, dia tarik tangan gw dan nangis di…. Parkir mobil. Malu, gw tutupin dia. Masih sempet ya gw malu, just kill me. Trus kita ngomong tatapan mata, di sanalah airmata leleh kek air bah. Ga pake kontrol, mungkin urat malu gw udah putus, mungkin gw ga mau bertopeng di hadapan dia, mungkin perasaan bersalah ini sudah pada puncaknya, munkin semuanya. Semuanya.

Lega, selajutnya cinta membuncah. Masih nget waktu dia jadi komentator paling berisik waktu gw main Plant Vs Zombie, dan setelahnya gw tidur dengan khusyuk setelah dibelai-belai. Mama dan Dinda jadi saksi, aih.

Yang berbeda, kali ini ga ada darah yang leleh dari kulitnya.

Belum tandas badan gw dikunyah springbed, dan belum jauh nyeri-nyeri nan ngilu meninggalkan daging dan persendian, dan gw masih belum mau percaya kalau gw balik lagi di Surabaya--sendiri. Njing, sumpah gw nangis ngetik ini.


Dibanding segala melankolia yang pernah gw laluin, dri yang paling sarap sampai yang paling sehat, bagian kek gini selalu kill me instead. Waktu beranjak jadi musuh paling ababil, yang kadang bikin lupa, kadang bikin pingin jerit nangis, kadang ngajak damai, kadang nyulut berantem. 5 hari untuk tiap tiga bulan itu siksaan paling manjur bikin otak ga waras.


Tulisan ini juelek, parah, ga pake mikir dan ogah ngedit kalau kelar nanti, plus, sebagai siraman penghilang gersang dari hari-hari disleksia atas ke-non-aktifan gw ngeblog. Maaf untuk Hani, yang pasti menunggu cukup lama sampai sebuah telur keluar dari kepala gw--ujug-ujug setengah busuk kek gini. Too much love kills me.


Gw ga mau nulis soal apa yang udah gw lewatin di Bandung, karena... kalau gw tulis, laptop banjir ingus dan tangis. Malu, ada Dinda pula di sini. Jadi dipending untuk lain kali, toh tulisan gw lagi ga konstruktif, ga kompositif, ga kualitas. Jangan sampai moment-moment sakral nan manis sadis itu rusak gegara isinya gw tulis ngasal, ga makna, ga jadi sejarah. Terus kenapa ini gw terus nulis? Apa yang pingin gw utarakan? Entahlah. Mungkin kalo bisa liat muka gw in real, siapapun bakal tahu kalo gw lagi terpendam deeply in shit, di satu sisi kerjaan kantor gw buang, di sisi lain mo nulis buat editorial aja ga kelar-kelar. Demi apapun, gw gay banget.


Pukul 11.05 waktu laptop. Ga sanggup rampungin kerjaan dan ga tega bangunin Hani yang tadi sempet pamit tidur sebentar. Sungguh telinga gw ga akan terbiasa dengan batuknya, dan hati gw pun keiris-iris sakit, nyeri, dan ikut berdarah kalo inget gw ga bisa apa-apa saat Hani sakit kek gini. Hani, if you read this, I love you. Pasti bosen dengernya ya? Terus gimana dong?


Galau ternyata sakit ya.


Dan Efek Rumah Kaca ini band paling gay yang pernah gw denger. Mampus sana. Jangan bikin makin banjir dong :((

Melankolia
Music : Efek Rumah Kaca

Tersungkur di sisa malam
Kosong dan rendah gairah

Puisi yang romantik
Menetes dari bibir

Murung itu sungguh indah
Melambatkan butir darah

Nikmatilah saja kegundahan ini
Segala denyutnya yang merobek sepi

Kelesuan ini jangan lekas pergi
Aku menyelami sampai lelah hati

Efek Rumah Kaca - Melankolia.mp3

Hehe, akhirnya bikin post di sini karena gundah yang ga tau mau disalurkan ke sebelah mana. Satu sisi, gw pingin muntah, sisi lain saking marahnya sampe gw diem aja. Padahal gw terkenal destruktif kalo ngamuk, tapi entah, rasanya saking kerasnya berusaha ga marah, gw malah diem aja. Hai dear, if you were there, read this thing—don’t believe in every word I type, biasanya kalo lagi marah bukan otak yang bicara, tapi emosi. Sama halnya waktu kita bertengkar di telfon, please don’t mind of this. Aku cuma berusaha melepas apa yang ga bisa kusalurkan dengan nunjek wajah mama. Hahaha, syiiiitttt. Like I could aja nunjek muka segala.


Kalo mau nyalahin masa lalu dan masalah bakal kelar, maka gw akan terus-terusin nyalahin kebegoan yang pernah gw lakuin sama Nash. Iya bego, bego ketahuan gituan, bego pake bawa-bawa ortu ke masalah perkelaminan, bego sampe gw setengah gila dan hampir tinggal nama di nisan. Kalau udah tahap itu, dan orang tua gw ga tau, apa ya… istilah Jawanya ‘kebacut’.


Gw ngomong apa sih, gueje.


Iya, Nash alias Muhammad Iqbal Javi adalah duri dalam otak yang gw kira ga mungkin bisa sembuh. Gw ga bisa maju sama Azmi, atau ga bisa ngeiyain ajakan pacaran si emaknya Dino sama anaknya gara-gara empat huruf brengsek yang gw ciptakan sendiri. Betapa tiga tahun itu kesia-siaan tahap akut yang ternyata baru gw sadarin sekarang. You’ve changed me, a lot, more than anyone could this far. And yet I thank God for you, for everything we have today, and everything we’ll seek.


Inti masalahnya, traumatic. Trauma, tapi bukan gwnya—ortu gw bo’. Iya dulu gw trauma, sampai bisu tiga bulan, sampai berangkat ke Jogja demi berada di kota dan menghirup udara yang sama dengan Nash di jarak yang kurang dari 10 kilometer. Dan seolah belum puas, gw saking traumanya sampai ga bisa ngeliat sapa-sapa yang udah deketin gw, membangun tembok nan kokoh tinggi menjulang bahkan buat siapapun yang sekedar pingin melihat. Trust me, kalau kamu datang sebelum Azmi, yang kamu dapet dari aku cuma sakit hati (kalo kamu berminat sama aku sih).


Gw ga inget gimana caranya tuh revisi skripsi lolos, atau test TOEFL gw above advance dengan keadaan gw masih bisu, ga berani keluar kamar (dan seinget gw, Henny sampe nyewa mobil njemput gw demi bawa gw berangkat kampus ngasih revisi dan ujian Toefl), dan yang jelas—otak tercecer. Saking takutnya, gw sampe pake surat-suratan sama mama papa dinda sebagai ganti gw ngomong apa. Saking takutnya, keluar rumah aja gw langsung histeris. Saking takutnya, gw ga mau terima telfon siapapun—termasuk dosen gw yang sengaja nelfon biar gw bangkit lagi. Gw berhenti bereaksi, dan hanya menerima reaksi. Gw ga pernah nulis surat buat siapapun, mereka yang nulis surat. Gw ga pernah telfon, mereka yang telfon di loudspeaker dan gw sekedar mendengarkan nasehat, wejangan, semangat, blabla itu. Hari-hari berlalu dengan gw ngeringkuk di kamar mama dan cuma keluar kalo gw butuh ke kamar mandi. Dengan keadaan itu, gimana ortu ga nyadar kalo memang terjadi sesuatu yang ‘lebih’ di antara gw dan Nash? Ortu dongo kalo ga kerasa itu mah.


Lha terus?


Haha, sudah sampe sini dan hati gw suruh berhenti nulis. Ini kampretos. Aku tahu kamu pasti khawatir baca post separuh nyawa kek gini, dan aku belum menjelaskan apa-apa tentang sesuatu yang bikin aku marah. Entahlah dear, aku ngerasa berbeda selama bersamamu. Aku jadi sering impulsive, tapi kutelan lagi apapun itu. Seringnya kamu yang sebel dan bilang, “Bilang aja sampe kelar. Kamu pacarku dan aku pacarmu, seamis apapun masalah itu toh ga menghentikanku untuk pingin tahu.” Yap. Bahkan sekarangpun aku bisa bayangin suara kamu ngomong gitu. “Nandaaaa, keluarin, cepet, atau mau aku marah?” Hehe, the thing is—untuk yang ini rasanya lebih baik kutelan sendiri.


Oke, ga lega sama sekali. Uwaaahhhh. Jari langsung gatel pingin jepit sesuatu dan nyulut di depan bibirku. Mungkin segalanya lebih baik dengan itu, hmm, nyedot aspal dilinting.


Maaf, dear.

Kek ngangkut satu beruang bercula, gw naik motor menyisir daerah Gubeng—nyusul Hani dari stasiun setelah sedikit tumpah-tumpahan testosteron vs estrogen demi mutusin siapa yang bonceng siapa. As I expect—gw yang menang, secara Bonek Surabaya ga bisa dilawan pendatang. Dengan badan dan kepala yang ringan, gw bonceng Hani nyari makan. Berhubung ga pernah melanglang daerah Gubeng di malem hari dan ga hapal tempat makan mana yang yahud, cuz aja-lah ke Coffee Corner Surabaya. Jelas venuenya dapet, makanannya ga kalah asik, dan yang terutama—kopi. Pinginnya sih, bikinin Espresso Triple Shoot dengan tangan sendiri, tapi masuk CC—gw langsung disapa Dimas. Dengan nada yang agak ‘ehem’ dia nunjuk Hani sambil tanya, “Masnya Nanda ya?” blabla, gw cipok pipi kanan-kiri Dimas dan langsung cabut ke upstair. Request dari Hani, akhirnya kami milih beranda atas yang langsung ngadep ke depan sungai, disapa barista-barista baru yang gw lupa siapa aja namanya—iye, gw bangkotan abitch.

Ngerasa jadi tuan rumah dan hapal menu di luar kepala, gw pesen 1 Café Mocha (buat gw sendiri), 1 Hot Americano dan 1 Hot Cappuchino Viena (buat Hani). Ga tega nyekokin minuman ajib espresso Triple Shoot, takut khasiatnya yang terbukti bisa bikin kencing gw dan seluruh interior toilet bau kopi 2 hari, gw ambil jalan aman—pesan makanan buat Hani (yang secara mengejutkan ternyata suka makanan kambing = Cap Cay Goreng) dan French Fries. Untungnya Surabaya ga lagi galak dengan suhunya yang ekstrim, gw lepas jaket, dan di situlah awal mula Hani minta ijin buat ngerokok. Dalam hati, gw ngerasa kalah lagi—dulu sama Azmi gw kalah lawan Arema, sekarang sama Hani gw kalah lawan Wismilak. Tapi balik lagii, gw siapaaaa larang-larang anak orang bunuh diri. Yawda deh, gw biarin tuh mulut mengepul kek cerobong asep, sekali dua kali gw sindir tapi karena si Hani ga kejeduk blas yawda tuh rokok mengepul terus sampe wafat sendiri.

Terus, ya… hmm, pesanan dateng. Satu persatu, mulai dari Vienna, Americano dan endingnya Mocca. Lucunya pas tangan udah kebelet nyeruput Mocca—my most favourite coffee—tangan ga sadar ngaminin otak yang bilang, ‘Save the best for him’ dan ujug-ujug malah ngeraih cangkir Vienna. Yaudin, bakat SPG lagi muncrat, gw rayu dia nyoba Mocca. Sebenernya tau sih kalo si Hani ga terlalu suka kopi manis, apalagi yang ditambahin susu. Dan apa yang diharapkan dari Café Mocca? Manislah, pake coklat pula. Tapi keknya Hani ga tega kalo nolak sodoran gw, disruputlah itu cairan. Dan ada senyum kikuk yang manis bin bikin meleleh waktu dia tandasin hampir separuh cangkir Mocca. Nah dipecut leather fetish Sadomasokist, atau tiba-tiba kesambet jin janda bunting, gw melting dan tergerak buat ngerapat ke wajah dia. Deket, makin deket, maakk deket banget dan blar! Taulah. Saya menghamili anak orang.

Apa ya, ga tau malu? Cewek gampangan? Penghilang keperjakaan? Nggak lah Ya Allah Ya Gaffar Ya Gofur. Tapi emang kalo diflashback sekarang—inget-inget lagi apa kedongoan yang pernah gw lakuin—gw malu #telaaattt. Tapi ya gimana dong? Mukanya si Hani itu ya, kalo dibuat role-play, bibirnya kek merapal mantera apa gitu yang bikin gw kesengsem, dan pipinya yang jadi korban bully berbagai sun dengan beragam pose dan kelembapan. Dan tebak, setiap kali gw cium, si Hani malah sendekapin tangan dan mundurin kursi. Kalo di Lie To Me itu artinya bukti ketidak-percayaan diri atas kata-katanya sendiri,… emang dia ngomong apa? Paling cuma “Humm..” doang setiap bibir gw cari landasan mendarat. Arga, barista #8 yang gw hapal namanya (gw barista #3 men! Tuwek men! Veteran men!) ngikik kunti di balik station upstair setiap ngeliat gw cium pipi Cubung. Sebodo, gitu juga sama cowok-cowok arisan di meja nomer 23, ato cewek-cewek jablay meja 22. Ini Sabtu, Malam Minggu, dan di samping gw udah duduk cowok yang selama ini cuma bisa gw pisuhin lewat twitter. Ya kenapa nggak sekali-sekali bikin si Hani keabisan gaya di depan publik.

Hauuhh, kok masih segini sih.

Okay, ceritanya, pertanyaan itu diulang lagi. “Semalam ngapain?” dengan pandangan nanar dari balik kacamatanya, si Hani mencoba menstimuli gw buat beberkan soal apa yang terjadi semalam. Dan yah—mau ditanya berapa kali juga gw tetep bingung apa yang terjadi semalam. Gw nangis, iya nangis sejadi-jadinya saat tau dia balik sama mantannya dengan alasan absurd macem, “Terserah dia, aku sudah kebas. Mauku sih jalanin semua semau-gw dan bikin dia lama-lama muak.”. Nah kalo lo jadi gw pas itu, gimana rasanya? Kuping panas, mata pedas. Bisanya si Hani ngebuang perasaan gw demi menjalani hubungan sesampah itu, mana adilnya buat gw? Yah, itulah. Kalo terus-terusan flashback ga kelar-kelar ntar. Intinya, gw bilang ga senaif dan semudah itu buat gw buang-buang nyawa, ga untuk yang kedua kalinya, holly sake. Kecewa iya, sakit iya, kebawa fisik banget. Dan itulah alasan kenapa kemarin gw bener-bener drop down, bukan bunuh diri. Dan dia keknya lega, percaya, dan mulai menikmati kenaifan dia sendiri yang serta merta dateng ke Surabaya demi mastiin gw baik-baik aja. Jujur aja, ada sign kentara yang bisa gw rasakan kalau perasaan Hani benar-benar sebuah cinta. Tapi ga ada harapan, ngingat kalo baru kemarin dia balik sama Alita.

Dan—eh, ternyata gw salah tangkep.

Gimanalah ceritanya gw bingung, si Hani bilang kalo dia dan Alita udah over. He? Iya, over, dan sekarang dia dateng buat me…me…lamar gw #gobskibecandabeutt. Ya intinya gw mendengar azimat itu lagi, something like ‘would you gonna be my girl?’ tapi lupa gimana dia ngucapinnya. Masa setelah enam kali sosor pipi, gw bisa bilang nggak? Dan setelah legalized, ijab qobul, suasana Surabaya mulai dingin lagi. Gw pake jaket lagi, dan semua hot coffee udah mendingin di dalam cangkir. Gw liat jarum jam nunjuk pukul 11 malem. Dan barulah sadar kalo gw dan Hani ditunggu orang rumah! Nyaaakk! Awalnya karena insting kedinginan yang ga tau malu, kebiasaan gw kalo ada cowok di samping pas gw kedinginan, cari-cari kehangatan dari tangannya. Dan yah, itu yang gw lakukan ke telapak tangan yang lebih besar dari punya gw itu. Di antara sela-sela jarinya yang ragu-ragu balas menggenggam, hangatnya tangan si Hani tetep aja bikin nagih. Moar moar moar!!

*bersambung dulu, ngantuk parah*

Gundah soal masa depan bukan milik gw sendiri kan? Yah, mungkin cuma anaknya Bakrie ato menantunya doang yang ga bakal ngerasain gundah kek gini. Dan lucunya, justru saat status kepegawaian udah jelas (tuh SK Rektorat soal Kepegawaian gw udah muncul dan potongan pajakpun membayang di depan mata) gw malah makin gundah, galau. Apa bener nih kerjaan bagus buat masa depan? Mungkin secara finansial iya, ada jaminan pensiun walau secara bulanan ga terlalu banyak. Berapa sih gaji PNS? Banyak sih nggak, mungkin ceperannya yang lumayan, apalagi kalo nama depan gw Gayus dan belakangnya Tambunan. Oke, soal finansial, sebanyak apapun duit ga bakal cukup kalo ga disyukuri, jadi gw skip soal itu. Tapi soal hati? Sampe sekarang gw masih berpikir nih otak yang pernah bikin ortu bangga dgn IP 3,44, TOEFL 568 dan IQ 125 bakal merana seumur hidup kalau cuma gw pake mikir kerjaan ecek-ecek. I mean, lama-lama mungkin semua ilmu gw bakal mangkrak ga kepake karena tempat kerjaan gw ga merluin logika sedahsyat yang bisa gw kasih.

Inilah sumber gundahnya, ladies and gentlement.

Gw ga suka hidup lempeng ala pegawai-pegawai pemkot, walau ga mau juga ngerasain idup dikejar-kejar ninja (baca: tukang kredit). Tapi gw butuh sesuatu, adventure, hal yang bikin keringat gw bercucuran ngerjain tuh soal. Atau ada hasil karya luar biasa yang memerlukan skill dan bakat yang bisa gw banggakan, yang bisa gw tunjukkan ke semua mata. Kalo mau milih, gw lebih suka meluncur di areal konflik atau perbatasan perang, meliput berita dan mati ketembak—dibawa pulang dalam bentuk yang lebih ringkas. Ditangisi mama papa dan mewariskan asuransi jiwa lumayan gede buat papa, mama, Dinda, Tari dan Ilma buat liburan ke New York. Gw ga bangga menyebut kerjaan sekarang, dan pingin sesuatu yang bisa gw banggakan saat ditanya tentang kerjaan. Gw iri sama temen-temen, cowok-cowok sekelas selama SMA yang sekarang bahkan sampe merambah Haiti untuk menyalurkan dana kemanusiaan. Atau paling nggak, ada di kota lain dan hidup menggelandang di bawa kolong cubicle. Atau para pekerja lapangan di pengeboran minyak, pertambangan atau pengadaan energi. Atau justru para Barista keren yang sudah menyajikan kopi-kopi racikannya sampe ke Dubai. Cool abis mereka itu mah!

Itu soal karir.

Belum soal kehidupan berkeluarga yang sakinah mawaddah warrahmah. Blar! Hih! Skip ah, pamali. Yang jelas buat karir, segalanya abu-abu. Entah kenapa gw ngerasa dikibulin sama harapan ortu, yang dulu maksa kuliah di ini-itu-anu karena kerjaannya menjanjikan, bikin bangga, punya gelar dan blabla. Sekarang coba lihat, banyak sarjana pengangguran atau kutu loncat, dan ga sedikit dari mereka yang justru dapet penghidupan dengan cara-cara sederhana yang ga memerlukan titel di belakang nama mereka untuk mendapat upah. Bokis bener kan? Tau gitu buat apa gw kuliah empat tahun, ngerjain skripshit di tengah kemandulan dan ketergantungan infus cuma demi kerjaan yang ga memerlukan SEMUA itu! Dasar-Dasar Jurnalistik, Hukum Media Massa, Riset Komunikasi Pemasaran, semuanya mentah! Ga kepake, buang aja ke laot.

Kenapa ga dari awal gw terjun slurup sepenuh hati ke bisnis Coffee and Culinary? Temen gw ada yang kuliah cuma D-1, teknik mesin, dan karena saking pinternya bikin Rosetta, dia jadi Duta Barista dari Indonesia yang dikirim ke Wina, dan sekarang kerja di Jerman bagian riset mesin brewing kopi. Nyet.

Soal gaji, heuh, yang penting bisa ditabung. Tapi kepuasan idup, harganya mahal men! Lo bisa banggain keluarga dengan jadi PNS, tapi apa lo bangga makan gaji buta tiap hari, ngendon depan kompi di kantor, di dalem ruangan ber-AC, makan, nggosip dan pulang? Otak gw berkarat...

Aneh ya, kalo denger lagu Bondan yang ini, gw ngerasa semua yang gw dapat ini masih belum sejumputpun nikmatnya dibanding yang gw idam-idamkan. Thanks buat Bondan Prakoso buat lagu keren ini. Well, listen this dude!



Hidup Berawal Dari Mimpi
By : Bondan Prakoso

yo’ kujelang matahari dengan segelas teh panas
di pagi ini ku bebas, karna nggak ada kelas
di ruang mata ini kamar ini srasa luas
letih dan lelah juga, lambat lambat terkuras

teh sudah habis, kerongkongan ku pun puas
mulai ku tulis semua kehidupan di kertas
hari hari yang keras, kisah cinta yang pedas
perasaan yang was was, dan gerakku yang terbatas

tinta yang keluar dari dalam pena
berirama dengan apa yang kurasa
dalam hati ini ingin kuubah semua
kehidupan monoton penuh luka putus asa

Reff
tinggalkanlah gengsi, hidup berawal dari mimpi
gantungkan yang tinggi, agar semua terjadi
rasakan semua, peduli ‘tuk ironi tragedi
senang bahagia, hingga kelak kau mati

yo’ yo’ dunia memang tak selebar daun kelor
akal dan pikiran ku pun tak selamanya kotor
membuka mata hati demi sebuah cita-cita
mlangkah pasti, pena dan tinta berbicara

tetapkan pilihan tuk satu kemungkinan
sbagai bintang hiburan, dan terus melayang
tak heran ragaku, terbalut lebel mewah
cerminan seorang raja dalam crita Cinderella

ini bukan mimpi atau halusinasi
sebuah anugerah yang akan ku nikmati nanti
hasil kerja keras ku terbayarkan lunas.. tuntas..
melakoni jati diri sampe puas

Reff, hingga kelak kau mati..

akh.. jack.. one two yo’
jalan sedikit tersungkur terjungkir terbalik
mlangkah menuju titik, lakukan yang terbaik
ku ketatkan tekad dan niat agar melesat
sperti rudal squad, mimpiku kan kudapat

mencari tepuk tangan atas karya keringatku
bukan satu yang ingin aku tuju
naik ke’atas pentas, agar orang puas
dapat applause, cek atau pun uang kertas

yo’ cari sensasi ataupun kontroversi “uh-oh”
bukan caraku agar hidupku rekonstruksi
dari mimpi semua hal dapat terjadi
maka lemparkan sayap dan terbanglah yang tinggi

http://www.4shared.com/audio/EfI26799/Bondan_Prakoso_-_Hidup_Berawal.htm -- MP3 Download (Sorry ini kenapeu sama blogspot anging ga bisa nautin link)

Kalo gw bisa nulis dengan mata ketutup gibi tabnpa salah satupun, gw lanjut ngeblog deh. Banyak yang pungin gw tulis tapi mata ga bisa buka nih bangke bener. Salah siapa coba... SAKAH SIAPAAAAA!!!

Kadang kutanya apa yang salah sama kepala? Karena ini aneh, berjalan hampir sebulan dan aku mencintaimu lebih parah dari terakhir kali aku bilang ‘I love you’. Tadi malam, sebelum tutup telfon dan mengucapkan wassalam—akhiran dari setiap percakapan. Artinya dalam bahasa Indonesia? Aku mencintaimu, nikahilah aku, mari punya tiga anak atau lebih, dan kita bersama sampai tangan Tuhan sendiri yang memisahkan.

Panjang ya.

Ada yang bilang aku memilihmu karena bosan, ada yang bertanya apakah ini semua hasil dari rasa kesepian yang tak bisa ditahan? Kujawab apapun ujung-ujungnya mereka tak mengerti. Tante, sobat (Henny namanya), orang-orang yang terlalu mengenal tulangku sampai lupa kulit, yang hafal isi kepala tapi lupa dimana kutaro kakiku, dan ga bisa dipukul sekali jedug biar langsung percaya dengan semua jawabanku.

“Sayang kok, mau gimana?”

Kamu pasti ketawa juga kalau melihat mukaku, maksa-maksa-cute-sengsara, belum ditambah gaya guling-guling di atas springbed baru. Dan mereka nambahin, “Ga serius kan?”, saat itu kuhentikan guling-gulingan geje dan pasang muka tercute sedunia, dengan senyum yang rasanya ditarik dengan tangan-tanganmu yang invisible, “Aku ga keliatan bahagia kah?”

Dan mereka diam.

Baru kusadari kadang kala, sesuatu yang bahagia itu tanpa definisi. Tiba-tiba terasa, menyelimuti, dan aku ga mau semua itu pergi. Sudah tiga tahun sejak semua yang indah-indah itu pernah dirasa, mungkin tulang, gigi, kepala sampai daging dan darahku mengiba untuk merasakan hal yang serupa. Aku pernah bahagia, sama seperti kamu juga pernah melaluinya, entah dengan siapapun yang dulu membuat kita tertawa. Dan mungkin sampai kini, aura-aura itu terselip terlalu dalam dengan bermacam-macam dusta. I’m single and happy motherfucker, lo sedih, lo nestapa, lo gila sampe ga kerasa. Tapi siapa yang mau ngaku sih dengan keadaan memprihatinkan itu? Aku? Nggak, tiga tahun setelahnya kulalui dengan berbagai macam mainan. Rere menyebutnya boytoys, Dinda menyebutnya plencingan, Henny bilang itu pelesiran, Abby bilang namanya pecunan. Aku bilang itu pelarian.

Aku lari dari Nash, aku mencintainya dan ga mau kami bertemu dengan rupa yang saling membenci. Aku bahkan sampai sekarang berharap—jika entah di mana aku bertemu dia, aku bisa senyum sambil bertanya “Istrimu mana?” tanpa menggigit bibir bagian dalam. Dan kurasa sekarang aku menemukan momentnya, saat tanganku kamu sanding di dalam dekap, dan saat semua tuntutanku atas cinta dan mencintai lengkap. Kamulah jawabannya, iya, kamu. Ga percaya?

Aku nulis apa sih… ga jelas.

Ceritanya, tepat tanggal 4 Februari lalu, gw begitu hebohnya naik turun tangga, mikir dengan rambut berantakan, boxer keluar dari lipatan sabuk celana, kaos berlengan pendek dan tak berselubung bra, kacamata yang lepas-pake-lepas-pake, dan BB yang kalau kelaminnya betina pasti udah bunting anak kelima. Bukan karena semalam gw ga ingat apa-apa, lost track dan bangun dengan mulut penuh comet darah, Bukan juga karena sakit di bagian perut bawah dekat tulang pinggang yang kalo lagi kumat naudzubillah sakitnya. Semata-mata karena gw bingung bilang mama ato papa, soal kedatangan cowok berinisial CH yang tiba-tiba ngabarin udah di atas kereta Argo Wilis (kalo ga salah smsnya terkirim pukul 7.45an, sedangkan gw bacanya udah pukul 11.00). Mo bilang temen, salah—ga menjelaskan kenapa gw harus kelimpungan menghadapi kedatangannya. Mo bilang pacar, belum ada persetujuan dari kedua belah pihak kalau hubungan ini perlu dilabeli demikian atau nggak. Mo bilang apa dong?


Alhasil, mama yang punya six sense lebih peka dari kucing, apalagi soal bau-bauan—nyamperin dan nanya, “Opo tho kak? Munyer ae koyok obat lamuk.” (Apa sih kak? Muter aja kek obat nyamuk) dan karena pada dasarnya gw setransparan toples permen, bilanglah gw apa adanya pada sang bunda. “Gini ma, ada anak namanya Cubung. Dia lagi di Argo Wilis, sampe Surabaya kira-kira jam 7. Kalo misal dia tidur di sofa selama di sini, boleh ga?” Ya terang alis mama yang tipis itu goyang dombret dong.


Sumpah gw keknya salah merangkai kata. Harusnya sebelum mengajukan proposal, harus ada perkenalan dulu, pembukaan dan salam manja, terus pelan-pelan ngelunjak minta-minta-maksa. Ga langsung tembak mati di tempat kek gitu. Dan lucunya, sakit gw yang kemarin rasanya ga tertahankan itu hilang diganti mules di ujung perut yang tiba-tiba datang lantaran kepikiran mo alasan apalagi buat bawa cowok ke rumah. Masalahnya, sejak hancurnya pertunangan gw dengan Nash tiga tahun lalu, gw sekalipun ga pernah bawa cowok ke rumah lagi—dengan alasan apapun. Mama, yang notabene merasa perlu ngenalin ke gw cowok-cowok pilihannya, melihat fenomena ini sebagai sebuah keajaiban. Ajaib, Nanda mau bawa cowoknya dong. Selama ini diem-dieman doang, malah lebih seringnya gw yang ga pernah pulang rumah dan nginep di tempat Azmi pas week end.


Mama ga membuka pertanyaan dengan bertanya, “Siapa CH?” tapi malah “Dateng berdua? Bertiga? Kamarmu bersihin lho, kak.”

Duar!


Yang jelas-jelas pasang muka ngempet boker malah Dinda. Dan segera setelah mama bilang gitu, Dinda nimpalin. “Cowok? Ga. Tidur luar. Enak aja masuk kamar.” Bahkan selanjutnya, adik gw paling overprotektif itu menunjukkan tampang tergaharnya waktu dia tahu nama Cubung Hanito send request follow ke twitternya. D’oh, iya gw tahu betul gimana hancurnya perasaan Dinda waktu gw mutusin nenggak 35.000 mg Dyfenhidramine tiga tahun lalu. Dan dengan segala cara, dia berusaha lindungin gw dari hal-hal yang berpotensi membuat gw nenggak obat itu lagi, termasuk soal ga bisa tidur dan pacaran.


Dan baru kali ini gw memohon sama Dinda untuk seseorang yang bukan sapa-sapa. Hebat kan? Gw keluarin lagi bakat-bakat manipulator yang dari bayi udah melekat di nama belakang gw, dengan satu dan tiga frase yang gw puntir maknanya demi sesuatu yang menguntungkan, akhirnya Dinda nyerah dan bolehin. Iklas ga iklas yang penting “Iya.” Walau belakangnya ada tambahan, “terserah.”


Dan, dengan setengah teler gw berdandan, berharap cukup cantik biar pas ketemu sama Cubung, dia ga ilfil, ga muntah, apalagi tiba-tiba kayang pulang ke Bandung. Tapi jelas dengan keadaan ga normal itu, gw mengalami banyak disorientasi mengemudi. Ga ada bantuan dari siapapun, dan coret nama Dinda sebagai pendukung lovelife gw kali ini. Dia sudah kapok dan nyesel jadi pendukung Nash dulu though. Dan setelah yakin gw telat hamper 15 menit dari jadwal keretanya merapat gegara ga berani ngebut malem-malem, akhirnya tibalah di Stasiun Gubeng dengan sok cantik. Ga lupa pake kacamata, karena rabun ayam gw mulai masuk taraf keterlaluan. Apalagi ditambah kenyataan kalo gw sama sekali blur dengan cirri fisik dan wajah Cubung. Dan setelah masuk peron, heck, gw deg-degan. Kopi darat bok, ga adilnya—dia tahu gw dang w clueless gimana dia. Akhirnya setelah perjuangan cengok dan kesasar, akhirnya ketemu sesosok gede, jaket hitem rambut berantakan, genderuwo, yaa awalnya belum terlintas kata “cakep” di kepala gw karena mata jiper, rabun ayam, chicken blindness. Begitu nemu pencahayaan yang lumayan, gw melabeli fisik dia dengan sebutan, “Not bad.”


Awkward banget. Bukannya dipeluk atau digandeng, dia malah tarik dua tangan gw dan ngelihat bagian pergelangan. Terus liat muka gw, baru turunin tangan gw sembari bilang. “Baguslah ga kenapa-kenapa. Aku kesini cuma mastiin kamu baik-baik aja.” Dan otak gw saat itu, blank space, berusaha nyari padanan kalimat dan link yang menghubungkan pergelangan tangan dengan keadaan gw yang baik atau nggaknya aja gw ga yakin. Oh, so this boy thought I was slitting my wrist and suicide… for what? Knowing that he was back with his ex? Okay. That’s cute!


Dan kami berjalan beriringan, dengan tidak terjadi apapun yang membuat hati gw terlonjak. Lempeng, diem, dan gw berubah jadi bebek mentok yang ngembik-ngembik bawel. I hate awkwardness, walo mungkin Cubung ga suka liat gw, tapi gw suka liat dia. Gw seneng ketemu dia, apapun alasannya dan gimanapun keadaannya, dan sayangnya gw saat itu terlalu takut bilang itu. Takut kecewa dengan kata-kata, “Gue biasa aja sih Nan.” Sampai di satu ujung parkiran, gw minta peluk. Iya, kurang kerjaan apa coba, dimana harga diri gw? Di sol sepatu, gw injek-injek ga berbekas, dan gw ga peduli. Rasa sayang, seneng, kaget, semuanya ga pingin gw tutupin dengan kemunafikan dan sok jual mahal. Karena bagi gw, cinta itu ditunjukkan dengan bangga, dan diperjuangkan.


To be continued.