seorang perempuan di jakarta

Perempuan itu menghangatkan sebuah apple pie di microwave untuk kudapan malam bagi suaminya. Bagaimana aku bisa tahu? Karena aku mengikutinya, perempuan itu dan suaminya. Tentu tanpa mereka tahu.

Waktu menunjukkan pukul 00.43

Tapi perempuan itu dan suaminya memang biasa tidur larut. Itu pengakuan perempuan itu sendiri. Tentunya pengakuan itu tak ditujukan untukku. Tapi aku bisa tahu.

Kadang perempuan itu menikmati sendiri kudapannya di kala larut.
Kadang suaminya memang tak ada di sisinya. Bagi lelaki, pekerjaan adalah pernikahan pertama. Itu kata suaminya dan perempuan itu menerima.

Perempuan itu adalah perempuan pencinta. Kata-katanya begitu manis dan ia nyaris tak pernah bertanya. Kubayangkan ia terlahir dalam bungkusan udara yang berbeda. Sebuah bola tipis mengelilingi tubuhnya, melindunginya dari sakit dunia nyata.

Rumahnya, surganya
Tawa bocah mungilnya yang selalu ingin ikut terjaga di malam hari bersamanya
Kata-kata manis suaminya kala terlambat satu dua jam atau bahkan tiga
Perjalanan ke luar kota setiap awal bulan, makan siang bersama ayah ibunya setiap akhir pekan
Perbincangan ringan bersama sahabat-sahabatnya
yang sama sepertinya, melewati hidup tanpa tanya

Perempuan berhati putih, betapa hatiku sedih untuknya. Dan sejurus kemudian marah itu datang merenggut sedihku.

Perempuan bodoh, bukalah matamu.

Cari di mana suamimu dan kenali siapa ia sebenarnya. Jiwanya hilang sejak ia dilahirkan dan ia belum berhenti mencari. Ketahuilah, perempuan pencinta. Cinta tidak seharusnya hadir tanpa tanya.

Karena perempuan seperti dirinya ada, lelaki seperti suaminya pun akan tetap ada.
Perempuan yang menerima, yang tersenyum walau tak bahagia, yang menyambut penuh cinta meski suaminya pulang larut, terlalu larut untuk tak terjadi apa-apa dalam pencarian hilang jiwanya.

Dalam marahku, kuludahi wajahnya
Perempuan tak berdosa namun tak berguna
Perempuan kuat dalam lemahnya
Perempuan lemah dalam kuatnya
Perempuan dengan cintanya yang sia-sia

diam

ada yang hilang
saat tak lagi berkumandang
di telingaku
suaramu

kau diam
kala kuputuskan untuk tak diam
kau diam
agar kutelan kembali suaraku
dan ku diam

ku kembali jadi aku
seperti aku di benakmu
penjaga suasana hati
bukan milikku
namun milikmu

ku diam
dan kuputuskan tuk selalu diam
karena diammu membunuhku
karena mati aku melihatmu
diam

a narcissist's love story

the woman sits alone in the corner nursing a cup of milky coffee
she sips her coffee slowly savoring the precious moment of her solitude
it seems ironic that she had spent a magnanimous amount of her breathing time looking for someone to share her life with
while in reality she only finds peace when she has only her own thoughts as company
thirty nine years and thirty five men
though it actually was more than thirty five she simply stopped counting at thirty five
she is the eternal soul searcher
never treachery never deception never a grand scheme
she simply fell out of love every time
it was just the way he buttered his bread
the way he used the wrong fork
the way he misunderstood her words
the way he did not appreciate her time
the way he expected her to accommodate him
the way he wanted her to see things from his eyes
the way he felt too comfortable being in a twosome that he simply dropped his guard and slipped into himself
each and every one of them
and the life she had walked willingly into some years earlier began to feel like a trap
only she was too frightened to admit that she needed no one
she still is
and history repeats itself
it becomes a vicious cycle she is unable to break
today as she sits nursing her milky coffee that grows increasingly cold
she thinks about death and her life in reverse
about the uselessness of love and its consequences
or whether love really exists or is it just a deception
a justification for the need to reproduce
a survival instinct to prevent humanity from extinction
or simply because human beings were not created self sufficient
and the thought of dying alone frightens everyone
although everyone will meet death alone even if hundreds of other people are in the room when death descent
and she feels utterly cheated
it was not them
it was not her
it was the complexity of dissolving into a blended being
or perhaps it was her inability to accept it graciously
but one can only bend so many rules
she is cursed they may say
but she chooses to believe she is
enlightened

reverie

Let's just pretend that it's New Year's Eve and we're on a mission to get drunk, because that's just the thing that we always do otherwise you wouldn't want me around, how poignant.

It would be even better if we are somewhere we can wear winter clothes on, those gorgeous long black winter coats, with patterned scarf on our necks as we go from one hip party to the next, saying hi to the beautiful people we meet, air kiss gleefully while holding martini glasses on our right hands, how swank.

Somewhere before midnight we go to the rooftop. It's not snowing but it's icy cold and the wind makes my skin prickles and you put your arms around my shoulder trying to keep me warm and even though I can stand the cold I pretend to shiver because I like having your arms around my shoulders that way, how sad.

We hear the countdown from somewhere below us and as the clock turns 12 you plant a kiss on my lips and I would close my eyes and savor your kiss like it was the best thing in the world, how grim.

And sometimes after that we head downstairs and mingle with people who find us mighty interesting and I charm them with my wit and you look at me and wish you could have me forever, intoxicated or not, how swell.

At some point everyone gets really wasted and no coherent conversation could be made and you take my hand and we don on our fabulous coats and walk on the deserted street, listening to the muffled sound of parties from the buildings around us, the sound that is the testament of good life, how divine.

And it's back to my place and you sit on my couch with your feet up. You peer at the blinds, trying to catch the first sun ray of the new year when I come holding two mugs of steaming hot cocoa. You look up with a playful smile on your childlike eyes and take your mug and sip it with delight and I sit in front of you, thinking of excuses to make you prolong your stay, how somber.

Epilogue

Even in the world of make-believe where I can have all the happy endings in the world, I am unable to write one. Star-crossed lovers we would always be, sadly, in every reality.

How bizarre.

impromptu

"hey Estrela"
I turned and found her standing behind me, all smiles.
I towered over her, like I tower just about everyone, because of my unusual height. I am Estrela, the supermodel, the star, just as my name suggests. But with her, I liked the fact that she had to look up to be able to talk to me. It made me feel superior.

"oh hi"
I forced a smile. I am a talented model after all, I can slip in and out characters easily. She wouldn't be able to detect any trace of hostility in me.

"fancy meeting you here"
What an asshole. Of course we were bound to meet somewhere. Although the city is big, there are not enough playgrounds. People frequent the same venues. It's like we have orbits that we cannot stray from. And that was why I knew her anyway. Because he brought her to my orbit.

"yeah well small city"
I couldn't help to be lame. Small talks are not my strong point. I threw drinks at bitches. I threw tantrums during photo shoots. I made grown men cry. I am the queen of trash talk. The only reason I could get any modeling assignments at all is because on camera, I am so fucking gorgeous. And she on the other hand is not. Which is why him being with her was a slap on my face.

"you know..."she hesitated,"I am not with him anymore"

Are you not now? Well that didn't take him long.

"yeah well you"ll find other men"

"oh yeah yeah I have already, he's a great guy"

"well congratulations"

She smiled. I raked my brain for excuses to get the hell away from her. But she beat me to it.

"there's something bothering me though, I hope you don't mind answering this, were you... were you... you know... with him?"

It did not came as a surprise. Yet I was lost for words.

"did he say that?"

"he never mentioned your name, it's just that he often described a character who I think is a lot like you"

I felt my blood boiling. With what? Rage? Humiliation? What could he possibly say about me? That I was crazy in love with him and nearly took my own life when he left? Her knowing all of that was even more humiliating than the act itself. She was... who was she? A nobody! The nobody he chose over me.

"and the fact that it took him months after we went out before he finally took me to meet his friends, to meet you, it made me wonder... because he only introduced me to his circle after you... well you know, got married... and the fact that amongst all his friends you were the only one who never... well you seemed like you didn't want to be in the same room with me"

"that's a sloppy conclusion"

She grabbed my hand apologetically.

"I know I know, I'm sorry. It couldn't possibly be you, I mean you are far out of his league"

That made me even sadder.

"sorry, Estrela, please forgive me. I'm just dying to know who that girl was. You must know, you're his friend. Can you tell me, please?"

"what for? you said you're no longer with him!"

"true but he got some kind of power over me, you know, I realize he' s a jerk and all that but I couldn't help falling in love with him... and he told me these stories about this girl... and I felt her, you know... I mean I am now with a great man, the best man who treats me good yet it was different with him, a passion like that... something you can't fake! And yet he left!"

I felt my anger rising little by little. Her words were cutting into my flesh and images were playing in my mind. Of passionate nights she shared with him. Did she scream his name the way I used to? Did she leave scars just the way I did? Did she giggle with delight trying to find excuses for him to tell his wife about the scars like I did?

Those were my stolen moments, my beautiful stolen moments and I did not want to share them with anyone. Especially with a nobody like her.

I looked her coldly in the eyes and put my hand on one of her shoulders.

"listen, knowing who she was won't change anything. Just forget about him, he will never leave his wife, all the other women were just his sick entertainment"

I saw she fought back tears.

"you won't understand, you're this gorgeous super model who can have any man you want. But I am just a girl who fell in love with him and I didn't even mind the fact that he was married but he left me anyway and I felt that if I could know the girl he was talking about, the girl he was with before me, maybe she would understand and helped me through this"

And what made her think that the girl had survived?

But she, of all people, did not need to know anything about my life.

I muttered a lame excuse to get away from there. She didn't listen, she was too caught up in her own emotion.

I walked away, with another layer of hatred added into my already darkened heart.

a block

Another fan mail adding to the hundreds unread.
She usually takes criticism well but in this state of mind she decided it is best not to let any kind of negativity seeps in.

Although, out of pure sadomasochism she did read a couple of them.

"You used to be so sharp."
"Empty words. What happened to you?"
"You lost it!"

They meant well but they didn't know that those were the time when she would be awakened by his midnight calls. And her chest would have that jolt.

And he would be there on her bed.

Those were the time when they ditched the crowd to find a corner to kiss. Intoxicated by each other even without drugs.

He drove her crazy.

And despite the constant churn in her stomach, she felt incredibly alive. And tortured. But alive. Yet tortured.

They felt her, her former audience.The sickest members of the so-called sophisticated society. They, who yearn for that churn yet are too afraid to jump off that boat, they lived their lives through hers. They want that kiss behind that thick, dark curtain. They want that spiralling down to the centre of the earth, that brush of death, that lingering pins and needles, that fiery passion that sent her to heaven and hell and back.

They wish she had not come back from hell.

Because survival is less entertaining than tragedy.

"You could've been the next Sylvia Plath, but you blew it,"

Did she?

Maybe she blew it for them. She blew their fantasies. She aborted the saga way too soon.

But they were a small price to pay. Nothing, in fact.

Because even if she will not leave any legacy in this world, she is loving every minute of her new ordinary, uncreative and uneventful life.

And Sylvia Plath, despite her talent, despite everything, did die unnecessarily too soon.

unplugged

A cycle completed, ended
It did not answer, it merely fulfilled a prophecy
A path that led to other path
The stage has been cleared
The lights dismantled
Darkness ensued,
Supposedly
Except it did not
Because some were born to last
Even if it was to last only in the unseen life
The inaccessible existence
It lasts
Even when all the cords have been
Unplugged