Untuk Jacqueline Van Ewijk
Kau berkata hidup seperti lingkaran.
Dimulai dengan titik, lalu menggaris menuju titik awal
kembali.
Menjadi lingkaran.
Selesai.
Lalu menggambar lingkaran-lingkaran lain.
Bagiku.
Hidup itu adalah lingkaran-lingkaran yang terjalin menjadi “tak
terbatas”
Sekali “hidup”, benih-benih bersemayam di hati orang-orang,
Tumbuh, lalu berbunga, dan mekar.
Kulihat,
Perempuan itu menari-nari.
Tangisnya menyentuh hati para hakim.
Maka hukumannya disunat kurang dari dua tahun.
Perempuan itu menari-nari girang.
Bersama partai politik mengangkangi WALUBI.
Perempuan itu menari-nari malam ini.
Saat ribuan lampion terbang ke langit malam.
Dan setidaknya 3 Milyar ada ditangannya.
Perempuan itu masih menari.
Dan kulihat lampion-lampion bertubrukan.
Mengusir Theravada.
Mengucilkan pendoa kecil berdoa di bawah pohon di pojokan Borobudur.
Api menyala jingga di lautan malam.
Tak kulihat Budha di sana.
23 Mei 2024
She just got back from Bangkok! Actually, her departure was something I was grateful for. All this time this city, Yogyakarta, cursed her life in an endless cycle of happiness and heartbreak. That night we met, it was good to see her again. We met at a community house that serves as a shelter for lonely people. In a living room decorated with foreign flags, adventure photos and dusty statues. We both sat in a room full of memories.
Just as I sat down, she pulled out something that reminded me she never changed. It's a fresh coat of pink nail polish. She asks for my fingers and I can't resist. She says I'm too male for a queer. I didn't want to argue and let her tell me her story.
She told me that she wasn't okay leaving the city. She was in love, but it was impossible because she had to go to Bangkok. Heartbreak was no stranger to her, but her heart was broken when her partner told her that he had to company her all the way to the Thai embassy so as not to make her a street whore by giving her a little attention and compassion from an honorable man.
So she arrived in Bangkok with a promise to herself that she wanted to be alone. Bangkok was a tough city like Jakarta. She found life hard enough and along came another man with his warm friendship. Like all love stories, it started with warm friendship, then bed and heart.
Not only Yogyakarta, but she was also cursed in Bangkok. The fall this time left him broken again and today she was back in Yogyakarta polishing my pink nails. I asked him why her life was too fast to find love? She hasn't recovered from a broken heart.
Did it also mean she had given up on life and let herself be like a flower infested with beetles, bees and flies. I told her her life story would never change if she continued like this.
I told her she shouldn't give up and fight for the love she meets in the future. Of course, she had to heal herself from the wounds first.
I haven't looked at you closely for a long time. I didn't have the courage "yesterday" and kept my distance. Without realising it, you have aged as if to prove that time really does run. You can't always lie about your grey hair that you polish with black dye. A thin line cuts across your face that is full of smiles and warmth.
It has been a long time since we had the chance to talk about life. I was immersed in my work as a social worker and you were enjoying your adventurous too much. Once, you said it was hard to meet me, actually I wanted to response that it was all your fault because you were the one who introduced me to social movements. Don't get me wrong, I've never regretted it and am actually grateful.
Last night I went to your house and as usual you weren't there. I sat in the living room as usual. My gaze travelled across the room, where various memories were nails in photos, accessories or traditional totems. As if nothing had changed, I suddenly became very melancholic. I spoke to Yanto (Yanti) for a while, but he quickly scurried off to have some fun in the bathroom. I was left to wait if the guests had any questions. I got up and moved to your favourite chair in the corner of the room. Oh, this is the kind of scene you see when we gather in the centre and you watch from the corner. Like a mother watching her children.
It wasn't long before you appeared with another Yanto. You had just returned from Imogiri because there was a new coffee shop and interestingly it was run by a young local. That's normal for me, but your story takes my breath away. The never-ending adventures that established you as an anthropologist, although I was quite disappointed that you rarely wrote about it. Even though I bought you a diary. How can you be immortal without writing?
If I'm not mistaken. Do you still feel lonely? You never tell me about it anymore. Nothing is perfect and I think your loneliness is what makes you human. Don't ever trapped by young people who only want your wealth. Leave your friends who are only there when they need you. Living alone isn't that painful. And maybe living alone isn't mean lonely.
I still remember a picture of you with your friends. The day said that your turn would come soon. I got goosebumps hearing that even though I know everyone dies eventually. But I still had a promise for you, a promise of a pending adventure. You did say that it wasn't a promise, but let's do it!
So that I can die in peace.
After falling in love, it turns out that love wants to own the body and soul and does not want to share it with anyone. There is an ego that is born and grows, recognised together and legitimised by the sacred feeling called love. If I love you, then you are mine.
However, I ask you that there is a carnal lust in our souls that wants to taste the beautiful bodies of others. And of course you can't deny that.
Then you say that if intercourse without love is an accident and if there is still love inside deep of our heart, then you will hide the accident deeply in a secret box. Lock it and lose the key forever. And strangely, if you find out from others that I've had an affair, you want to keep that jealousy and knowledge bottled up while waiting to see if I enjoy the affair for the sake of the affair.
If there is love then you and I will return. That's what a natural human being does.
All this time I'm used to enjoying the pleasures of the flesh and separating love far away from this filth. For me, honesty called open relationship is a desire not to be hypocritical and maybe this idea is too radical.
Inside the window while sad song plays, I gazed at the night streets. I've been feeling lonely as a human for a long time. I think I need to learn how to be a normal human being.
Airports and the air separate New York and Jakarta,
The restlessness in your chest and the secrets waiting in the heart of poetry are separated by words,
So is longing,
Between islands and a crazy adventurer,
Batas- M. Aan Mansyur
Rangga had to leave for New York, he could not say goodbye to Cinta other than sending a poem. That afternoon, after reading Rangga's poem, Cinta caught up with Rangga and they went their separate ways.
Rangga went to New York and he was supposed to be there. Leaving Jakarta, leaving behind the old life that gave him happiness. Life is like a flowing river. Of course, don't think if you can't swim. Anyone will be swept away into new lives.
Rangga has lived in New York for several years. It turns out he is not tied to Jakarta. And it turns out New York is a romantic city, more romantic than Paris.
He found himself in New York. Not in Jakarta.
Last night at 2 am I got a call from a woman from the sex worker community who had just been evicted from her flat. I don't know what trouble she was in. She and her three children were forced to sleep on the roadside near JEC. She asked me if I could provide temporary shelter for them. If only my mobile phone wasn't switched off every night. I would have gone over to them and helped them settle down. But recently I decided to switch off my mobile phone at night.
I don't know where it came from, but something stirred in my soul. I want to get involved, to share resources, to solve the problems I see. Was this a consciousness built from a pile of social theories? Or was it the background of being a fellow oppressed person? Actually, this conscious and subconscious desire had been gnawing at me all along. I felt tired and gradually became fed up.
Feeling responsible for something that I shouldn't have to take on.
I was tired and wanted to be free. Is it time to leave????
Tonight I'm trying to find an old post about someone I know well and love. It was written before his birthday and he said it was the best birthday present he ever got. Unfortunately, I couldn't find it. I am now disappointed that I was too submissive and just said YES when he asked me to taken down from my blog. He was surprised when his sister google his name and found my blog in the search engine. Maybe his sister thought what is the relationship between me, an amateur writer, and her brother who has no achievements and why is her brother worth writing about? Of course, his sister doesn't understand that the writing is made with love and not a trail of life achievements. That's a different logic.
We weren't together for long, it turned out that I was unable to contain the emotions of ‘My Little Chinese’ (The name I used to call him) and I really enjoyed fucking other people. My thinking was too liberal and there was no place for it in his concept of love. We parted on bad terms even though I wanted to part on good terms.
One day a miracle came! In the depths of his despair he asked me to meet him at a stall because he didn't have anyone who would listen. He also didn't have a friend who could fulfil his intellectual needs. Maybe he got what he wanted that time and I got our friendship back.
Before long, I knew he was busy with his studies and thesis. So we rarely communicated again. In my hindsight, I miss climbing mountains together, getting drunk , or imprisoning myself in a room while having great sex with him.
The farewell came, he contacted me during his graduation day. He didn't invite me to the campus but to La Fayete Hotel, a luxurious place full of voluptuous red colours. That night we didn't say much and just had sex. It was weird sex and we didn't like it anymore. We ended without an orgasm and sat on the balcony smoking Sampoerna cigarettes, his favourite. We are young people who look to the future with uncertainty.
That night turned out to be the real goodbye. One year later, a friend contacted me that he had died. I was terrified because I didn't feel anything.
"Once upon a time on the same side, in the same gameNow why'd you have to go?Have to go and throw water on my flame"
Coldplay ft Rihanna -- Princess of China
I was supposed to work on the grant proposal today, but I chose to meet new friends instead. One of them seemed familiar, as if I had met on some other occasion but I gave up on finding answers, and so did he. He told me he was studying for his Master's degree in Sociology Education. Damn! I don't know why I was surrounded by Sociology people. It felt like a cruel rebuke because I didn't dare to study that major even though I wanted to. It all happened because I hoped for a good future, which I thought narrowly define as a major that guarantees a well-paid job.
Anyway, my new friend is already in his second year. He has almost finished his thesis with the theme of sociology education that gives students a sense of empathy for others. I'm very interested in that education because I'm crazy about Paulo Freire, the hero of the amazon nation against the evil corporations destroying the forest. My friend is working on exploring various theories that would enable him to create a curriculum that would engender empathy.
After explaining, I asked him a question about whether he was optimistic about Indonesian education, and he replied NO. I was stunned, so what is he writing now? And more importantly for what?
Although he also admires Paulo Freire, he seems to forget that education is politics. The state builds an education system that can perpetuate its power. I can't imagine how the curriculum can accommodate the value of empathy? Is it just limited empathy? Empathy that does not lead to rebellion. But how can we empathise but not be angry and moved by oppression? I don't think that's empathy.
I don't know what got into him that he also said himself that what he wrote would probably never be read by anyone. This is where I feel sad. Academia seems to be a world of its own, dreamy, detached from reality. Academia seems to be a playground of ideas and one can live with their nonsense.
You were sitting in the corner of your room, throwing your gaze out the window, looking at the towering trees against the blue sky. I knew you weren't well, so I ventured to open a conversation with you. As usual your cry broke and it made my heart shrink, I couldn't bear to see you like that again. again and again.
I don't know what made us last this long even though we hurt and wounded each other. I think it's because neither of us has the courage to make a decision. And today I dared to make a choice that you could never accept. We are not lovers but friends. What many people think might be impossible. But I want to try it with you.
We started all this when you were in the deepest of slumps. I as a new person in your life, someone who was actually trying to heal, was moved to help you. I did it so sincerely that I forgot how we became lovers. Maybe I believe that love comes from habit. Used to talking to each other, used to spending time together.
At that time I forgot to say that I was someone who couldn't be jealous. I was also very fond of having sex with various people I met. This relationship has been built on injustice and violence. A sad reality for an activist who fights for humanity.
Without realising it, without this ideal situation, we have actually grown. I see you are strong and I am happy for you. Maybe it's good that we are like this. Maybe we still have a long way to go. We need to feel love again and heartbreak, and continue to do so.
We don't know what the future holds, I don't know what the future holds. Can we stay in the same house and take care of each other without getting hurt?
He sometimes comes at night after I've had a bad day. Always the same dream, He stood smiling as if hhe felt no guilt at all. When I woke up I realised that hhe had died a few years ago. But his arrival left me with an unbearable hatred.
Since childhood I was an inquisitive child and too smart to be lied to. One day I learnt that my father had two wives and everything made sense. My father who looked so busy. My mum who was always grumbling. And me growing up in my own way. Then when I was in junior high school, a friend of mine taunted me with a song of flickering disco colours that meant my father had two wives. What did that have to do with me not knowing anything?
When I was in senior high school. My mum miscarried for the second time in a row. I didn't feel good. I wanted to say something to Mum, but I didn't dare. I finally had another brother who was 16 years away. I knew it was a prison for my mum to keep her at home. I know my father's cunning mind
I left home because I fed up with his lies. It turned out to be one of the most irresponsible decisions I ever made in my life. I pushed the problem onto my first brother. It shackled him to the family and prevented him from moving forward. I felt so guilty, but I knew it was because of him.
I had actually promised not to take care of him. But it was all because of Mum that I became the only person to bring his peaceful death.
Sadly, I felt no relief at all. I always remember how he spent her time having fun. But in times of trouble, he came back to my family and I played the good son. How ironic. And finally I realised that he never apologised to us, to me.
Today I tried to understand why he did all this. But I can't understand even though I also committed infidelity. I can't justify what he did to me and I can't justify what I did.
It's as if life has trapped me in a storyline that I can't choose.