letter to you

Letter To You

Dear you,
hey, we meet again. 2 years and we meet again. a lot of things had passed in these 2 years. can you imagine that? it has been 2 fucking long years in which we have never exchanged meaningful words. but it had been 2 years. i was sixteen and now i am eighteen. and yet, i am still nothing but a child.

do you know how i feel when you invited me to come over? well, i was happy, but not that ecstatic. i have my own life right now. i have tasted something more than just your hand against my skin. i have cried for more than just a lingering memory of those seven beautiful days.

i thought i have grown up.

but no, i came back to you, smiling wide, wondering whether you were going to hug me when we met at the train station. you did, though.

(and that would be the only time you ever held me. a hello and a goodbye, never something in between)

i had so much fun. really. you taught me stuff. i knew how to play texas hold'em which actually became a great deal because i could brag about it now and wouldn't feel left out when all the guys played it. i really had so much fun, even when we did nothing, watching some movies or just hearing those tunes bleed into my ear, etching something i couldn't really make out that would drive me to tears instead.

one thing that touched me was how you still had that drawing. i thought about it before i left from hannover that morning. i drew something for you. something so embarassing. i would be glad to draw you something else or gave you something else. but there i was, walking into your room and you had it, stuck on the headboard, something that a 16 year old me drew in an italian restaurant and gave you out of boredom.

and yet i still did horrible things. i am pathetic, childish and stupid. and you put up with me. you were there. you heard me. you didn't say i was disgusting. you didn't hate me. you said that you were going to come here. you said you were going to visit me again. you said you didn't want to take responsibility for me. you said it wasn't a good idea. you said you wouldn't have done that if you knew i was going to break.

you did break me when i was sixteen. maybe you were the reason why you needed to put the blinds down each time. and maybe you were the reason why i thought i couldn't sleep alone at night, why i was desperate to find a hand behind my back.

yet you didn't as well and i cried because of that. even after everything you wouldn't have your hand on my back and it was the most devastating from all.

i should have known that i was murdering myself by going there. i knew. i thought that i could. i thought that maybe i could throw everything away at you because somehow you were already responsible for what you have done when i was 16. so maybe just this time i could throw it at you.

because maybe if it were you it would be okay. if it were you i wouldn't get tired of crying. you wouldn't see me cry anyway, you got nothing to worry about.

in the end i was still a child and i wanted to apologize for that.

in the end, i never grew up.

Akhi Kali

Kalau kata sang kalender aku boleh mencinta, biarkanlah hati ini keluar dari sangkarnya
Walau hitungan jari ini perlahan habis di telunjuk yang terangkat,
Aku tak peduli walau realita terganti memori manis sesaat.

Karenanya kalau kata sang detik waktu aku boleh mencinta, biarkanlah jantung ini terikat pita dengan sebuket bunga
Walau langkahku ribuan berbeda dari miliknya,
Aku tak peduli walau jemari akan mengais angin asal mereka pernah terpaut dahulunya.

Oleh karena itu kalau kata sang batara kala aku boleh mencinta, biarkanlah untuk terakhir kali aku jatuh di dalamnya
Walau bara terbakar secepat hitamnya arang
Aku tak peduli karena sangkakala yang ini bunyinya paling kencang.

Jakarta, 18 Maret 2015

Aku Ingin

Dan ini adalah apa-apa saja yang ingin saya lakukan.

Aku ingin merasakan heroin. Aku ingin merasakan sensasi tatkala jantung berdegup lebih lambat, ketika mata terbuka lebar. Aku ingin merasakan dunia tanpa waktu. Aku ingin membunuh pikiranku. Aku ingin menapaki tanah orang mati. Aku ingin berdiri di atas peti matiku. Aku ingin memeluk batu nisanku. Aku ingin melayat diriku.

Aku ingin merasakan nikotin dalam paru-paru. Aku ingin merasakan gulungan kertas putih tersebut bertengger dengan nyaman di antara kedua jari. Aku ingin bercumbu dengan kematian. Aku ingin terlena dalam dirinya dengan tiap gerak bibir.

Aku ingin mencabut nyawa. Aku ingin mengukir dosa. Aku ingin membeli jalanku ke bawah. Aku ingin tahu kala jantung berhenti berdetak. Aku ingin tahu hangatnya kehampaan dan dinginnya api neraka. 

Aku ingin merasakan orgasme. Aku ingin merasakan pemberian Tuhan yang terindah. Aku ingin meludahi wajah-Nya dengan napsu duniawi kala lidahku memuji nama-Nya. Aku ingin hanyut dalam kemaksiatan. Aku ingin jadi pelacur yang menawarkan tubuhku untuk Setan. Aku ingin jadi mempelai-Nya. Aku ingin mencintai diri-Nya.

Aku ingin merasakan lobotomi. Aku ingin lari dari pikiranku. Aku ingin membunuh pribadiku. Aku ingin mewaraskan kegilaanku. Atau mungkin menggilakan kewarasanku. 

Aku ingin jadi seorang pendosa. 

Karena kita semua adalah satu dalam dosa.

Dan aku ingin jadi yang terbaik di antaranya.

- Jakarta, Februari 2015

The Perks of Being An Asian Daughter

From the very first glance of my face you could tell right away how Asian I am. It even bewildered me when someone said the exact opposite. I took it upon myself that whoever said otherwise had something going wrong with their eyes (because this particular eyes, yes, these two seemingly never-can-be-opened-eyes, are screaming Asian). Heck, my face screams Asian.

I've been raised in an asian family for my whole life. The asian custom is no stranger for me. And yes, the most magnificent moment of the year comes up every Februrary where you simply open your palm up and wait for money to rain. Yes, when my older relatives died we burn a lot of paper (a miniature house made of paper to be exact) because we believe it'll be brought to heaven alongside them. Yes, I even have a weird fashion of never wanting to sleep right in front of a door or a mirror. We're so superstitious, I've got to give you that.

Rich in culture is a word i'm definitely going to use. Damn proud about it, of course I am. We held on to that tradition generation after generation. Okay, got to admit though, that my biggest sin is not being able to talk chinese. My chinese limited to exactly these phrases only :

- "i can't speak chinese."
- "i'm an indonesian."
- "i don't know."
- "i don't understand."
- an even more polite way to say, "i don't understand." (Different versions of phrases just to express my stupidity to a native chinese, ain't it wonderful?)
- "what are you doing?"
- (in which i can only reply to) "i'm watching television" or "i'm doing my homework.
- numbers. (I'm pretty good at this. Proves to be useful whenever i want to buy anything)
- "how much does it cost?"
- and the most stupid conversations that my grandmother always holds with me every evening by the phone : "is your father home?" to which i can only reply: "not yet." Stupid is how i cannot say "yes he has" with Chinese, thus switching back to Indonesian instantly.

Being Asian, people quickly prejudiced us. Being Asian means you're smart. Being Asian means you're rich (in Jakarta I've heard that a lot). Being Asian means you're selfish (now this is so common. The general knowledge of people in Jakarta is how Chinese care only for their money and gaining profit). Being Asian means you're so good at certain subjects.

One thing that i can assure you is how such things aren't proved to be true. That and also the fact that i pissed us off.

01/02/2015

My sins to you, is something i could never forget.
I vow for you, perhaps. I promise in your name.

Perhaps.

I'm bad at promises.
But i'm so good at breaking one.