We are nothing but two distant stars; fall apart from the same sky, into different grounds of loneliness.

I loved your translation of "A faint clap of thunder". Thank you

You are very welcome! The haiku is really beautiful, isn’t it?

I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it’s just too much. The current’s too strong. They’ve got to let go, drift apart. That’s how it is with us. It’s a shame, Kath, because we’ve loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can’t stay together forever.

Kazuo Ishiguro (via amandaonwriting)

Kali ini, untukmu


Sudah malam, aku tahu. Lebih baik cepat terlelap karena esok pagi rutinitas akan kembali menyapa dan hidup harus kembali berjalan. Baiklah, hari esok hanyalah segelintir kenyataan yang perlu dihadapi. Tidak kurang, tidak lebih.

Begitupun adanya kamu.

Kau seperti setumpuk kenyataan di atas ubun-ubunku: membuatku harus berjalan tegak dan menatap lurus ke depan agar tumpukan itu tidak jatuh berserakan. Entah sejak kapan, kenyataan bersamamu ibarat boneka porselen antik. Secantik apapun, ringkihnya tetap setengah mati.

Bukan inginku untuk menuliskan ribuan alasan lain yang kuharap dapat mengobatimu. Cukup, kau dan aku sudah sama-sama sakit. Tapi aku yakin kau paham: dirimu mungkin tak memerlukan resep lain untuk bangkit berdiri, namun aku membutuhkan ini untuk kembali menjadi diriku sendiri.

Ketahuilah terlebih dulu bahwa rasa ini tak akan padam. Mungkin belum, ya, aku pun tak tahu. Hanya bagaimanapun, ialah bagian dari sel tumbuhan yang kita tanam sejak awal. Bukankah benar, segala sesuatu berasal dari atom-atom kecil yang mengisi ruang dan waktu tempat kita pertama kali menghujamkan hati pada mata satu sama lain?

Namun entah mengapa aku pernah berfirasat bahwa hari ini akan tiba. Saat di mana lautan ganas berhasil menenggelamkan kapalku hingga ke dasar laut, meninggalkanku dengan siluet punggungmu yang menantiku di dermagamu. Di mana kau dan aku sadar bahwa kita kini berbeda, bahkan nyaris sepenuhnya berseberangan dengan konsep ‘kita’ di masa lampau. 

Mungkin gelintiran kalimat yang menusukmu di waktu itu, mungkin juga perasaanku yang tak lagi mengalir sederas dulu. Apa sebabnya, aku pun tak tahu. Seperti dirimu yang terus meragu: bisakah dua jiwa yang sekian lama bersama menjadi enggan untuk saling bertatap muka?

Tapi aku tahu bahwa hati kita telah sama-sama mengerti. Kita telah menyeberangi persimpangan jalan yang berbeda, yang membuat kau dan aku tak dapat lagi berjalan beriringan. Tak lagi dua tangan yang saling bertaut menemani setiap langkah kita, tak lagi dua pasang lengan yang saling mendekap menjadi tempat singgah di kala gundah. Kini kau ke selatan dan aku ke utara; kita telah berbeda arah. 

Selama ini kita terus bertanya, pada hati dan pikiran, juga mungkin pada mereka yang tak pernah mengerti namun kita paksa untuk merasa: salah siapakah ini? Kerap kali kusalahkan diriku sendiri, tanpa setitik pun inginku untuk kau menyalahkan dirimu. Adakah seorang yang kita sayang akan kita biarkan untuk mendera hatinya sendiri? Tanpa jawab pun aku sudah paham; tak mungkin aku rela.

Jika menginginkan kambing hitam, salahkanlah ia yang tak bernama, yang suatu hari menyadarkanku bahwa berjalan berdampingan membutuhkan lebih dari sekedar rasa sayang. Bahwa menjadi satu bukan berarti meleburkan diri, namun tak lantas bergerak statis seperti kereta api di jalurnya masing-masing. Manusia dapat mengada, namun hati akan selalu merasa. Berbagai strategi telah kita coba, bermacam kompromi sudah kita buat, namun ternyata apa yang sejak awal kita coba untuk pahami, tak selamanya dapat disiasati.

Pada akhirnya kita bermuara pada diri masing-masing, menyadari bahwa arti bersama saat ini tak lagi dapat kita gapai berdua. Sudah cukup, ujarku berat. Kuputuskan untuk melepas, sebelum kita berdua murka dan larut dalam amarah.

Namun barangkali ini bukan sebuah akhir berujung perpisahan yang kekal. Barangkali persimpangan ini hanya jalan untuk kita berputar, untuk kita sama-sama mencari apa yang mungkin hilang dan apa yang sebenarnya telah kita temukan. Barangkali esok akan memberikan kita kesempatan atau justru mengaburkan kita. Atau barangkali kau dan aku akan menjalani takdir masing-masing, untuk akhirnya bertemu kembali di suatu hari yang akan datang nanti.

Barangkali juga kau hanya akan menjadi barangkali.  Lagi-lagi, kita tak akan pernah tahu.

image

Seperti burung camar yang terbang bebas tanpa tahu arah tujuan sang angin,

image

takdir ini, hanya Tuhan dan semesta yang tahu.

image

Kita hanya ada.



Untuk dua pasang mata yang saling dimengerti, genggaman tangan yang bertaut erat, tetesan air mata yang tak kunjung reda, dan satu rengkuhan hangat yang cukup berbicara; ingatlah selalu mereka, yang menjadi penutup perjalanan kali ini.

and for all things that were, are, and will be.



Marguerite.

Just a conversation between best friends (via LINE)

T: Gue mau sumpah serapah di sini ya.
A: Sok.
T: *sumpah serapah menyebut nama binatang*
T: Capek juga ngetik kasar.
A: Oh, honey. I'd like to swear with you but this indomie is just too good to be true.
A: Slurp.
T: YOU BANGSAT BUT I LOVE YOU
T: BUT STILL BANGSAT

hai kak, masih merokok kah? I do so anyway, and it made me really enjoy the books I read. you're not afraid of addicted, do you?

Hai! Kayaknya kita saling kenal, deh, sampe-sampe kamu tahu kebiasaanku.
Well, I am still doing it and haven’t thought about quitting yet. Addiction? One always needs something that takes away the pain, someone said. So, the answer is no, I am not afraid of it. I know my consequences anyway.
Jangan bersembunyi di balik nama anonymous, dong. Mungkin kita bisa ngobrol?

You and you alone, know how it feels


I remember that day very well.

I was driving in my car, taking my Mom to somewhere I could not remember now. But was the destination important? No, not at all. This life represents what journey is all about. Cause we are always moving, constantly. Always changing, for better or for worse. Things are never meant to be still. Like us.

So that day, I was in the middle of an argument with someone. Now I could not even remember whom I was arguing with. Whether it was my Mom or another person, was it important? No, not at all. The fact that I was in the middle of a fightwith anyone it might bewould not change just because I could not remember who the person was. Because feeling is just feeling. It has no vision and no ears, but it has memory. Like us.

Suddenly my Mom said something that I couldn’t have imagined to remember until today.

"Honey, you don’t know hurt like I do,” she said.

At that timestubborn, as alwaysI talked back to her in silence.

"I know what hurt is. Been there, now in there.”

So I just let the moment slipped away through my fingers. I drove and drove, only thinking about the things inside my head. I was too preoccupied to think more at that time.

Until today.

I was just typing on my laptop, something I’ve been doing since this morning. As I am getting older, I realize that writing is a routine that I have to do in order to keep myself sane. It is my door to happiness, something that scarcely come to me if I don’t know how to invite it.

Somewhere in between my mind, fingertips, and written words on the screen, suddenly I was brought back to the memory of that exact day. I don’t know if today’s too much thinking is sponsored by caffeine overdose or my sentimental feeling, but then again, it doesn’t change the fact that I am currently walking inside the tunnel of my own mind.

I remember one day I found myself thinking: where does feeling come from? I was once curious about why we shouldas human beingfeel the way we are feeling right now. Some people might see this as an insane thought that doesn’t necessarily need answer, but you know what? Even great philosophers were made up of constellation of questions. Question everything, Socrates said.

One of many things that I’ve learned about feeling as I grow older is that feeling comes in relative forms for each person. I have loved someone just like you have loved someone, but our way of loving and being loved back will never be the same. It makes the sentence "I know how you feel" doesn’t merely apply for any similar situation in real life. Even love comes in many kinds and the form is never the same for everyone. I believe that’s how feeling is: it doesn’t work in the same way for all of us. It has different varieties. It is relative.

Now that I am looking back, I realized that I will never know hurt like my Mom does. I can’t compare myself to her either. The stubborn me who drove the car back then might have just lost herself inside her own labyrinth, without thinking about the difference in every human being. After all, we are made up of constellation of our own past, aren’t we? That’s why we can’t expect people to understand how it feels to be us. You and you alone who know how you feel inside.

Just like what Murakami stated through his character named Oshima in Kafka on the Shore, “Each person feels pain in his own way, each has his own scars.”

I just couldn’t agree more.



Marguerite Afra.

All photos are owned by @bintangmanira.

A friend of mine is currently living in New Delhi, India, studying music for his major. Once in awhile, he texts me through Line and sends me photos of India. I kind of keeping a journal of my friend’s journey (haha)

I presume the photos were all taken by cellphone camera, so the quality cannot compare to DSLR ones. But still, photos are photos. They pictured reality in front of us nonetheless (well, except for Instagram). So, here are some of them.

From all of the photos he sent me, my favorite is the upper one. A black and white photo of birds (are they crows?) in somewhere-I-don’t-know. Some are surrounding something edible (white one—maybe rice) while some might already had their supper and just hanging around by themselves. I don’t know why, but I like how these birds represent the India today. They represent life itself.

India. Someday.

Pada Suatu Hari Nanti

pada suatu hari nanti
jasadku tak akan ada lagi
tapi dalam bait-bait sajak ini
kau takkan kurelakan sendiri

pada suatu hari nanti
suaraku tak terdengar lagi
tapi di antara larik-larik sajak ini
kau akan tetap kusiasati

pada suatu hari nanti
impianku pun tak dikenal lagi
namun di sela-sela huruf sajak ini
kau takkan letih-letihnya kucari


— Sapardi Djoko Damono (1991)

gnossienne

n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.