The Grief of An Indonesian

I am a nobody. Not in the sense of not having a name or identity or existence, like the Face-less cult's No One in the Game of Thrones world. But, yes, I am a nobody. Still, with all of this nothingness, I'm entitled to have an overwhelming feeling—a compilation of anger, disappointment, hopelessness, sadness, and all kinds of them.

This is a ranting piece. It's a morning page I should just keep to myself, but I believe someone out there might have similar thoughts.

A funny quiz, sobering reality…

For starters, a couple of years ago, I found a random tweet from the good old Twitter before that petty man took over the platform. It was just a funny one about counting your privilege points. You started with 1,000 points, and from each aspect, you got a minus score. For example, being a woman took out 200 points, being the oldest daughter took out another 200, being born into a non-rich family took another, and so on. There was this one aspect that I thought would take a lot of points, but it didn't. Instead, what made the final score minus 3,000 was being an Indonesian. I laughed.

I was taking the quiz as a random thing you do to pass the time because I wasn't taking it seriously. But now, with everything that's happening in my country, I can't help but think back to that score.

The pull of home

God, I love my country. I love Indonesia. I can't even begin to describe how I always cry during the independence day ceremony and when the anthem plays. I love my country so much that it feels natural to compare everything I find outside of it with what we have back home.

I haven't really traveled far or to many places, but as much as I enjoyed a quick trip to Penang, my head kept comparing the sand on their beach with our beaches on the west coast of Indonesia. The food? Don't even get me started. Nowhere in this world would we have food as amazing as what we have in Indonesia.

I love Indonesia. No matter how far I go to roam the earth and experience a lot of things, I still dream of spending my old days there. I dream of the small town where I grew up with its beautiful rows of hills and mountains, with the lake behind my grandma's place, and the beach with pine trees and white sand. I dream of the local market that has everything fresh.

I love my country, even in this current situation where I don't even know if it's going to get better or if we're doomed to have it worse. So here I am, with the cost of having this feeling: a different kind of broken heart.

Broken hearted but different

A few days ago, I was talking with someone about this situation. We agreed that we have a strange feeling that somehow feels like being heartbroken, but different. It almost feels like grief, but there's a peck of anger hiding in between. It's like a part of you is hurting, and you don't realize it has been affecting the whole system in your body until it's too big of a mess.

A collective ache

Now, in response to that specific part, I have a theory that has been playing in my mind all this time. Someone has probably said this somewhere, and I'm just here being inside my bubble, thinking it's a new thought. But here it is: No matter where we are, we all have this invisible thread from our feet connecting us to our motherland. Of course we're feeling this way lately because our homeland is hurting, our people are suffering, and they are all part of our system.

But I'm a nobody. What I say or do isn't going to make a big change. Hence, all I can do is keep an eye out for updates and news from my country and share the good information as much as I can. No matter how much my brain hates the news and how badly it has been impacting my well-being, my heart keeps wanting to be fed with these things because I care a lot.

The helplessness of distance

As a nobody, I'm also entitled to feel irrelevant rage about all of this. For example, how the price of a short flight to my hometown is skyrocketing so much that I might have to cancel my plan to be with my family in this time of crisis. I am a nobody, remember? A crazy number outside of my affordability isn't going to work with my situation. But who can make it work? All of these people, who decided that this is the right time to travel to Indonesia because it's a cheap country to travel to, and the currency will make them feel like kings and queens, resulting in an illogical price for the flight.

A simple hope

Oh, God, it's so bad. I wanted to write this as a letter to whoever has the power to fix things in my country because somehow, one day, it will reach them. But then I remember, if thousands of people were marching, hundreds of people were speaking out, and dozens died, yet nothing was done, what would this long rant do?

This nobody, at the end of the day, can only hope. Not that much hope, just a simple one: that we who are connected with this invisible thread on our feet can survive this time and heal together as time will answer that one question: Will our country ever get better?

In Your Orbit – #loveletterseries | eps.4

It’s been a while since the last time I talked a lot about you. I do talk about you all the time but not in this particular situation. Not like this. Not this descriptive. Not this detail precisely. I will talk about you more now because just now it came to me. I saw you moving your pen with your beautiful fingers and I continued staring at your face, watching the way your lips move irregularly while you copy all those precious thoughts in your mind to a piece of paper.

Have I ever told you probably I fell in love the first time around with your confidence?

With how you’re being so sure about your body language and the way you talk. How you’re being so neat with the way you say things and rolling your eyes every now and then.

Sometimes in my life, I think about how one soul needs a pair of its insecurity and that’s probably what one searches for. It’s probably what one hopes to find or nothing at all. But then in other times, I come to a realization that that one insecure soul is rather mine. The fact is apparently, that soul of mine fell in love with the confidence in you. When I think about the time I know I love you and all of your beings, I then remember how I saw the confidence sparks through yourself. How that one particular thing might be the key you got to my heart. Who knows. We often needed time to realize the arrow cupid’s shot had got into us anyway.

This is a glimpse of my morning routine that today, happened to be a really nostalgic moment by seeing you in all that beauty. I hope you always know that there are millions of things about you I could come to a story about. And it’s not because I plan it to, the feeling came to me, I embraced it with one of our favorite things, words.

I hate it that you jinxed this by telling me about the love letter you asked last night when you saw me typing. But this writing is inspired by you, it’s all about you and absolutely for you. So here you go, baby. A love letter you asked for. I wasn’t gonna give you one, but you give yourself one by getting me falling in love again. I love you always.

Better Than Yesterday: A Way Back To Words

I almost believe that the last time I wrote something and actually put it here was last year. It was, almost a year since I last wrote about something that I read. And a lot has happened for the whole months after that that I forgot that writing is something that I truly need to cope with everything. I mean I put out a “not-so-small” amount of money to pay for this domain, and letting it gather virtual dust feels like a betrayal.

So I guess this post is some kind of emotional check-ins with my loyal audience. Or a really special fan service for you (you know who you are) who keep telling me that they miss reading my words (Oh how I love you).

Alright, first thing first, I have to admit that making myself sit and just write for an hour and really try to put it out is kind of harder lately with all the terrifying things happening around the world, my shift hours, chores, LIFE and its relentless demands, and everything in between. But here we are today, you have me finally able to tame my inner procrastinator and put her to sit and play around with the keyboard.

 

The Big Loss

Earlier this year I lost my grandmother. It’s the GRANDMOTHER, the one that I keep writing about and bragging about. The one grandmother that I got the chance to show my writings about her, the one that I get to show my symbolic token of love for, and the grandmother I get to meet for the last time a few weeks before her passing. Oh the feeling of urgency I felt that time to visit my hometown is unexplainable and knowing what it truly means after she’s gone, it still gives a little stitches to my broken heart and a gaping wound in my soul.

And thinking about her and the whole memories of my grandmother with all her beautiful traits, it will always take small pieces of me away even though it feels like she’s still here with us and realizing she’s not, it kills me. Every damn time. And it’s not a surprise that writing about that heals me. I kept writing about her almost every day for the whole month in my journal. Until I don’t shed the painful tears anymore whenever I talk about her, or when I think about my graduation gown and her hand smoothing the wrinkles with a silent “I’m proud of you”. Even though it is still painful and feels like the skin of my heart is being ripped off whenever I think about my grandmother and my hometown and knowing that she’s not there anymore.

 

Is One Day Better Than The Other?

Now if you’re asking how I am feeling, the answer would be better than yesterday. The only answer I can come up with, and the only answer I can feel the most honest with. And also, with this answer, I’m solidifying my “easier days coming” hope. I don’t know about you but hanging on to one thin thread “one day at a time” mantra  is not really working for me,  I need to add one more thing  in there, for it to get better everyday. Hence, better than yesterday is IT for me.

Oh, life and death and the vast spectrum in between. Farewells, warm embraces, the silent sting of loss, the euphoria of love, the exhilarating pursuit of passion, the soul-crushing weight of obligation, forgotten desires and fading dreams, the joy of fulfilled ambitions and nurtured talents, the black and white, the ups and downs, it's all a swirling vortex within us. How much can we truly handle? Is "one day at a time" a coping mechanism or a way to simply numb ourselves to survive? How much strength do we need to face it all without breaking?

 

For me? All I need is a moment to breathe and an hour or two to write it all out.

Baking Poetry

You love cooking

As much as I love writing

Baking is your poetry

Your Whisk dance like a pen

Your tasting palate

Is where you keep the metaphor

It’s your journal

I would say

 

I only know the oven

As your one true friend

She never betrayed your expectation

The kitchen is your library

The ocean of imaginations

It warps time for you

As magical as writing table

Does to mine

 

I published my work

You sell yours

I did it all for happiness

But I don’t know about you

 

Is standing all day for one cake

Are the things that heal you?

Or is it because you have to?

Either way

You and all that

Is a poetic dedication after all

 

And that’s just one

Out of gazillion reasons

For how huge the measure

Of how much

I adore you, Ma!

 

(November, 10th 2022)

 

Ori, Sel Timur Ujung | Part. 1

Rambutnya masih tetap terlihat patuh, berjuntai menutupi leher hingga bahu. Hari ini tanpa jepitan hitam seukuran lidi daun kelapa, tanpa karet gelang bekas bungkus sarapan pagi mewah para napi; nasi uduk porsi irit dengan potongan tahu goreng dan sambal teri. Lingkar matanya tidak sehitam berbulan-bulan yang lalu. Pipinya sekarang lebih merona meskipun sisa bekas jerawat masih menghiasi wajah oval itu.  Ori mulai terlihat jauh lebih ‘Ori’ semenjak toko pernak-pernik handmade nya dibuka. Meskipun sekali dua atau tiga malam tidak jarang Uri mendengar isak kakaknya itu pecah di dalam kamarnya yang menyudut. Isak pilu yang membuatnya ikut merasa biru. Isak sepotong jantung yang masih belum sanggup mendalami ilmu ikhlas tentang cinta yang berpulang tiba-tiba.

Ori baru saja menghirup udara bebas setahun yang lalu setelah nyaris lima tahun hidup ‘dikandangi’ dan tidak ada cerita yang bisa diceritakan dengan mudah semenjak pertama polisi menjemputnya di rumah Angku setelah membongkar jok mobilnya yang menyimpan bungkusan sabu. Meskipun siang mengejutkan itu dilewati dengan senyum dingin di sudut bibirnya, Uri tetap paham bahwa banyak goresan berat yang sedang ditanggung kakaknya.

“Aku tidak mau lagi kau pulang ke rumah ini!” teriak Angku ke wajah Ori waktu itu. Sekali lagi, hanya senyum kaku dengan lengkungan dingin yang muncul di wajahnya.

Setahun pertama Ori hanya mau bertemu dengan Uri jika ada yang berkunjung. Wajahnya banyak berubah. Lebih tirus, pucat, kantung mata membesar, lingkar hitam yang semakin kental, bibir kering yang tidak lagi pernah terlihat melengkung dan rambut yang selalu diikat dengan karet gelang berwarna merah bekas bungkus nasi uduk. Uri selalu menangis setiap kali melihat kuku cantik kakaknya yang terlihat kusam dan tidak terawat sejak menjadi tahanan.

“Aku baik saja,” kata Ori setiap kali Uri terisak melihat kondisinya.

Awal tahun kedua menjadi tahanan di lapas khusus perempuan, Ori mulai menyibukan diri dengan rutinitas harian. Jika tidak sedang berminat jogging keliling lapangan, Ori pasti terlihat duduk menyudut di lapangan voli dengan buku lusuh di tangannya. Buku yang dipinjami Faron, sipir muda yang tidak pernah bersikap kasar padanya sedari awal. Ketika hari sedang hujan, Ori akan lebih banyak menghabiskan waktu di dapur membantu tim konsumsi mengupas bawang. Hingga suatu hari, Dara ditransfer dari lapas pulau seberang untuk menghabiskan sisa masa hukumannya di tempat Ori dan tiga ratus perempuan lainnya mendekam.

Dara terlihat ramah dengan mata riangnya. Dara selalu tersenyum selepas jadwal senam bersama di pagi hari dan merajut sepanjang hari. Sekali waktu Dara dengan benang dan gulungan selimut yang belum jadi menghampiri Ori yang duduk dengan buku Maya Angelou di tangannya.

“Tahun ke berapa?” tanya Dara tanpa permisi.

“Kedua,” jawab Ori dingin dengan mata tidak lepas dari halaman ke seratus lima belas.

“Sabu?” tanya Dara lagi. Ori mengangguk.

“Aku tujuh tahun lagi.” Dara mulai menyambung benang dengan ujung benang lainnya kemudian mulai menyambung rajutan selimut dengan warna olive green-nya. “Married?” tanya Dara lagi. Ori menggeleng.

“Belum,” jawabnya masih dengan wajah cuek dan sangat merasa terganggu dengan kehadiran Dara yang banyak tanya. Belum dan bukan urusanmu, sengit Ori membatin.  

“Namaku Dara,” ucap Dara tanpa merasa perlu mengulurkan tangannya untuk berkenalan.

“Ori,” sahut Ori dingin.

Keduanya kemudian saling diam dan sibuk dengan benda di tangan masing-masing. sesekali Ori melirik selimut setengah jadi yang sedang dirajut Dara. Rapi, pikirnya. Sesekali juga, Dara mengintip halaman yang sedang dibaca Ori kemudian manggut-manggut sambil berdecak mencoba mengingat sesuatu.

“Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between,” ucap Dara pelan. Ori menoleh, memandang wajah Dara yang dibedaki bedak tabur.

“Sorry?” tanya Ori.

“Maya Angelou.” Dara menjawab lalu melipat selimut yang sedang ditekuni nya dan memandang buku di tangan Ori. “I know Why The Caged Bird Sings. Aku baca ini pas kuliah,” tambahnya.

Ori melipat ujung halaman 116 dan menutup bukunya.

“Lalu?” tanya Ori dengan nada dingin.

“First, aku memang baca bukunya. And I like it. Kedua, ini caraku membuka pembicaraan denganmu. Menurutku banyak orang pakai cara seperti ini untuk memulai pembicaraan dengan orang asing yang menurutnya menarik,” jelas Dara sambil tersenyum.

Tanpa dipinta pipi Ori yang selalu terlihat pucat terasa ‘berdarah’. Hangat. Namun mulutnya terkunci untuk merespon kalimat tidak terduga yang didengarnya siang ini.

“Kamarku di ujung lorong timur. Hanum dan satu sipir sering duduk di sana menunggu aku selesai membuatkan mereka sweater atau selimut untuk kucingnya. Mampir kapan-kapan,” tambah Dara sambil berdiri dan meninggalkan Ori yang masih terdiam. Alih-alih kembali membuka Maya Angelou-nya, Ori justru memperhatikan punggung Dara hingga hilang di balik pagar kawat yang ditunggui dua sipir perempuan dengan wajah kasar.

 

“Kak!” Uri setengah berteriak memanggil Ori yang mematung di depan gantungan tas rajutan.

“Ya.” Ori buru-buru menghapus genangan air yang menjuntai di ujung matanya.

“Ada yang datang.” Uri membukakan pintu mempersilahkan seseorang masuk ke toko pernak-pernik kakaknya.

“Ori,” panggil perempuan dengan rambut sebahu dan toned arms yang menawan. Ori tersentak dan berjalan cepat mendekat.

“Faron,” sapanya sambil memeluk erat tubuh ideal sipir kesayangannya selama menjadi tahanan. “I miss you,” bisiknya di balik bahu Faron yang menepuk-nepuk pundak Ori pelan sambil menahan genangan air mata.

“Kau lebih berisi dan sehat,” puji Faron setelah melepas pelukan dan memandang Ori lama. Ori mengangguk sambil mengusap pipi dengan sisa air matanya. “Lapas terasa berbeda sejak kamu keluar Ri,” tambah Faron lalu duduk di sebelah Uri yang baru saja masuk menaruh tiga cangkir dan satu teko berisi teh tanpa gula.

“Hidupku juga jauh berbeda sejak keluar,” sahut Ori dengan mata berlinang.

“Sudah lah. Sekarang kau sedang menjalani hidup barumu. Yang di belakang biarkan di belakang.” Faron menyesap teh yang dituang Uri. “Aku bawa sesuatu untukmu.” Faron mengaduk isi tasnya sebelum mengeluarkan sebuah buku tulis yang terlihat keriting dan menyodorkannya pada Ori.

“Apa ini?” tanya Ori dengan perasaan tidak karuan.

“Isi sel Dara yang ditahan untuk barang bukti sudah dikembalikan. Aku ambil ini karena menurutku kau butuh sesuatu seperti ini,” jawab Faron berusaha tenang. “Baca setelah kau kuat untuk benar-benar merelakan ya,” tambahnya lalu berdiri dan memeluk Ori singkat.

1.30 | eps.2

Beberapa hari berlalu, aku yang pengecut hanya memandang Della dari jauh. Semenjak hari itu aku sering berpapasan dengannya, dan kami hanya saling senyum tanpa tegur sapa. Bon Cabe yang terasa manis itu kini semakin menunjukan pedasnya. Sepertinya aku bukan orang yang tepat untuknya, untuk apa aku mencoba?

“Hey Rel, sendiri aja?” Tiba-tiba kau mengejutkan lamunanku. Paras ayu, bibir mungil dengan senyum mempesona itu tiba-tiba menaruh piring makan siangnya di depanku.

“Eh Del, kok tumben enggak gabung sama mereka?” tanyaku mencoba biasa saja sambil melirik ke arah meja tempat Syahrul duduk bersama teman-temannya.

“Iya, lagi penuh di sana terus aku ngalah aja. Enggak apa-apa kan aku di sini?” tanyanya sambil duduk persis di depanku.

“Iya enggak apa-apa.” Jawabku singkat dan kembali menyuapi diriku sendiri dengan gado-gado tambah telur dadar ala Ibu Minah.

Kami berbincang, dia yang memulai. Dia bertanya apa aku punya akun kosong di Netflix dan kebetulan aku memang sedang mencari seseorang untuk join akunku yang kosong satu. Kami banyak bercerita tentang film-film favorit kita. Tidak sama memang, dia lebih suka film-film aksi atau biografi, sedangkan aku lebih suka drama keluarga atau fiksi. Namun, ada satu hal yang membuat pikiran kita sejalan, kita sama-sama membenci genre romance-comedy.

Kami tertawa terbahak-bahak sampai aku kadang sadar beberapa pegawai lain memperhatikan. Kami bercerita bagaimana kami bisa saja tertidur di bioskop karena film rom-com yang pasangan kami minta untuk tonton. Bagaimana kami belum pernah selesai menonton film Titanic atau Ada Apa Dengan Cinta karena tertidur sebelum pertengahan dan akhirnya menyerah. Seakan semesta memberi restunya, kami semakin dekat dan mulai terbuka tentang satu sama lain di 40 menit ini.

Sayang 2.30 sudah datang, kami harus segera bergegas pergi ke meja kerja masing-masing.

“Eh Rel, minta nomor lu dong. Nanti sekalian kirimin email sama password dan nomor rekening ya?” Kuberikan nomorku sambil gemetar. Dia melihatnya kurasa. Getaran gugup itu.

Di meja kerja aku masih terlalu gugup. Tak mengganggu kerjaku, malah lebih membuatku produktif hari itu. Aku menyelesaikan targetku secepat mungkin untuk bersantai di jam-jam sebelum sebelum pulang.

“Eh kok bengong mulu lu? Enggak mau siap-siap pulang?” Buya, teman sebelahku menyadarkan lamunanku.

“Oh iya, yuk.” Jawabku singkat.

“Lu lagi kenapa dah? Betewe lu jadi ikut acara lari bareng enggak di GBK?” tanya Buya sambil membereskan mejanya.

“Iya jadi.” Jawabku tanpa merubah pandanganku dari meja kerja.

“Oke, gue tunggu di bawah ya. Nanti kita berangkat bareng yang lain juga.” Aku menoleh ke arahnya, tersenyum dan mengangguk setuju.

Kami berangkat menggunakan mobil Buya. Sesampainya di GBK, kami langsung pergi ke arah tengah untuk bertemu dengan teman-teman yang lain. Aku terkejut karena di sana ternyata ada Syarul, Della dan lain-lain. Aku gugup tapi senang, aku senang tapi gugup. Entah apa yang sedang mengusikku. Cintakah, atau hanya obsesi semata?

Aku tersenyum ke arah teman-teman yang sudah mulai berkumpul dan melakukan peregangan. Kami berlari tak lama kemudian. Aku mencoba menyeimbangkan lariku dengan Della sehingga kita sejajar. Dia sadar dan mulai menurunkan satu airpods miliknya.

“Mau barengan?” dia menyodorkan airpods-nya kepadaku.

“Boleh,” jawabku.

Kami pun dia dalam belaian lagu sambil berlari kecil mengejar peluh.

Semesta, apa yang sedang kau coba sampaikan? Manusia dengan paras ayu, bibir mungil dan senyum mempesona inikah yang harus aku puja? Atau obsesi ini harus aku kubur dengan alasan berbakti kepada orang tua? Semesta, semoga cepat kau sampaikan jawabmu pada waktu