Sentimen Sore

Sentimen Sore

Ada tiga hal yang bisa membuat saya benar-benar larut dalam biru:

Sore, kopi hitam, dan hujan.

Tidak perlu ketiganya untuk meluruhkan saya yang berpura-pura mandiri. Tidak perlu ketiganya untuk membuat saya terdiam seribu bahasa. Cukup gabungan dari dua hal diatas selalu berhasil membuat saya larut dalam lamunan dan terbawa dalam kenangan bertahun-tahun lalu, di teras depan sebuah rumah sederhana: Continue reading

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05/30: Something Historical

Indonesia 1927

A baby girl was born. A pretty baby girl, as ordinary as any other babies who were born in the same year. But she was fortunate that her family was pretty rich that later she wouldn’t have to struggle as other children at her age at that time. But she also never knew what would happen in the future. She’d never know that someday, years later she’d be loved not only by her family but also society.

Indonesia 1937

She was 10 years old. Sat in a “sekolah rakyat”, a school for Indonesian in the colonial era. She was so lucky. Not all children could go there. She was pretty and smart and nice, came from respected family, got good education. What else could she ask?

Later, she met a guy. A tall handsome guy who coincidentally had a similar name like hers. She was Soepiah, the handsome guy was Soepii. They didn’t coincidentally met. Their parents set it up. They were engaged even before they were met. As a conventional Indonesian girl, she didn’t refuse to marry this guy. She believed a Javanese old saying: “tresno jalaran soko kulino”. Love will come if you’re used to it. She believed that she’d love him and he’d love her. Nice love story, they fell in love to each other.

Both came from wealthy family. They had big home, successful business, and loving family. All of her children got good education and she was having her fifth child. Fortune started to fade. Her fifth children, a beautiful baby girl had a very high fever, days passed, the baby girl passed away. She was down but she kept strong, kept smilling and said, “she’s better up there. God will take care of her. God loves her so much so He takes her so fast.”

She was having her eighth child now. A very beautiful baby girl. Her family was still wealthy, the older children were willing to take care of the younger children. No one was jealous to each other because she treated them with equal love.

Fortune started to fade again. The land where she built her house and her business were claimed by the government. She was forced to move and only got less than a half of what she and her husband had built. She protested but she lost. She had to move, to a smaller house in a not very good place and slowly but surely the family business went bankrupt. Not long after that, her husband who was so depressed, smoked a lot and died because of tuberculosis. The last message her husband said was to find a new fine guy, he wanted her to had a much better life than now even much better than they used to had. She was in her late thirties and still beautiful, it wouldn’t be hard for her to get married again. But she was a very loyal wife. She only loved her husband and she wouldn’t remarry. Yet, she didn’t want her children suffer from poverty. If making her children prosper meant she had to work harder, she’d do it whole heartedly even if that meant she had to work harder than any women or any men. She had made her decision. She would not step back.

She made a new business. She was really good at cooking. She made a catering business. She knew reading is the gate to knowledge. She sold newspapers and magazines. She never asked her children to help her. But they voluntarily helped her. They sold her food in school, they also helped her selling newspapers and magazines after school. Turned from a wealthy children into sellers, they didn’t care if that meant helping this beloved woman they always love. She was so happy having them as their children yet she was hurt, she thought she could have done more for her children so they didn’t have to do it. Afterall, she was only a woman and a human. She had limitation, and she couldn’t do it all alone.

Fortune might not lingered on her no more. But she knew she was more fortunate than other people in the area. Most of them had no chance to get good education. With some magazines and newspapers she had, she turned a small space in her house into a library. The first library in the area.

No matter how difficult the situation was, she never thought about giving up education for her children. None of her children failed. They reached their dreams; teacher, civil servant, bank employee, and others. Thanks to her who never gave up on education.

Indonesia 1990

Things had changed a lot. Her life was much better then it was. She had 7 successful children. She harvested what she seeded. And she was having her eleventh grandchild, who’d be the most rebel grand daughter she ever had.

Indonesia 1994

She just had her twelfth grandchild from her youngest daughter. A chubby baby boy. She had nothing more to ask. She had a complete happy live up until one day, one of her daughter was sick, couldn’t be cured and passed away. Left her son alone with an unreliable dad. Lots of people showed their sympathy for her loss. But again, she tried to be strong and shared her smile and said, “God miss her. He wants to see her now. That’s why He takes her.” And so, she took care of her grandson like her own son. This time she couldn’t share equal affection to her grandchildren. But she still love them equally.

Years had been passed her eleventh grand daughter was 8 years old. She was a rebelious girl. Loved to pick a fight with boys, climbed up the wall to the roof, nothing like a nice girl at all. But she knew, she did that because she wanted to be acknowledged. She also knew that she was actually so fragile that one yell could make her cry like a baby. She only wanted someone who would care about her without judging. She won her heart.

She was not only won her grand daughter’s heart. She also won people’s heart. Since she was young up until her late 60s she never forgot to share. Not a day passed without opening a door for someone who needed it. She could make a coffee for a “becak” rider who needed a shelter when it was rain cat and dog. She could have a long conversation with a shoe repairer. She could gave a bottle of water to a “pengamen” who passed by and coughed because he was almost dehydrated. She could stayed with a person who couldn’t talk for hours, paid attention to what she was trying to say. And she never knew that she won society’s heart.

Indonesia 1999

She had to lost her child again. Her oldest son died months after his first daughter’s marriage. Now she was only an old woman who started to questioning God why did He take her son instead of her? She thought she was old enough to die compared to her son. But her sorrow only lasted for couple days. She knew, God must have had a plan for her. She spent her days with her grand children. Visited them regularly, gave them bed time stories, gave them unconditional care and love. She also shared it with society. She believed she lived to share, to be nice to others, no matter what differences that existed. She was lingers with love.

Indonesia 2000

God loves her… He finally picked her up. Her children cried, grand children couldn’t accept that, the society mourned. She might not be a heroine for her country but she was a heroine for her children. She might not be a famous motivator but she was a motivator for all of her crand children. She might not be like Mother Theresa but she was Mother Theresa for all people around her.

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Sebuah Cerita Tengah Malam

“Cinta tak harus memiliki… Siapa yang percaya sama kalimat itu?”

Si kacamata merah memecah hening malam itu. Perempuan tua dengan wajah bersahaja di ruangan itu memandang ke arah cucunya tak berkomentar, hanya tersenyum.

“Aku nggak percaya. Aku dulu nggak percaya…”

Si kacamata merah melanjutkan omongannya lalu terhenti sejenak, berdeham membersihkan tenggorokan, matanya sedikit menerawang tapi tak sedikitpun menoleh pada sang nenek, seperti berbicara pada tembok sedangkan neneknya tidak sedikitpun memalingkan wajah dari cucunya bahkan ketika si cucu masih belum melanjutkan kalimatnya. Setelah berdeham sekali lagi, ia melanjutkan.

“Ya, aku dulu nggak percaya. Buat aku, yang namanya jatuh cinta ya harus memiliki. Harus bisa menyentuh, harus bisa merasakan hangat tubuhnya, kulit beradu kulit, bibir dan bibir bersentuhan, saling memberi perhatian, ada racikan rasa cemburu ketika merasa tak diperhatikan ditambah ramuan posesif yang dicampur dengan sedikit rasa self-pity.”

Kali ini sang nenek mulai menggeser posisinya mendekati si cucu. Tertarik sekaligus menyadari cucunya bukan anak kecil lagi. Cucunya sedang bicara tentang cinta, setidaknya cinta dalam sudut pandangnya.

“Dulu umurku lima belas tahun waktu aku pertama kalinya yakin aku jatuh cinta. Ketika pada akhirnya aku tidak bisa bersama dia, aku bingung apa yang terjadi padaku. Aku menangis berhari-hari merasa menjadi yang paling malang di dunia karena aku tidak bisa bersama dia. Kemudian ada sedikit rasa marah dan sebuah pertanyaan, kenapa pada akhirnya dia memilih untuk tidak bersamaku? Lalu dilanjut dengan serangkaian doa yang mengharapkan hubungannya dengan pacarnya segera berakhir. Aku jahat.”

Si kacamata merah menggeser duduknya lebih merapat tembok dan melanjutkan ceracaunya.

“You can’t forget a person you love so much no matter how much you try to do it. It’s impossible unless you learn to love somebody else…”

Quote favorit si kacamata merah. Ia melafalkannya seakan sedang membaca teks saking hafalnya diluar kepala.

“Setelah empat tahun, aku jatuh cinta lagi. Kali ini pada orang yang berbeda. Dia bisa membuat aku melupakan yang lama dengan cara yang sangat misterius. Ntah mantra apa yang ia gunakan, sejak menyukainya aku benar-benar kehilangan hasrat pada lelaki yang aku suka sejak empat tahun yang lalu.”

Senyum masih terkembang di wajah sang nenek, namun kali ini matanya menyiratkan selidik, bertanya-tanya, siapa yang berhasil membuat cucunya jatuh cinta untuk kedua kalinya. Ia tak penasaran dengan yang lama, cucunya tak pernah berhenti meracau tentang yang lama selama empat tahun kebelakang, bahkan masih menyimpan fotonya. Tapi, siapa lelaki yang membuatnya jatuh cinta untuk kedua kalinya? Jarak antara si kacamata merah dan neneknya semakin sedikit.

“Mirisnya, pada akhirnya tetap tidak bersatu…”

Sang nenek bersiap untuk melihat awan hitam menggelayut di wajah cucunya. Tetapi kali ini perkiraannya salah. Si cucu malah tersenyum dan melanjutkan bercerita.

“Tapi, tak pernah ada sesal di sini. Tak ada self-pity yang mengganggu. Ntah kenapa, aku ikhlas. Kali ini, bukan rasa ingin memiliki… Apa ini cinta? Aku juga tak tahu. Aku menikmati setiap waktuku bersama dia, aku betah berlama-lama memperhatikan wajahnya walaupun tak sekalipun berani menatap langsung matanya karena nanti jantungku berdebar tidak karuan serasa hampir mau copot, tak pernah ada rasa terganggu sewaktu dulu ia intens menghubungi aku lewat layar yahoo messenger, terkadang aku mencari-cari alasan supaya bisa menemui dia hanya karena aku kangen melihat wajahnya dari dekat. Akhirnya, aku tak bisa bersama dia. Tapi, bukan marah yang aku rasa, bukan sedih yang dominan, tapi ikhlas…”

Ingin sekali sang nenek merengkuh si cucu yang belum selesai bercerita. Ia tidak menyangka, cucu perempuan paling bandel sekaligus paling cengeng yang ia miliki sekarang bisa berbicara seperti ini sambil tersenyum. Tapi diurungkan niatnya, cucunya sudah besar. Tingginya sudah bertambah berpuluh-puluh centi dibandingkan dulu sewaktu ia mengantar neneknya pergi dan menangis meraung-raung tidak berhenti karena takut tak bertemu lagi.

“Ikhlas… Itu yang dominan… Aneh bukan? Kalau dulu, aku berdoa supaya yang aku sukai segera putus dengan pacarnya, kali ini aku meminta pada Tuhan: aku hanya ingin bisa lebih mengenal dia, lebih dekat dengan dia, dan bisa selalu ada bersama dia jika dia membutuhkan aku. Sebagai teman. Aku tidak akan meminta lebih. Dengan begitu, ntah kenapa, aku percaya aku akan bahagia. Aku tak perlu memiliki dia untuk menjadi bahagia. Aku kira aku akan menangis tidak berhenti seperti empat tahun kemarin. Tapi, aku salah.”

Sang nenek mengangguk mengiyakan, ia tidak bisa menyangkal, ia pun tadi mengira cucunya akan menangis lagi kali ini.

“Aku lega… Aku ikhlas… Dan aku sadar satu hal. Logika kali ini tidak berjalan. Aku tidak menemukan alasan kenapa aku bisa seikhlas ini. Kali ini aku hanya mengikuti apa yang dikatakan hati… Dan kali ini pilihanku untuk mengikuti hatiku ternyata benar… Semua ini membuatku percaya, cinta memang tidak harus memiliki. Aneh bukan? Lebih jauh lagi, aku semakin yakin cinta itu bukan self-pity untuk dijadikan alasan menangis bertahun-tahun karena tidak bisa bersama dengan seseorang, cinta bukan possessiveness untuk dijadikan alasan membuat seseorang dilabeli ‘this person belongs to me’, bukan pula rasa untuk mengumumkan ‘ini punya saya. jangan disentuh apalagi digoda!’ cinta itu tidak sedangkal yang selama ini aku kira.”

Si kacamata merah terdiam sejenak lalu tersenyum lagi. Kali ini senyumnya lebih seperti menertawakan diri sendiri.

“Ah, aku ini bicara apa? Aku memang tidak tahu banyak tentang cinta. Mungkin juga ini bukan cinta, bukan? Mungkin cuma rasa suka, rasa penasaran, atau mungkin sayang? Ah, Aku tidak mengerti. Lebih baik aku tidur.”

Ia beranjak dari tempat ia duduk, mematikan lampu kamar, menghampiri tempat tidur, menarik selimut, kemudian menghadap tembok.

“Tembok, kamu jangan bosen-bosen denger cerita aku ya…”

Ia menutup mata dan mencoba tidur.

Sang nenek, masih tersenyum sambil duduk ditepi ranjang cucunya. Cucunya bicara dengan tembok. Bukan pertama kalinya ia melihat hal itu. Sejak ia pergi sepuluh tahun yang lalu, sesekali ia diam-diam mengunjungi cucunya bahkan sampai cucunya pun tak menyadari keberadaannya di sana. Mendengarkan racauan cucunya sampai si cucu lelah dan tertidur. Tapi si cucu tak pernah sekalipun bercerita lagi padanya seperti dulu, si cucu lebih suka bercerita dengan tembok. Dielusnya rambut sang cucu, sedikit kecupan di dahi lalu ia beranjak dari tempat tidur, sedikit demi sedikit sosoknya menjadi bayangan dan menghilang. Kunjungan ke kamar cucunya sudah berakhir, ia harus kembali ke tempatnya, dunianya di sana…

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Hujan Sore

Sore ini hujan. Untukku, hujan di sore hari tidak sama dengan hujan-hujan lain.

Banyak sekali memoriku dengan nenekku yang terbentuk di kala hujan sore. Kami berbincang tentang segala hal, menghirup aroma tanah yang basah di teras rumah sambil ditemani secangkir kopi untuk beliau dan segelas susu vanilla hangat untukku. Mulai dari cerita lucu yang membuat perut sakit karena terpingkal, sampai semua tumpahan emosiku yang berakhir dengan senggukan reda di pelukan beliau. Sejak beliau tidak ada, ntah sudah berapa banyak hujan sore yang turun. Dan setiap hujan sore selalu mengingatkanku pada beliau. Terutama sore seperti ini. Disaat aku berada pada titik terendahku. Merasa tidak dimengerti, ingin meledak, ingin bicara pada seseorang yang benar-benar bisa mengerti aku, ingin dipeluk,ingin ditenangkan. Ingin beliau ada di sisiku.

Mungkin hanya sugestiku atau hanya imajinasiku yang senang bermain dengan hujan. Setiap hujan sore, ntah mengapa, aku selalu percaya beliau ikut turun bersama air-air yang membasahi bumi. Turun di teras rumahku kemudian duduk di sampingku, menemaniku, mendengarkan semua keluh kesahku, membiarkan aku menangis sampai akhirnya tangisku reda dengan sendirinya. Bagiku, hujan sore berbeda dengan hujan-hujan lainnya. Namun, semua hujan sore selalu sama. Sewaktu beliau masih ada, ataupun sekarang setelah beliau sudah tiada. Hanya satu hal yang berbeda. Dulu aku perlu pelukan beliau untuk menenangkanku, sekarang aku harus bisa menenangkan diriku sendiri tanpa pelukan beliau. Tetapi, memori bersama beliau di setiap hujan soreku dulu, adalah bentuk lain dari pelukan beliau yang kasat mata. Maybe she no longer can hug me like she used to do, but memories about her hug me to replace her presence.

“You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. but when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it.”

– Marguerite