Popped-Up Thoughts

Few days after the death of one of my best friend's father, I asked to one of my other besties, "what if that happen to us?"

"I might've cried desperately if my parents die," she answered. 

I frowned, because that's not what I mean. 

What if the death happens to us? I corrected her in silence. 

Then, I realized that people just don't come up with the thought of their being dead as easily as I do. 

Like what I did, when I rode my motorbike on a fine afternoon few weeks ago. The clouds were still hanging after the heavy rain stopped and people were filling the roads with their vehicles. Waiting for the light to turn green, I counted along the down-counter which installed above the traffic light. 

I went across the junction when the counter changed color. So did the other riders and drivers. Including a car which came from the same direction, but a different road. 

I flinched.   

The thought popped up. 

It was me, crushed by the car which just passed me by. I could see myself lying on the wet asphalt by the right side of the road, gasping for air, waiting for death to come. A crowd gathered around my body and my broken motorbike. I couldn't hear anything nor smell the blood underneath my head. I see people's faces in a blur, they tried to lift my body from the ground, but I was numb.

I'm dying. I thought. A thought inside a thought. 

A second or two later, the picture disappeared.

I put myself back together right away and keep on riding. Just like what I always did. 

Another images of my deaths also appeared when I'm not even outside, not even when I'm in a risk of being crashed by any car. 

I might be at home, watching the rain that hadn't stopped for hours and my mind would be flown away by the cold weather, to the bottom of the huge embankment next to my house. 

I pictured myself drowning deeper, touching the sticky turf and filling my lung with water. I felt the freezing water on every inch of my body. It was light and calm. 

No one told me that dying could feel this good. I thought, as my body turned blue and floated. 

I saw my mother coming from work. She found my dead body and cried painfully. Her husband was there too, standing still in shock. 

A second or two later, the image vanished.

I put myself back together right away and watched the heavy drops turn into drizzles. 

Twenty Three

Two and three make a scary number when they’re together. Two by itself is adorable. It’s curvy yet straight and children draw a duck from it. Three by itself is funny. It’s half-circle, curly and teenagers draw boobs and butts from it.

But when Two and Three are side to side, they become a nightmare. Together, they have three gigantic mouths open facing to the same direction. Three seems like teeth of a revengeful monster trying to chew Two, and Two looks like a cursed swan which head reaching for an invisible prey. None of them are kind-hearted nor forgiving. All they want is to make the world as a bloody place full of intolerance and ignorance. Beside, no one draws anything with them together.   

I’m here though, with them as a companion for the next twelve months. I know Two. I’ve been with her during the past two years. But Three, I have no idea about this guy. I used to be with him a decade ago. I surely did make a good time with him, but I was with One too, and One was the best number ever! He was so humble and gentle. He was just my type.

I’m so nervous that I’ve been counting down the days since January. The thought of Two and Three eating me alive, chopping my head and body brutally, made me wish the time to stop, or my family to forget that I was born at all.

“Look ahead,” whispered Two. Her voice was attempting, manipulative. “The time will be stopped and you will be forgotten,” she said.

“It’s just around the corner. Hang in there,” growled Three whose vowel was as hard as metal.

I don’t know how, but I found them dancing gracefully in the center of a darkened room. Right, left, right, left. A piano was played, all in minor chords: mysterious yet sentimental. No one knows who did the play. A spotlight followed their strange steps, as if it agreed with their words.

Hang in there. I echoed and nodded.

It’s odd.

I was hypnotized.

I believed that everything will be all right. They will be all right and I will be too. We, together, will seize the upcoming year beautifully just as how they dance. Though it might seem strange and scary as how they look.  

Hang in there. I repeated.

Kasihan, Sarjana

Beberapa bulan yang lalu, ada seorang teman yang bercerita, tentang temannya yang langsung menikah setelah lulus, lalu menjadi seorang penjual nasi uduk.

"Sarjana lho, Kal. Jualan nasi, kan eman-eman. Buru-buru nikah sih." 

Aku bingung menanggapinya, jadi, aku hanya mengangkat alis dan ujung bibirku. 

Ibuku, pada suatu Minggu pagi, saat sedang belanja di toko busana muslim, bertemu dengan para alumni UIN Antasari yang bekerja di toko itu.  

"Nggak apa-apa kerja di sini. Di mana aja. Yang penting halal." Begitu kata ibu, saat para penjaga toko itu bilang bahwa mereka alumni UIN. 

Aku mengernyit dan membuang muka, menahan diri untuk tidak beradu argumen dengan ibuku sendiri di depan para alumni kampus tempatnya bekerja.

Belakangan, aku ditelepon oleh seorang teman yang frustrasi karena tak kunjung dapat pekerjaan. Ia terkejut saat tahu bahwa aku menganggur.

"Aku pikir orang yang cantik dan pintar itu gampang dapat kerjaan," katanya. 

Saat itulah aku merasa terusik. 

Kepalaku bilang, "ia sedang mengasihanimu, Kal. Kasihan, cantik dan pintar, tapi tidak dapat pekerjaan."

Lalu, kuingatkan diriku, bahwa aku pernah berpikir seperti itu dan sekarang pun, aku masih demikian, hanya saja, aku tidak mengatakannya secara gamblang seperti orang-orang itu berujar padaku, tentangku.

Tentu tidak adil mengasihani seseorang yang bahkan tidak mengasihani dirinya sendiri, orang-orang yang dalam hatinya tidak punya ruang untuk rasa kasihan dari orang lain, yang akhirnya, hanya menyebabkan ia keberatan beban dari menampung rasa kasihan itu.

Ini mengingatkanku pada seseorang di masa lalu yang maunya dicintai dan tidak mau dikasihani. Kata "kasihan" sudah jadi senista itu, sampai-sampai kita tidak mau dikasihani dan tidak mau memberi kasihan. Kata ini, "kasihan" sudah telanjur melebur dalam konotasi negatif. Tidak menyenangkan, tidak pantas, tidak seharusnya, sehingga aku memberimu kasihan, karena tidak-tidak itu.

Salah satu sumber ke-tidak-an itu adalah kebiasaan kita mengkontras-kontraskan hal-hal yang pada dasarnya, tidak bertentangan (tidak seperti gendut kurus, tinggi pendek, hitam putih). Rasanya, seperti ada tangan tak kasat mata yang mengatur mode default kita untuk punya pikiran yang senang mengontras-ngontraskan. Padahal, tangan tak kasat mata itu, ya, tangan-tangan kita sendiri. Salah satu contoh bahayanya adalah mengontraskan agama dengan kepribadian.

"Kasihan" seharusnya tidak membuat si penerima kasih sebagai orang yang makin nelangsa, pun dengan yang memberi kasih, seharusnya tidak membuatnya menjadi orang yang tinggi hati. "Kasihan" tidaklah lebih rendah maupun lebih tinggi dari cinta, karena pada keduanya, kita sama-sama memberi dan menerima (yang juga menjadi pemberian). "Kasihan" pada bayinya yang lemah, membuat ibu mencurahkan cintanya. Begitu pun sebaliknya. Ibu mencintai bayinya, maka ia mengasihani bayinya.

Tentang kata "kasihan" ini, yang entah bagaimana asal muasalnya telah terlanjur jadi kata yang menyedihan, tidak banyak yang bisa kita lakukan. Tapi, tentang kontras-mengontraskan berbagai hal: pendidikan dan pekerjaan; penampilan dan kemampuan; keyakinan dan sifat; keberpihakan politik dan antek aseng; seharusnya masih bisa kita usahakan untuk diminimalisir.

Sehingga, tidak ada lagi orang-orang bingung yang hanya bisa mengangkat alis dan ujung bibirnya saat perbincangan yang kontras-mengontraskan itu terjadi. 

Romantic Love in Little Women

It's been ages since I put down a book just to cover my face with a pillow and shout over romantic scenes between fictional characters.

It happened during the last a hundred pages of this book.

Beside the love to family and friends, this book has successfully drawn me into every emotion in conflicts between the sisters and their love interests.

Meg, the oldest, was the first to get married. When John proposed her, I was moved by his saying, that love is something one can learn about instead of a thing that one could only accidentally fall into.

"I'll wait, and in the meantime, you could be learning to like me. Would it be a very hard lesson, dear?"
"Not if I chose to learn it, but.."
"Please choose to learn, Meg. I love to teach, and this is easier than German," broke in John, getting possession of the other hand, so that she had no way of hiding her face as he bent to look into it.   

Jo, the second oldest, was proposed by her best friend, Laurie. Though his confession is an immature one, I can truly sympathize for his longing for Jo's love and how his poor heart was broken into pieces when Jo, very maturely, told him that she could only love him as a friend.

".. I only loved you all the more, and I worked hard to please you, and I gave up billiards and everything you didn't like, and waited and never complained, for I hoped you'd love me, though I'm not half good enough.. (page 558)."

"I shall always be fond of you, very fond indeed, as a friend, but I'll never marry you, and the sooner you believe it the better for both of us--so now! (page 563)"

By the very end of the chapter, Jo had become even more of a lady who speaks so wisely and  respectfully, that when her lover asked her to wait for the right time for them to marry, she uttered,

"Yes, I know I can, for we love one another, and that makes all the rest easy to bear. I have my duty, also, and my work. I couldn't enjoy myself if I neglected them even for you, so there's no need of hurry of impatience (page 737)."

It is so refreshing to find a work of fiction which young girls as  the main characters are evolving into better people by their own struggles, learning to embrace their flaws and cherish their self-love, before stumbling upon love to their lovers.

As a reader, it is important for me to connect their stories with mine. Though I don't know much about this type of love, I did experience it a few times. They were shallow yet exciting. Like the one in forth grade, the one in tenth grade, the one in first years of college and the one in final years of college.

I no longer believe in shallow and exciting stuffs, for they might vanish in a blink of an eye. Like what this book has told me, that it takes time, learning, patience and pain as an exchange for something as good as love. 

Something About Plastic Bags in Banjarmasin

It's been almost three years, since the local government of my hometown, Banjarmasin, banned the use of plastic bags in modern shopping places all over the city. So, it has become a habit for my mom to bring her own reusable bag everywhere.

But it doesn't necessarily mean that she becomes an anti-plastic-bags overnight, like I do. She still shops with a lot of plastic bags in traditional markets and everywhere outside of the air-conditioned shopping centers. 

I used to think that the regulation doesn't do anything much but merely a slight decrease of plastic bags consumption. But now, that I've lived in two different cities (Banjarmasin and Semarang) as an extreme anti-plastic, I know that the rule has done something way more than that.

It teaches the people that plastics are harming the environment, plus, giving a sample behavior to that new lesson, by banning the plastic bags. It may change people's behavior, though it's just in a very limited condition, but it's not the ultimate goal. The educational purpose is.  

The difference I noticed from both cities, which the other (Semarang) doesn't have this regulation, is that, people in Semarang don't even aware of the 'why' of my explicit behavior: refusing the plastic bags. A pecel seller would say: "sudah banyak plastik ya di rumah;" as an ayam geprek seller say, "hemat ya, Mbak;" or a nasi uduk seller say, "aduh, ini panas, Mbak;" and a chocolate drink seller say, "ndak tumpah, Mbak?" and the list goes on.

My fast conclusion is, those kind of responses are said only by people whose minds never been told that plastics harm the environment. They lost the most basic ingredient to changing a behavior: education, which become something that Banjarmasin people has been receiving since 2016.  

So, when I'm home, people would not say things like Semarang people do. Instead, they say almost similar words to "cinta lingkungan lah;" or "andak di tas kah?" when I opened my backpack; or just simply not saying a word and put the stuff I purchase without packaging.

I'm mostly pissed off by Semarang sellers because of their false assumptions, but here at home, I could say that I'm proud of what I'm doing, because people know the real 'why' behind my action. 

As plastics are that main pollutant to our rivers here in Banjarmasin and rivers play vital roles in our lives, I think, more people should be, at least, know that plastics are harming our rivers, though we don't directly dump them on streams, but still, we never know where the plastics reach their ends.

But as for now, I can't be more thankful to our local government for setting a stepping stone for this city to be less wasteful. 

Sincerely, 

A proud Banjarish 

Fucks Told by "The Subtle Art of Not Giving A Fuck"

Here are some fucks told by this book, that is written in an ordinary way by Mark Manson, for ordinary people out there, who need to swear at their fucking ordinary lives. 

This is those ordinary fucks: 

1. if everyone were extraordinary, then by definition no one would be extraordinary is missed by most people;
2. while there is something to be said for "staying on the sunny side of life," the truth is, sometimes life sucks, and the healthiest thing you can do is admit it; 
3. we don't go from "wrong" to "right." Rather, we go from wrong to slightly less wrong;
4. pleasure is the most superficial form of life satisfaction and therefore the easiest to obtain and the easiest to lose;
5. commitment gives you freedom because you're no longer distracted by the unimportant and frivolous; 
6. but depth is where the gold is buried. That's true in relationships, in a career, in building a great lifestyle, in everything;
7. the older you get, the more experienced you get, the less significantly each new experience affects you;
8. and some other fucks, that I don't give a fuck about.

Pretty ordinary, huh? 

I don't recommend you to read this book if you've heard some (or all) of those fucks before. But if you've never heard any of those fucks, or if you've heard them but still want to read it, like I do, maybe this book is for you.

The main point about this book is that, unlike it's tittle, there's no way to not give a fuck, because not giving a fuck, is still a fuck given anyway. 

Something About Climate Change

I don’t know much about this issue, but I don’t need too much information just to convince myself that climate change is real.

I know it is, since I was nine. It was something about global warming, green house effect, acid rain, pollution and their impacts to environment and human’s life. My natural science book told me so, and my teacher said as it was just in a near future for the world to be in an apocalypse. Those were enough to make my poor little soul insecure. Anxiously, I waited for it to happen.

As years goes by, nothing such an apocalypse really happened. So, I stopped worrying and hold this weird belief that I might’ve dead before the climate change really happens. Turns out, despite of me being such an ignorant, the climate is changing already and it doesn’t need anyone’s belief to keep on happening, until it reaches its worst, then, at last, the world will come to an end.

The thing is, I’ve been a denier my entire life. I should choose, whether, I will stay with my irrational denial like an asshole, or try to, at least, do something that I’m capable of.

So, the decision was made.

I decided to do the latter.    

I started my journey by watching YouTube videos about people who live a sustainable lifestyle. But that wasn’t enough, I read a book titled This Changes Everything by Naomi Klen. Time by time, I changed one behavior at a time, while learning more about this issue by reading and watching news or documentaries.

But, the more I know, the less capable I thought I was. I got even more guilty of every meat I consumed, every unintentional plastic-packaged stuff I own and purchase, every ride I take, and even just being alive in general. The worst was, I hated people for not living a sustainable lifestyle. And when I hate people, I hate myself even more.

I told myself that I need to stop,

and start being forgiving,

to myself.

So, I did.

I’m still trying my best to reduce my impact to environment. The only difference is, I no longer set a too high expectation, pursue perfection, nor judge others. Because I believe, I could do something about the climate change, only if I do take care of my inner self.

What I’ve done for the sake of environment, might not seem that significant. It might be just small changes, such as refusing plastic bags, stop purchasing plastic-packaged stuff, eat more plant-based diet, do more walking than riding my motorbike. There are some days when I feel like in a huge success, and there are other days when I feel like I’ve messed everything up.

But as long as I cherish and forgive myself,

it should be okay,

because only by that,

this journey will last.