Kejam

Buat aku, kejam itu bukan saat kamu cari aku saat kamu sudah pegang tangan dia. Bukan saat aku duduk menatapmu saat kamu BBM dia.

Kejam itu juga bukan saat kamu minta aku datang setelah beberapa waktu lalu kamu bilang aku harus jalan sendiri tanpa dirimu. Bukan juga saat aku pegang tanganmu waktu kamu merasa bersalah, tapi kemudian kamu telepon dia sedangkan aku kau biarkan diam menunggu di ruangan lain.

Bisa jadi kejam itu adalah bagaimana kamu sadar kalau aku sedang berusaha melupakanmu tapi kau tetap mau temui aku dan buat aku berharap untuk kemudian kamu hancurkan harapan itu. Tapi bukan itu.

Kejam itu juga bukan saat kamu biarkan aku pergi tanpa kamu antar keluar dan kamu cuma bisa minta maaf lewat tulisan. Tak berani kamu tatap mataku.

Kejam itu adalah saat aku sangat merindukanmu tapi tak boleh aku ucapkan karena semua orang bilang aku bodoh bila aku ucapkan kata itu, karena kamu di sana tak mungkin dengar bisikanku, karena rasa kangenku tak mungkin buatmu kembali padaku.

 

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Lucid

He’s looking at the rashes on his hands while scratching his chest with the other hand. He can’t smile because those are not the signs of victory. He hates those rashes. he know they were coming. They were destined to show up should he decided to choose the option he eventually regretted. Needless to say, he’s bearing the consequences of of his choice.

He put on some liquid medicated talc to lessen the itch and perhaps cover them up. “But those are the things that human eyes can’t miss,” said his judgmental heart, or conscience, or brain, or whatever organs that is obviously not leaning to his side right now.

Fallen. Or yet buried deep under dirt. That is how he sees himself at the moment. Not like everyone knows what happened and they throw stones while casting curses and spit on his face. He doesn’t need other people to do that. There’s a trial session happening in his head and he can’t dismiss the charges. The most painful part, he can’t say a word about this. Not to those who matters to him.

For him, friendship is not a bail-out-of-jail card that he can use to his friends while he’s in problem. He values his friend more that that, more than himself. He can’t bother them with this particular problem. Besides, what will they think of him after he eventually come clean to them. No. Talking to them is not an option. Or is it? Damn! he can’t think straight, just like when he saw things are moving in his room or someone was pushing his bed farther from the wall. When he turned the light on, nothing happened. “I must be losing my mind,” he’s thinking to himself. “Shit”.

 

 

He talked to someone. He knows about his trouble. He’s the one doing it together with him. He knows the talked to him, but it’s not enough. He need a longer time to talk it out. Not just about the nausea, the rash or other physical stuffs. He wants to talk about feeling, like how he can easily burst into tears right there right now when he sees or hear things that’s sad or sweet. He’s an emotional wreck, yet no knows, not a soul.

An email. Great. “At least I can keep my mind occupied on work for tonight.” He tried and failed. He can’t get his mind off of his transgressions. He still remembers how it smell, how the smoke rises. He even thinks that his room reeks of its smell. He threw away all the tools thinking that he he could get rid of the remains of his mistakes, but he still can silence the voices in his head.

Sleep. That’s exactly what he needs now. He knows that drinking a lot water only help a bit but sleep works like a charm. He’ll be lucid by the time he wakes up. He tried. He  rolled back and forth, but his head just can’t stop thinking. Images flashes. He sees familiar faces, his old house, his childhood friends, the black fence in front of his house, his graduation, his first ex, his sticky notes on his desk, his trip to exotic islands, his room, everything. All flashes, can’t stop. He can’t scream. He just keep on wishing all of them would stop and everything will be ok when he wakes up.

His alarm went off. Blaring loud. Stop. Then went off again. He stays still. His eyes stayed close.

One Gloomy December Morning

 

I remember this kind of day. No sun, only grey clouds hanging in the sky. It’s not dark and scary, but enough to put people into their glooms. There’s a chill in the air. It’s the one that gently caress your skin and makes you take a deep breath just to feel that air inside your nostril. It’s a feeling not easy to describe, but definitely hard to forget.

The feeling brought me back in time. I was a kid at that time. It’s the morning of Chinese New Year. I forgot which year, but I remember that the morning’s air was the same as today’s. It was a hopeful day. I hoped to get a lot of red envelopes filled with money so I can get enough to buy toys or things I desired  that my parents can’t buy. At that time, despite of the hope, I knew that I still won’t get a lot and every envelope I got would be given to my parents.

There was a protest in me. Those moneys are mine. But I had no choice since it was my parents who was asking for them. I promised myself ever since, I will get a lot of money later to but the things I want.

It’s been years since that gloomy morning. I’m now standing on the side of Jl. Satrio with a cup of coffee in my hand. It’s far from my parent’s home and  from where I started since that gloomy morning. I look at my surrounding. Yes, it’s the exact same weather and feeling. But this time it’s different. I feel a sense of relief. I bought my own coffee, I paid my own room rent and managed to purchase the stuffs I need with my own money. I let myself smile a bit.

I took a moment to look at the traffic, saw the sky and once again breathed the chilly air. I felt like I’m saying to myself: you’re almost there, it’s not far now; you’ve come a long way, but it’s all worth the effort. I let the feeling sink in and I set out to face the day, hoping for more “gloomy” mornings in the future, all in different place and different memories.

 

December 10^th 2011.

Love, Under Construction

(24 August 2011, 01.09 am)

It’s past midnight. I’m sitting in alone outside of my room, just near the parking lot. Engulfed by the smokes from a burning cigarette and noises from the street, I focus my mind to type words I really mean to say.

It’s been days since I had a sip of love. An emotion I dare not to deal. A word I scare to say or even think. A feeling that has put me in misery, yet I have no strength to resist. Now, with courage I will say it: I fell for a guy. Over a short conversation, over touches where our bodies collide, I let myself vulnerable to love.

After receiving a cold gesture the guy I fell for, I decided to give up. Tortured every time I hear the fence opening or a car pulling in the parking lot, I was longing for him to invite me back to his room and talk. I just want to talk. Listen to his voice while looking into his eyes, guessing if the feeling is mutual.

Feeling rejected, I retreated into a solitude. I pulled myself away and blocked every thought of him that relentlessly tried to creep in my mind and grow hopes, “what ifs”. I realized that it is the best thing to do. I had to let go. A part of me said that I’m foolish; I haven’t tried hard enough or fought brave enough for love. Yet, I decided to give up on this war and take back the control I relinquished.

Because of this feeling, I have let my world to fall into a  labyrinth, where uncertainties are all that linger. I tried to seek my way out, hoping of a triumph when I know for sure it doesn’t exist. I was frustrated and doubt myself of the ability to love or to find love, the one that’s reciprocal. I was afraid that this is it. The love will always be out of reach for me. I was terrified. And I still am.

I will never know if he has feeling for me or he was just fooling around just like the other guys I’ve been with. But I know this for sure: I don’t want to know. I don’t want to seek for answers for they will just lead to confusions and heartbreaks. I will just leave it here and walk away. Was my heart crushed? I don’t know. It was hurt but I know it’ll survive

As I was typing this post, I looked over the fence, far where I can see the lights from a building under construction. I imagine every brick, concrete, cement, are all elements being put together to assemble a majestic creation which will invite awes and admiration from people passing through or seeing it from the inside. I imagine seeing the building as my heart being built, brick by brick, until it perfectly stands high and tall. I imagine every brick represents a moment in my life that constitutes to the whole construction. The top parts can’t be built unless the ones on the below are complete.

As a remedy of the recent failure and hurt, I let myself to believe that the frustrations,  glimpses of love, are just parts I need to endure in order to complete the higher construction.

For now I choose to see it that way. Love will take me to different heights and my heart is under the construction to take me there.

 

Acceptance

(17 August 2011. 12.48 pm)

I was standing in front of my room. It was 12 AM. A half-smoked cigarette on my hand and a mug of cheap instant coffee on my other hand. As I inhaled the nicotine and exhaled the breath of cold mint out from my nostril, I thought of acceptance. The word, the concept, that has been haunting me.

It was not hard, thorough, self-psychoanalysis. It was just a series of ideas. One by another flashing through the spaces within my head.

The trigger? 2 days ago. Someone whom I never known before, whose image now stuck in my head. It was a good night. A really good one. Now, consistent with the storyline of my past and present, cold shoulders are only I have.

That person, or perhaps my own perception of him, is screwing my brain. The main cause: I can’t get him. He’s out of reach. Sounds familiar? Of course it does, since that’s the only pattern of “romantic relationship” that my head and heart ever known. The sickening thought: it’s the only thing that they desire and relish. When it’s not attainable, then it become the thing I desire the most.

When I tried to break down the cause of my tendency in a relationship, I found that acceptance is the very concept that governs my decisions and choices in life.

My whole life, I have been fighting for acceptance. Acceptance from my parents who have to stop thinking that other kids are better than theirs. Acceptance from the boys in my childhood playground who always left me out of every game, made me stuck playing with the girls. Acceptance from the middle school’s basketball team who never let me shoot a ball to the ring. Acceptance from the high school popular kids who have to stop mocking at me. Acceptance from my own self who never think I’m good enough, smart enough, kind enough, trying hard enough.

The non-existence of acceptance has forced me to try harder to fit in. It failed. I eventually tried things out of the mainstream. When other kid bragged about solving complicated math formulas, I tried memorizing lines from US soap operas. When other guys played soccer, I researched on material for debating competition. Not being accepted has made me rise above the others in a different way. But deep down I never feel enough.

Same thing applies when it comes to romantic relationship. I hated myself 2 years ago when I was fat and unattractive. I worked out hard in the gym. I pay real attention to what I eat. All I want is to look and feel attractive, to be accepted by others. Now, after I lost a lot of weight and look better, I still find myself being rejected.

Now, I’m running out of ideas on what should I do to be accepted.

 

 

 

Shadow

A shadow from the past has crept inside my room of thoughts.

It provokes my deep desires who’s rested stone cold in its hiatus of sorrow.

It blows my chime with a breeze of uncertainty, with wind that blows with short sharp tinkles.

With daunting questions lingering in the room of dark, I heed to the shadow, making distance as I go.

With arms stretched long, I reached to touch a mere emptiness of long lost hope.

The room is never bright as I never want the shadow to go away.

Waiting for the dark figure to unfold the secret of the past, I made my way to unravel the mystery of the future.

 

The Demon Inside

 

 

We all are destined to fight an eternal battle with our own dark side. It takes place in the realm where the scariest demons linger and attempt to destroy our pursuit of becoming a better person.

The demons are the manifestations of our phobias, past traumas, historical failure or every single memory that stings every time it’s triggered. Their fang pierces deep into our soul while their dirty fingers play with our thoughts.

The ones I face are not less ugly. I see my demon every time I look into the mirror. I can always hear it screams how ugly I look like and how I not even close to good. It’s the same demon that laughs joyously when I make mistakes and mock me when I fail to achieve something I hope and desire. Yes, the demon of perfection is indeed a persistent creature that follows my steps and refuses to stay behind.

Its brother, self-expectation, feeds from my disappointment and see the chances to strike when I keep my hopes high. Self-expectation allows me to enjoy a pseudo-happiness, takes me to euphoria, then slam me to the ground with its knee pressed hard against my chest. It lurks in my mind and dances triumphantly when I sink in depression.

We all fight our own battle in a daily basis. It’s not the matter of winning or losing. It’s about survival, keeping ourselves sane after going through every battle.