bəˈnɑːnə

"Tell me your three most vivid memories." you asked me that night.  We were only started talking for a few weeks that time. I remember telling you the boring stories from my childhood and the life-changing moment of finally watching Coldplay live, because let's be honest, my memory sucked --unless it involved something that triggered my emotions deeply. When it was your turn, you told me those great moments of your life when you live abroad and that one holiday where you drove Fiat Panda in Mallorca. I always love how you told your stories; simple yet very detailed and thorough -just like how you report your analysis at work. That night, I secretly wished that one day I would be in one of those memories that lingers so vividly in your head. But yeah, no chance, right? The only picture of us together was that one where the coffee shop owner took our photo secretly and sent it over to my friend, the one where my face is all covered with my hair. And everything I write about...

It was 5PM. The sky began to turn red. The usual hot latte for you, ice latte for me setup on our table. We were accidentally wearing the same lime green t-shirt. You were outside for a phone call, a call that I knew would be the last chance -if there’s ever any slightest chance, for you to change your mind. You sat with your back against the window, right across my seat. Everything slowed down, every details demanded to be noticed. I wanted to picture it right, in case it was our last latte date. And I just sat there, watching your back, as you once in a while move your hands while you talk. I almost burst into tears -remembering the days of me watching your back whenever you walk in front of me, slowing my pace down so I could stay there unnoticed, just because I was too scared to talk to you, a way simpler times; being the insignificant unnoticeable background in your life. How did I get here? How did something so light and meaningless turned into a situation where I have to be full...

Hari ini hari terakhir Papa kerja setelah 31 tahun menjadi jurnalis di Suara Pembaruan. Tiga puluh satu tahun. Di kantor berita yang sama. Wow. Gue adalah salah satu orang yang dalam suatu masa dalam hidupnya pernah sangat mengidolakan bokap sendiri. Bahkan 3/4 tahun hidup gue diisi dengan mengidolakan beliau, dari SD-SMA gue percaya kalau ketika gue dewasa gue bisa mengikuti jejak beliau, gue harus jadi jurnalis. He made me fall in love with writing. I spent my entire childhood writing countless of unpublished short stories, I even dedicated my whole time in high school as an active member of the school magazine. Pada masanya, gue merasa bahwa nulis adalah hidup gue (lebay banget, but doesn’t make it less true). Gue masih inget banget betapa hancurnya gue di masa-masa akhir kelas 12, dengan melesunya industri media cetak, menurut bokap ga masuk akal kalau gue tetap mau on track buat jadi jurnalis. Being the typical Indonesian dad that he is, menurut beliau gue harus bisa jadi lebi...

Semua bermula sama. Berawalkan teka-teki yang kamu buat sendiri sambil sibuk mencari tanda-tanda semesta, untuk kemudian kamu gunakan untuk membohongi dirimu. Lalu kamu berdoa seperti orang paling relijius di dunia, padahal doa yang kamu panjatkan cuma romantisasi egomu yang kamu agung-agungkan di hadapan Tuhan, tapi Tuhan Maha Mendengar kan? Lalu kamu habiskan malam demi malam tanpa tidur dengan tenggorokan yang terus-menerus tercekat, kamu jerumuskan dirimu sendiri kepada kenestapaan -dan pengorbanan, tapi siapa yang butuh korban? Apalagi tangisanmu tidak bisa bikin siapapun kenyang. Kamu bersakit seakan-akan cuma itu yang kamu bisa, kemudian kamu salahkan dunia dan seisinya karena membiarkanmu berlumuran dengan darah yang kamu kucurkan sendiri. Kamu biarkan semua porak poranda dan kamu habiskan sendiri semua yang tersisa dalam dirimu, nanti ada yang datang menyelamatkan -kali ini pasti ada, katamu. Tapi sebentar lagi kamu akan binasa, karena kamu tahu betul, bahwa yang bisa meny...

You were waiting for me on the seat by the window, with that half-drunken glass of your favorite manual brew. That same spot, our favorite spot, since years ago. From the days when I barely have the courage to look you in the eyes when you helped me solve my tutor homework, to the days where I sat comfortably beside you for hours -doing my thing while you're busy playing DOTA, and to another ordinary days when we need a late night coffee and this place were the only one that's still open. We fought a lot all those years, and that's what made that day different; for the first time ever we just sat there -calmly, like two civilized adults. No crying, no arguing, no nothing. I talked and talked and talked, and I remember how you kept saying "I don't know" -over and over again. I remember how frustrating it was to get you talking, but at the same time I was wishing that -for the last time- we would stay there as long as we could. Because once we were done, I swore...

These past week I have been drafting a post about how I repaired myself in the last one year to be the most emotionally stable version of myself. Ironically enough, before finishing the writing, it hits again. Square one. Not even square one, this time was worse, worst. I am so fed up with myself and I feel really useless, I mean I'm 24, my friends are already having babies, yet I am still caught in this monstrous version of myself. But then again, I'm getting there, right? In a spur of the moment it is that hard to remember how I should be very gentle and very kind to my own self, how I should always love myself, and the monster wins again. Now I am writing this, fully aware on where I lost it this time, and I hope this will be the last time it happened. As Vania always says, be kind to yourself, it is that simple jun come on. I know I should. I'm not there yet but I'm getting there. And they told me that it only gets better, right?