Wind Chime

My clock telling me that morning time is around the corner, and I knew exactly that I had to be asleep as soon as possible. but my head filled by the clinking sounds of the wind chime that got hanged by the end of my house’s corridor. it didn’t allow me to do what I wished for.

• • •

to be honest, I’m the kind of person who able to tolerate noises on my sleeping hours. but, don’t get me wrong, this is not a case of noise pollution. The problem is; the sounds kept reinvigorates my memories of her around the same time last year. I guess the reason why that autumn wind kept blowing is to become the one to blame.

but, what’s going on about memories of her?

I always said that I had not many memories of her.

But single kick or at least a knick-knack about her, able to split my spine in two. then melts my chest like mozzarella cheese on American pizza, though the unmelted part of my body still erected solidly as if consolidated by invisible wires. so I’m still the tough immovable object on the outside.

Back to the questions.

Did I ever love her? if so, then why did I loved her?

I always trying to formulate the reasoning based on the thesis and hypothesis about everything. But, regarding my feelings to her? I never really know what is the reasons why I ever loved her.

maybe the absence of reasons is the reason.

or maybe I never loved her as on a state of feeling. but I had always loved her by the definition of LOVE as a verb. I needed to share affection with other human beings, it is an act of a healthy mind. an act to keep my sanity.

“… To keep my sanity” that very sentence echoed through my mind. now I realized that I was unconsciously had an unhealthy obsession with her.

now.. now.. why I’m still not able to sleep?

Asides from the clinking sounds of the wind chime, my room is in no condition to sleep. There’s a lot of my sister’s stuff around my bed, even more so across the whole house.

a zebra pattern decoration blocked my way to the bathroom, A desk lamp and 2 other lamps sitting neatly around it. Books and plan boards were among the things that lie on the corridor of my house, and a hanger full of necklaces is hanging on the doorknob. even the wind chime that kept clinking tonight is something that originally belongs to her room. It’s kind of hard to believe that my sister could jam all of it into her room.

apparently, there is no conceivable reason to explain why my whole house became such a mess. My sister has impulsively painted her bedroom by purely the whisper of a hunch. I’ve been living with her for pretty much every single day on my life, but I never understand her way of reasoning.

Subsequently, until the time that normal people – not me – supposed to sleep, the paint was not dry yet. she now slept in my parent’s room, downstairs.

• • •

My clock says its 3 in the morning, and I’m still haven’t sleep yet, my sense got numbed.

Apart from the clinking sounds of the wind chime, all I could sense is the scent of the wet paint that coming from my sister’s bedroom. I wonder if breathing this kind of air a whole night could make someone goes high. I mean, if some street junkies could use a can of glue to make themselves go high, why not a pint of fresh paint? It has a similar scent to those glues.

whatever, now I can blame on the wet paint scent too.

I became uneasy, I hate the fact that memory of us kept flashed in my head like a flash of brief lightning you saw before a thunder.

One particular memory flashed the brightest, and it surely gave me a mixed feeling.

At a certain time on this very hour, we were once sitting together in your room. Telling things that much long ago were not yet became lies. Right after that, I remember the soft breath sounds of your sleep filling my head exactly like the way clinking sounds of wind chime filling my head tonight.

And right when you were there, sincerely sleeping beside me, I was doing something you never thought I ever do. I was wandering inside your head, placing a needle on your cognitive haystack. only for me to later found it and became a hero when you find yourself in complete dissonance.

is that an act of love? is that the definition of the word LOVE as a verb?

I don’t know.

my head getting dizzy and my vision has gotten blurry. maybe the scent of fresh paint does indeed make you go high.

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Lotus Flower

Malam hari menjadi begitu basah dan lembap. Hujan tak henti-hentinya menggedor langit-langit pikiran manusia di selatan jakarta malam ini. Di mobil, pikiranku mengambang—lupa daratan. Kuhirup sebatang lain dari dji sam soe yang baru aku beli tadi sore.

Uap…

Uap…

Kemudian titik-titik embun dari berbagai sumber bercampur di spion mobilku. Aku sesekali tersengal karena lupa bernafas normal. Selalu begitu, aku tak akan heran bila suatu saat akan mati tercekik asap dji sam soe.

“hey, what are you gonna do if you were me, Luna?” tanyaku kepada langit.

Sang Luna memang tak menampakan diri akhir-akhir ini. Bukan karena keras hati, atau tak ingin bertemu. Hanya awan tebal dan angin basah musim hujan menghambat jumpa kita.

Antrian depan gerbang tol belum bergerak sama sekali. Oh dear south Jakarta, Mau nunggu aku tersengal berapa kali agar aku sampai ke tujuan?

Manusia-manusia berhamburan keluar dari mobilnya. Beberapa menyalakan rokok. Beberapa orang—yang bukan keluar dari mobil—menjajakan kopi untuk teman merokok.

Aku?

Aku enggan bergerak dari posisiku. Itu menghambat operasiku. Operasi mengembalikan ingatan. Dan getar abu-abu di kepalaku telah mencapai puncaknya. Aku sedang mengembalikan yang sudah tak ada.

Kenapa harus diingat? Mengapa ingatan harus kembali? Hey kenapa banyak bertanya?

Aku justru heran kepada orang yang selalu sengaja ingin terlupa. Karena Lupa tak pernah menyembuhkan luka. Dan mengingat, bahkan menelaah bukan berarti mengorek-ngorek bekas luka. It just part of ourself, nevertheless.

Ampas dari ingatan yang telah terproses ikut larut dengan air hujan yang mengalir melalui sela-sela roda kendaraan. Menguap dan kemudian terhirup bersama asap rokok dan asap buangan kendaraan.

Kulihat dirinya dari bayang-bayang yang dihasilkan cahaya lampu jalan. dan bayangan diriku di arah sebaliknya. Kau dan aku bersama. Pernah sama.

Puntung-puntung rokok yang tak habis berserakan diantara pedal mobilku. di bungkusan rokokku, terisa tiga batang lagi. Ku hampir nyalakan batang selanjutnya, tapi kudengar Beberapa klakson memaki-maki dari arah belakang. Aku tak sadar, antrian didepan sudah habis seluruhnya.

 

Like A rolling Stone

Bandung menjadi kota tempat berkumpulnya cahaya. Sebuah perspektif yang seakan dibangun oleh pemerintah kota dengan menanam penerangan jalan umum berdempetan di jalanan dago malam hari. Tiap lampu jalan yang kulewati seakan menjadi deretan kilat yang tidak habis-habis. Aku jadi ingat film lama yang aku tonton kmarin sore. Bisakah bilas cahaya ini membasuh ingatanku? Kalau memang bisa, Rasanya kurang lebih akan seperti ini: Continue reading Like A rolling Stone

Yang Kering dan Tak Kembali

Kau berada di tengah ruang pikir orang-orang di tempat ini. walau sebetulnya kau sudah memilih tempat paling pojok di ruangan. mereka tetap mengidentifikasimu sebagai hal paling janggal dalam semesta ruangan ini.

Seakan membaca dengan kening, kau dekapkan buku yang tak berjudul itu di wajahmu, dengan sesekali rokok di tangan kirimu itu kau kecup dengan ceroboh.di ruang ini tak ada yang tau bahwa kau sedang bersembunyi. Tepatnya menyembunyikan sesuatu. Kau sedang menutupi sebaris air mata yang membekas di pipi.

Kalau saja ruangan ini senyap tak bernyawa, kau pasti sudah mengibas-ngibas wajahmu sampai kering. Karena pikirmu air mata kering tak akan bicara apa-apa, dia akan lenyap bila dibiarkan. seperti gerimis di tengah malam. ketika pagi tiba, walau basahnya masih tersisa, ia akan menyaru dengan embun.

Nyatanya, walau pipi sudah tidak basah, sedih itu akan tetap jadi luka. Yang akan mengalirkan pedih tak terperi walau air mata telah kering.

Dengan mata yang sedari tadi ditutupi olehmu, Kau tatap mereka yg memperhatikanmu dengan geram. Matamu yang merah membungkam mereka, segala tatap melebur jadi gumam.

Kau lelah tak terkira. Habis sudah enerji mu untuk berkilah.

Dengan air mata yang membatu. kau hujam hatimu yang tinggal sebilah

Itu lah akhir cerita tentang kamu

. . .

Aku? Aku tentu sudah tak ada

Sudah duluan lenyap oleh rasa bersalah.