tentang luka dan sepi.

dalam sedih manusia akan melarutkan diri dalam bising. karena bising akan memberi ilusi bahwa engkau masih memegang ujung tali kontrol. semua tampak ramai dan cepat dengan kilasan lampu-lampu dan cahaya; bisa saja ujung tali itu sudah lepas dari genggamanmu, tanpa engkau menyadarinya.

namun mereka yang sedikit lebih berani akan memilih sunyi. sunyi itu jujur: ia menggemakan bunyi kesedihan di dalammu sehingga engkau akan merasakan kehadirannya, begitu panjang dan nyata, seperti bunyi angin yang menyentuh daun-daun di jalan. ia menggoyangkanmu agar kau sesadar-sadarnya menyadari kesedihanmu. menerimanya, merengkuhnya, membiarkan ia mengikis dan membentuk keberadaanmu.

lalu pada suatu titik, engkau akan merasa tenang.

sedih itu tidak pergi, melainkan entah bagaimana telah menjadi bagian dari dirimu.

kesedihan yang kau rasakan dengan sunyi telah membentuk jiwamu; ia merobek-robek dan menatanya kembali. dan kau akan menjadi satu lagi. namun selamanya engkau akan membawa garis dan bentukan yang disebabkannya.

teras rumah

kau mulai mencintai kembali kegelapan halaman rumahmu, mencium aroma malam dan daun menguap dari keramik terasmu. dengan lagu yang kau senandungkan di pikiranmu, engkau perlahan berdansa dengan pagar rumahmu, berjingkat di atas bayangannya. kau tidak ingat menghitung berapa langkah dan satuan waktu yang berlalu semenjak kau berada di situ.

memories

dear owlheart,

i've always imagined human's memories are tiny stuffs kept in a carved wooden chest stored in an insignificant corner somewhere in the chambers of mind. i don't know if it's just me or you do too, but every now and then i add dry flowers and a little bit of vanilla scent inside. at times i tint them with shades of rose color, and a little bit of purples and yellows. no, if you ask, i'm not lying to myself. i guess it's just me being me.

and it's sort of funny, isnt it? how a single sight of someone or something opens that chest, and the pieces of memories you thought you'd left behind are flooding your thought like the sight from a train window and make you happy and sad at the same time and make you want to remember and forget at the same time?

there are also black and white memories which are nearly untouchable. you know, the kind of memory that makes you feel like you're half asleep squinting your eyes at your car window during the storm? you're not sure if it's real, but you know that it is there, hidden, burried in the back of your mind. you know it somehow has become a part of who you are.

and blurry hazy memories. as if you're looking with an unfocused camera. as if you come into contact with that fragments of your life rollercoastering. you only remember a glance of technicolor movements and resonating sounds and elusive scents and splash of passions. but it's enough to make you happy at the end of the day.

and there is a place, in the deeper side of the chest, where unpredicted memories are kept. it's like when you take it out with care and open the case and suddenly you're looking at some parts of you that you left behind; the more youthful you. like you've left your younger reflections on the lake and finally after you traveled to faraway places and see the world has changed, and you have changed, then you come back to see your old, younger reflection preserved. it makes you feel strange and familiar.

and dear owlheart, don't be upset. i made a part of the chest airy so it can fuse with the memory when i daydream. or halfsleep-driving.

how thin the crust between dreaming and memories inside my head.

there was magic in the air

i'm having one of the most magical nights in my life.

because the electricity's off.

i'm lying here watching the room space. i never realized the light of the moon coming through my window is that beautiful in its own simplicity. seabear's cat piano seeps in my ears. i know i'm bored and my blood's pretty thin but some nights i swear there was magic in the air. i let the words infiltrate; magic, that's what i feel now. without the veil from the city lights, the sky is so naked, so yellow i can imagine the invisible stars. the air is still. the trees too they seem stunned by the atmosphere: the branches and leaves are all at a halt. the crickets finally aren't only entertaining themselves. i look at the shadows on the wall, tranquility. these all feel sort of sad, but beautiful. so beautiful that it overwhelms me i want to cry. if only i could dilute this moment and put it into a wooden bottle and pour it down when i need it.

i know people at some point try searching their cores. pilgrimage. grandiose massive worship. travelling the world. living as a hermit. playing their music...
i'm lucky here in my own room, in the heat of december nights, in between the tiny segments of time, i feel the connection with the whole universe:
i find my soul.

journal, december.

listen seabear's cat's piano

*

maybe if you come closer i'll let you take my hand and hold my fingers and feel my weakness. maybe you'll find out that i'm a forlorn child. but maybe you'll also figure out that i'm capable of loving the world as it is.
or maybe we could stay together like silly strangers, prowling at our heels and chortling at the skyline and listening to the sound of the grass and feigning that we were in a fairytale.

journal entry010909