a good friend asked me: how do I interpret the pink?
Ngoceh Akhir Tahun, 2017: Menghitung Jatah Gagal dan Tanda Rindu dari Tuhan
Saya lagi banyak dikunjungi sial. Beberapa minggu kebelakang ini banyak sekali rentetan kejadian yang membuat saya either berkecil hati, sedih, kesel, marah, sampai tahap ketawain-aja-deh. Selama dua tahun ini, bisa dibilang hidup saya itu adem. Bukannya nggak ada kunjungan dari si sial, tapi sekalinya dia berkunjung, saya masih dikelilingi banyak orang tersayang untuk bantuin saya menyambut datangnya sial dengan senyum senyum kecut. Besoknya saya udah lupa, karena sialnya langsung pulang saat saya kacangin karena malamnya saya ketawa terus bareng sahabat.Dua tahun belakang ini juga saya dikaruniai blessings yang luar biasa, rasanya seperti dunia berpihak pada saya, apapun yang saya lakukan itu pasti berujung pada kemudahan, hoki, atau kesuksesan yang tidak terduga. Pokoknya, episode 'keberuntungan' saya berhasil bikin saya yakin kalau hidup saya akan sama ademnya, alias gede rasa kalau saya orangnya hoki!
Selama ini saya merasa paling mahir kalau jadi tempat cerita teman atau pacar yang lagi sedih menghadapi kegagalan atau kesialan. Saya yang punya citra optimis ini selalu dengan bijaksananya bilang bahwa kegagalan itu penting, dan saya selalu bilang ke mereka,
"Anggap aja kalau tiap manusia itu punya jatah gagal dalam hidupnya, dan setiap kegagalan yang lo hadapi artinya lo menghabiskan jatah gagal lo satu persatu."
Jadi artinya pun, yang penting itu bukan gagal atau suksesnya, tapi bagaimana pentingnya menghabiskan jatah gagal. Dan saya yakin, cara untuk menghabiskan jatah gagal ya dengan menggaet banyak kesempatan yang muncul di depan mata, gagal atau nggaknya itu urusan belakangan. Kalau berhasil, ya jelas bagus, tapi kalaupun belum berhasil, hore, satu jatah gagal tercoret lagi!
Nah, gitu. Kurang lebih selaluuu seperti itu saya yakinkan orang orang tersayang yang mengadu pada saya tentang kekecewaan, eh lalu saya jadi mikir, bagaimana dengan jatah gagal saya? Saya yang mengimani pentingnya gagal dalam perjalanan menggapai mimpi sendiri merasa kalau jatah gagal saya belum banyak yang dicoret. Tapi dengan songongnya saya sempet mikir, ya, mungkin emang saya hoki, hehe.
Tapi ya memang, hidup kalau terlalu manis itu nggak lain adalah jebakan. Saat saya baru ini menerima sebuah penolakan yang tidak terduga, saya bingung bukan main gimana cara menghadapi sesuatu yang tidak berjalan sesuai harapan saya. Asli, saya sampai google "how do I deal with failure?".. Saya bohong kalau bilang saya nggak sempet down, saya sedih dan kecewa sama diri sendiri. Kelabakan, seakan akan berputarnya dunia saya yang selama ini saya pahami, jadi berubah. Seperti mempertanyakan, lha, lho, gak harusnya gini lho ini. Persetan dengan semua teori jatah gagal yang selama ini saya koarkan, nyatanya pas saya menghadapi kegagalan itu sendiri, saya ibarat orang hilang arah.
Seingat saya yang nggak rajin-rajin amat menulis, tulisan kali ini bisa jadi adalah tulisan pertama yang bertemakan, spiritual mungkin? Nggak layak amat kalau saya bilang ini akan jadi tulisan religius karena ilmu agama saya jelas masih jauh untuk berani comot-comot ayat suci dari kitab agama yang saya anut, Al Quran. Lagipula, saya kepengen tulisan ini bisa turut dinikmati secara penuh hati oleh teman teman yang menganut Tuhan yang beda di nama atau kawan yang tidak percaya Tuhan.
Sejak saya menerima berita atasa 'kegagalan' itu, saya secara nggak sadar membiarkan banyak energi negatif masuk kedalam diri saya. Saya jadi banyak mengumpat, mencaci diri sendiri atau siapapun yang nyebelin, dan level sabar saya rasanya jadi lebih tipis daripada selembar kertas. Dan racun mulai masuk: membandingkan diri dengan orang lain. Jadi buta, lupa bersyukur, dan melupakan semua blessings yang telah dikantongi.
Haaaah, itulah manusia. Lemah. Manusia itu kurang lebih seperti air, wujudnya mengikuti wadah, mudah keruh kalau terkontaminasi kotor, lalu air bisa memberi kehidupan, atau juga bisa mendatangkan kematian. Similar pada manusia bukan, sih? Anyway, membahas persamaan manusia dengan karakter air adalah another chapter to write. Tapi kembali lagi, saya merasa seperti air yang tadinya jernih dan cucok, saya biarkan polusi masuk mengotori air, atau jiwa saya. Padahal debunya cuma setitik, tapi saya sendiri yang nggak cepat ambil tindakan menyaring air, alihalih malah membiarkan air saya jadi kotor sendiri.
of us and what resembles
of us and what resembles
a flashy dress that hurts the eye but a fantasy to see,
a dainty souvenir from a cousin’s wedding that mom forgot to bring home,
a sparkler firework that flickers barely longer than a minute,
a childhood best friend you bumped into while you’re running late,
a day-off on a Tuesday or a Thursday;
all exciting,
none meant to last long,
yet still, the throbs are essential to the heart.
the scar on the back of her ankle
the scars on the back of her ankles
in one fine morning
walked in front of me a woman
I noticed the back of her ankles were scarred,
I am too, familiar with the scars,
I am too, painted with the same scars,
exactly on the back of my ankles,
both of the back of our—hers and mine—ankles are scarred,
the scars are twins, somewhat ellipse-shaped,
and once I heard a tale they conceal:
the scars on the back of her ankles
the scars are twins, somewhat ellipse-shaped,
and once I heard a tale they conceal:
they were born from blisters of femininity;
their father was a pair of uncomfortable shoes that are, ladylike;
their father was a pair of mores that forces women to walk gracefully on their foots sheltered within a pair of pain;
their father was a pair of pretty footwear whom her ankles made love to,
he conveyed only ache but what strength is greater than a woman’s devotion to her man?
so her ankles devout,
she learned to tolerate the sore,
no one shall ever know the pain,
because what is more dazzling than a woman’s devotion to her man?
it’s a man’s world anyway,
each ellipse-shaped scar borne to the back of her ankle
are left to all
feminine women,
who bleeds for beauty,
because they must be,
and any other soul forbid to know about the pain,
because a lady shall not whine,
thus the scars on the back of her ankles,
in silence they speak for themselves.
.......
what makes one a woman
who sits with her legs closed
whose hair smells like vanilla
who is a mother to a child
or
any soul with courage and compassion?
intense
i am vehement and will not lessen
as strong as the midnight tides and will not slow down
as sturdy as the steel and will not soften
as abrupt as the avalanche and will not smoothen
for how mother nature has raised this very soul,
i am vehement and will not lessen.
the tolerated pain
i still remember the pain of my first paper cut
i was only eight and it was from my father’s freshly printed sheets
i remember how the sting ached and my cut finger was throbbing
the pain was new to me,
so i wept and wept over the mere flesh wound
now that i have grown older,
i don't cry over paper cuts anymore
for that i am familiar with how it is going to hurt my skin,
the pain is somewhat bearable
although the sting still aches and the cut still throbs,
my body learned how to tolerate the twinge,
and the same goes with why,
i don't cry over heartbreaks anymore
'what's in a name?'
‘now tell me,
what meaning is possessed in your name?’
‘mine?’
‘yours.’ I said as I toyed with a strand of my hair. Flirtatiously. Yet keeping it innocent and unaggressive. I didn’t want to offer him a second of green light.
I have had always indoctrinated myself to be a young lady with a proud soul. I would not let life happens to me, I trained myself to situate everything under my control—I am too, too proud to permit unwanted paths crossing my ways.
As well as I found where myself happened to be at this p.m., accompanied by a young man in a crimson hooded-sweater sitting in front of me, I placed this evening as my decision. As my willing and not because of him drawing my interest.
‘one with a gentle heart,
one who is able to convey calmness over a storm.”
I tilted my head as he finished his words,
“’one with a gentle heart, one who is able to convey calmness over a storm?’” I chuckled; I lifted my left eyebrow as a mark of questions.
He was chill, he replied my doubt only with a smirk, and then followed:
“you’ll see.”
“alright, sir.
Let’s see if I’ll see.”
He was far from a type of mine,
he smoked cigars although he numerously proclaimed he’s in the struggle to quit.
I don’t date smokers. I won’t, ever.
He didn’t speak politics nor he spoke any Marx,
he didn’t give a single damn about Das Kapital and would never think any of it matter,
‘he’s a simple man’, I thought to myself.
And I don’t date simple men. I won’t, ever.
Anyhow of him being the least of guy I would sleep with,
in a peculiar short time, I found myself losing my breath between his soft kisses.
He was a smoker but he washed off his top to toe before seeing me to ensure I wouldn’t smell the slightest debris of ash.
He either spaced-out or had his forehead wrinkled when I mumbled him of how Western media has distorted the World from the truth, yet he listened, letting the language of alien streamed to his ears.
He is, indeed,
one with a gentle heart,
one who is able to convey calmness over a storm,
yet to his calmness,
he could brick down my barricade,
that I surrender to his name.
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