Where are my manners? Putting introduction in the second entry of ‘NGAMUK DI JALAN’? This doesn’t work. This doesn’t work. But here it is: ‘NGAMUK DI JALAN’, by far my best output to express dissapointment in our transportation system.
Some will be absurd, Some will relate well to you. Some you won’t see happening. Some you see all the time. And all entries, hopefully, will be entertaining.
Please enjoy ‘Ngamuk di Jalan’. BLODD WILL SPILL.
They’re pimped. They make a lot of noise. They run in packs (BECAUSE they make a lot of noise). They come from that part of society where the ‘PUNK’ embroidery on the ass of your pants is a trend. And they grew up without the love and attention of their parents. In short, they’re dicks.
I’m talking about motorcycle riders who kitted out their rides so they’d be able to crack every glass window in their paths of destruction. I’m talking about how obnoxiously annoying they are with their noisy bolt-buckets. I’m talking about a big and long stretch of road on a saturday night. I’m talking about illegal street racing brought to our very doorsteps. They would rev by your home making deep yet loud rumblings. And surely, they will rev away in packs for fear of an angry mob dragging them down and burn them on the spot.
And they call it lifestyle. -Pshaw!!!- Lifestyle my ass.
Sometimes I suspect they kitted out their rides and get that God-awful noise just to get our attention. Poor people. But once they rode past you, you’ll know they’re not worth your sympathy. They’re worth throwing off a cliff.
I want to kill them. Boy do I want to kill them.
I wish killing noisy bikers was legal. I’ll shove a piece of wood in their wheels as they raced past me and watch - with a big grin - as their jaws scrape off against the asphalt.
By Tomas Soejakto
June 24, 2007
On a platform at the Jatinegara train station an old woman sat. She sat on a piece of ragged cloth next to a garbage can, at the platform between the first and the second railways. She was very old and blind.
At 3.30 in the morning I watched her pressing and pounding a plastic bag containing what seemed to be her remaining possession, mostly clothings by the look of it. The old woman pressed and pounded this plastic bundle to make it smaller and tied it up so it wouldn’t expand again. The idea – I think – was to compress the bundle and leave the least room for air. I don’t know why but that’s what she seemed to be doing. Then, after all the pressing and the pounding, she would lie down and use the bundle of clothes as a pillow.
She tossed and turned in her troubled effort to fall asleep. I don’t think she was satisfied on how her bundle supported her head and neck. I don’t know. But after a minute she sat up and did everything that she just did all over again, oblivious to her surroundings. This time she loosened a piece of cloth from her head band and struggled to fit the bundle in the cloth. I don’t know what she’s trying to accomplish, but of course she failed to fit the bundle in the cloth because it was a pretty big bundle and a pretty small cloth. When she failed, she opened the bundle (thus letting air in and destroyed all her hard work in compressing it), pressed and pounded it again, closed and tied it up, pinched it here and there, and tried very hard to turn it into one, very solid bundle.
Then she’d lay down and sleep on it again, this time using her weight to – once again – compress the size of the bundle.
When I left a little before 6 am, the old blind woman was on her eighth attempt. In my opinion, that bundle wasn’t getting smaller. But she was doing it beyond reason anyway.
There were many other interesting things happening in a dingy train station at dawn. It was like the whole city could be represented by that train station alone. All the rot and the corruption and decadence. There was also happiness’ struggle to squeeze in (there was a small family sitting on the platform floor, on spread newspapers, trying to have a humble breakfast. They were laughing and having a good time. They were waiting for a train, by the looks of it).
When I arrived with my father (we were picking up mom), thugs grereted us in the parking lot. I guess being a thug is a job too (Thugship? Thugger? Thug Officer?), and these thugs got the graveyard shift. They weren’t being menacing or anything, they just wanted parking money. More than the usual lot, anyway. They even spared a smile for us. My father came there more often than me and it’s clear that he got used to them. Me? I was shivering in the morning air, avoiding eye contact. I bet they could break my back like a toothpick. It’s funny how you can feel threatened by these eccentric class in society that we so often refered as ‘trash’.
Of course the highlight of that trip was still the old blind woman; I was sitting in a row of seats in front of the toilet when my eye caught her. A mangy cat was rubbing him/herself against my leg all the while. My father wouldn’t sit down and got to smoking, and like me, he’s observing things too. And just like me, you can’t see any kind of reaction on his face about the things he saw and heard, all you could see are tired eyes and a slight smile.
It was a busy dawn in the Jatinegara train station, so there was a lot to see.
A few young men moved to sit on my right and was busy talking in thick Javanese while sharing a cigarette. They were dressed like any growing teenager with an identity crisis would dress, involuntarily declaring their social status (one had patched jeans with ‘Punk!’ embroidered on the ass and another wore a colorful sweater with a bright annarchy symbol and Curt Cobain portrait… Oh, and one of them had jeans that didn’t go down as far as his ankles. They all had funny hair).
It was hard not to notice them because I like observing people (and they weren’t trying NOT to be noticed, anyway). I tried to make sense of what they were talking about, but I only caught – from the tone of their conversation – that they were upset about somebody. A disagreement or probably a fight had happened. All the while, I was still watching the old woman pressing and pounding her plastic bundle.
Life, after all, is a treat for your senses.
by Tomas Soejakto
June 22nd, 2007
I kept thinking about this long, empty interstate, with forests hugging both sides of the road. A little way beyond the trees to the right was the coastline, and beyond that, the clearest expanse of an ocean the likes you’ve never seen before but always thought possible, and that ocean was calling out to you.
A lonely car was speeding away on that empty road, parallel with the coastline. And as I was watching from high above, I felt like I was driving behind the wheel of that car at the same time. And there were these songs playing on the radio; songs for long, lonely journeys where you can do nothing but drive and get caught in the wake of melodies that won’t seem to end…
That thought always haunts me – in a wonderful way.
But that was just a story every one of us hope to happen once in a while.
This (very short) story, however, is about a color that defined a day in my life and in all of yours. This story is not mine, but ours:
It was raining, but it wasn’t just because of that.
There was a coolness in the weather that day,
and coolness in your smiles,
and there’s coolness in the way those smiles made it easier for me to sit or stand or walkabout.
That day was just about me being somebody who’s walking in and out of your life for a moment
and found out that you’ve lit up mine
for a lifetime.
I am far from perfect since I can’t be anybody else but myself.
But I will always have a smile for you.
Yes. You.
Thanks.
By Tomas Soejakto
June 19th, 2007
There is a whole world out there and he just started walking. He adored the night he was wandering in. The downpour had stopped abruptly, leaving a fresh scent in the air so intoxicating it stirred a sad smile on his face. The cold commanded him to light up and blow. He wandered ever forward because backward was left behind, trudging on an endless path of wet gravel…
Until that night he never paid attention to how hypnotizing the crunching sound of gravel under his feet can be. Crunch-crunch-crunch…
The cold night, the quality of the dark, the drowsy after-rain, tears tumbling off the tips of leaves, that lingering scent, and the crunch-crunch-crunch. It’s turned out to be the perfect combination to melancholy.
He was seeking something. You can’t walk without knowing where you should end up, even if you don’t exactly know the name of the place you’re going to. But you’re always walking, make no mistake about it. We all are. And he was walking to something.
Was it a mistake? he thought. Was it a mistake to give it away? Was it a mistake to just let it go and deal with what would come afterwards the best he could?
is it a mistake to do the right thing? Is kindness untrustworthy? Is willingness suspicious? Is to love condemned?
But in the end, he had lost it… Gave it to one who needed it more than him. Because it was the right thing. Because he saw no other way. Because he can’t be someone other than himself. Because otherwise he’d die.
No regrets. No thanks needed. But then again you don’t get thanks when you give something without being asked, or without them knowing it, because you live in a world of give and take. There will always be a question mark trailing behind when you give without taking, and it’s a question mark filled with sharp and jagged little question marks on its surface. Funny little bugger that haunts for meaning.
But knowing isn’t understanding, and he saw no point in answering when all you’d get is knowing. You can expect an answer but you can only keep it as an expectation, never absolution. Why? You’re not him.
And now he’s out wandering away bare-footed, looking for something. He didn’t mind the cold. He didn’t mind the dark. He didn’t mind the emptiness around him. Didn’t even mind the funny look people gave him when he slid past. They could see how unnatural he was, because he walked in and out of their lives without something every man should have. Occasionally they’d give him water to slake his thirst, then closed the door to let him back on his way. He was missing something and no one would stay long enough to find out why. Difference forced indifference.
What could he’d done but walk on?
He wasn’t looking to replace what he’d given away, for they were two completely different things, and each doesn’t even begin to compare to the other, though equally valuable.
He was looking for a round door in a world filled with square doors. It’s possible that there is no round door to begin with, but the idea of a round door kept his bare-footed steps on the wet gravel path, on a night so melancholic you could make a song out of it without even trying…
Crunch-crunch-crunch was all he could hear. You will hear it too when you’re him.
IN THE CLEARING
By Tomas Soejakto
June 15th, 2007
She reached the edge of the cluster of trees and into the tear-shaped clearing on the hill, gloomy under the starry dome of night. There was no moon tonight but the spread of grass was shimmering with some silent light anyway. She could barely make out anything because the starry sky was actually brighter than the clearing before her, but there’s enough to recognize the figure of a lean man sitting quietly in the middle of the clearing, looking out into the ocean far ahead. She went for him with her bare feet grazing soft rustles beneath her. She felt as calm as night and light as air.
He had his dark grey parka spread out for him to sit on, and there was a space for her beside him, as if he knew all along she’d come down there for him. But of course she’d come, because they were the only two people there on that small, crescent-shaped island, stranded in each other’s consciousness for God knows how long now… They were trapped there willingly, and rejoiced in each other’s company, for they needed no other but themselves, at least until the time comes.
“What are you doing?” said the girl.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Then let me help you.”
“please do.”
She sat on the space of parka left for her and looked at the solemn face of the young man beside her. His face looked neither young or old, with thick, dark hair that seemed too heavy for the wind to blow. Some indescribable sadness hung on his expression all the time, yet she knew that that same face could light up and then he’d seem like the most carefree child in the world. She loved his face dearly.
He’d come here to rescue her without really knowing exactly how to get her out, but she thanked him nonetheless. She didn’t mind being stranded on the crescent island forever as long as he’s there too.
“The ocean is beautiful,” said the young man, “but there’s too much noise, so–”
“So you came here,” interrupted the girl. “I know. It’s getting to me too.”
The silence that followed was confusing but understandable. She knew he had so much that he wanted to tell her, because she felt exactly the same way. She couldn’t say all these things because, despite her supple and open nature, she’s still only a girl. But his reasons eluded her. This connection between them was evident and powerful, yet he concealed it beneath a thin surface of ice; always there but far away. Secrets. There’re secrets.
After some time (they literally had all the time in the world) the girl asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about you,” said the man, his eyes still solemnly fixed forward on the dancing quicksilvers far away. Then he said, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking about you too.”
“I came here to take you back, but forgot that little thing called ‘how’. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. I feel like we should set something straight before we could get to that part where you bravely carried me away on your valiant steed.” (They laughed) “This… ‘thing’…Do you know what it is?”
“I know what it is,” the man said. And then there was silence again. The girl was trembling with the wild beating of her own heart. The thin ice was on the verge of breaking, and she could barely contain herself knowing that the young man sitting next to her seemed to want to break the ice. And there’d finally be nothing left between us, the girl thought. She blushed with the idea, and couldn’t sit still.
“It’s so hard getting to you,” the man finally said, surprising her. “We’re sitting side by side but we’re also worlds apart. I can’t do this alone, you know. Nobody can reach another person on their own. The other person must do the same thing. If I cover half the distance to get to you, you should cover the other half.” He looked embarrassed by what he’d just said. Presently he confessed, “I feel like this is not something people should say to another… But I have to say it.”
“No it’s not,” said the girl, “but I think I know what you mean, only… there’s more to this…”
The man sighed and let out a snicker. “We’re being ‘deep’ here, you know.”
“Yeah,” said the girl, and they chuckled at the idea, and came to silence again.
Finally the man turned to look at her, reflections of quicksilvers danced in his troubled eyes. He said, “I won’t give up on you, that’s all I know I should do. I think I care for you too much to let go, even if it means I have to help you find… another… to make you happy. That’s my first half of the distance and I can’t seem to find away to go farther than that, for now…”
“Why?”
“We’re not that different, you and me. But we’re not that similar either. There’s lots of things that I’ll be willing to do to get to you, but there’s just as many that I won’t do. That’s where we’re stuck.”
“I think I can accept that.”
“I think you can’t. In time it’ll become a problem.”
She was getting agitated by his cynicism. “We’ll have problems. We’ll deal with it. You and me together. But don’t be like this. You’re not doing what you said you’d do. You’re giving up on me.”
“I’m not giving up on you. I just want you to be happy,” the man said plainly.
“Then take another step!” she said, barely restraining her drive to shout it into his thick skull.
He’s taken aback and looked deeply into her words. She’s right, of course. He was just scared out of his wits. She’s scared too, but she’s not willing to be scared all by herself.
The girl took his hand in hers and said. “Just one step at a time, okay? We’ll do it together.” And when she couldn’t think of a better way to convince him she said, “If you’re giving up on me, then I’m giving up on you too. As long as we do it together. Okay? Everything. Together!”
And then she curled her face into a frown, as if thinking of some difficult way to say the most difficult thing, but then she gave it up and instead said–with a glowing smile:
“I should very much liked to see you happy.”
He looked at her and smiled in return. “I should very much liked to see me happy too.”
She laughed at the joke, and he laughed at the joke. It was evident to her from the very beginning of their unique friendship that he was a greatly disturbed and unhappy person. In some weird way his heart was opened to her and she found many things in it spoken to her in silence. It was all felt but never said. He was always misunderstood and she misunderstood him perfectly.
They both exchanged meaningful looks and smiles, and they held each other’s hands all the more tighter. There was deep passion there, but more evident than that there was a great and soft love. The man laid back on his parka and the girl followed, and they laid down together and watched the stars winking and twinkling until dawn took over, meanwhile talking about all the things that they could talk about while they can still talk about them.
Because time is always on the move. And it’s not moving backwards.
June 8th, 2007
Taken from: “Tips & Tricks on How To Die Poor and Alone”
by Rahadian Noor ← beware of this guy.!
“The biggest problem in this universe is nobody helps each other.”
- Anakin Skywalker, Star Wars - Episode 1: The Phantom Menace
(Warning: If you proceed, things might get uncomfortable for you. You might want to NOT read this and proceed to more… CHEERY blog sites. Otherwise, dig in!)
Case 2038538: The People versus Rahadian Noor, a poor and lonely fucker.
“Mr. Noor, your defense?”
Your honor, dear ladies and gentlemen of the court…
What does it really mean, ‘TO HELP’? What does it take – inside our hearts – to help someone? Is it nobility? Is it passion? Is it willingness? Is it selflessness? Is there such a THING as being selfless?
Exhibit 1:
Honorable people of the court: In a conversation between two friends, not long ago, one of them revealed to the other that he needed a job. So the second guy decided to help him. He got the job for this first guy and immediately asked for a form of ‘thank you’. It was a simple, innocent request: a nice dinner. The second guy thought he didn’t want the first guy to owe him anything so this is the most innocent way to do it.
Greed? No. It’s called GETTING EVEN.
(At this point the whole courtroom was filled with murmurs, and people shift in their seats.)
Exhibit 2:
Your honor: A promotional manager called a production house and was asked to do a video profile for his company. The production team was summoned for a meeting with the manager’s boss to talk about money. Before the meeting the manager asked the team for a simple ‘fee’ because he got them the job, and they agreed. The price they proposed to the boss was a marked-up price. The project went smoothly, though without the ‘fee’, the production team wouldn’t have had the project to begin with. The manager would’ve made sure of that because… why would somebody help somebody for NOTHING, right? EVERYBODY does that anyway, so why not him?
Sneaky? No. NECESSITY.
“I OBJECT!!!” (Somebody shouted from behind, I think it was the bailiff.)
“OVERRULED!!!” (This is the judge. He seemed uncomfortable with this call, though)
Exhibit 3:
Distinguished members of the jury: In another situation, a woman noticed that her maid had been acting terribly down lately, but the maid didn’t say anything and continued to do her job. Her gloomy disposition soon affected her work and the woman got terribly disturbed. She was losing sleep at night because she kept thinking of ways to help her maid. Finally she asked what was going on and it turned out the maid’s son was in trouble in the city and needed an amount of money that she couldn’t provide. The woman thought, ‘Oh, why didn’t you just say so?” She was wealthy, so it wasn’t a big deal and she helped her maid. Afterwards things picked up and she could sleep well again.
Noble? No. SLEEPING PILLS.
“YOU’RE FRICKIN’ NUTS!!! (This is one of the jury, automatically breaking her court mandate and was taken away immediately. I knew her. In fact I was talking about her. She’s THE WOMAN.)
Oh, I’m sorry. Have I said something WRONG? Did I NOT understand about something? Are we NEVER like this? Did none of these EVER happened? You’re NOT one of these people? You’ve never BEEN one of these people? Were you REALLY ALWAYS helping people because they needed it? Were you really doing them simply because it’s RIGHT, and not because everyone TOLD you it’s right? Were you really aiming for a selfless good deed? Are you SURE that you’re being idiotically right?
(IDIOTICALLY RIGHT: Doing the right thing because it’s right and NOT because everybody tells you that it’s right. It should’ve been called ‘IDEOLOGICALLY RIGHT’ or even ‘RELIGIOUSLY RIGHT’, but I was forced to change it because so many people seemed to laugh at this concept, some of them laughed behind my back…)
You must think I’m naive, childish, insensible and stupid. And you must not like me very much right now. You must think I’m highly inconsiderate of your feelings, mostly because I didn’t hesitate to express something uncomfortably true right to your faces. We know it’s the truth but we ever-oh-so-often ignored it anyway, because we avoided being naive, childish, insensible and stupid like me. Oh no. I’m not naive. I’m just uncomfortably honest. Do you know what that is?
(UNCOMFORTABLY HONEST: Being honest under the VERY definition of honesty and NOT in the way people told you about honesty. Some people tried being uncomfortably honest and they all died poor and alone. Nobody visited their graves because people didn’t like being told that they’re ‘doing it wrong’. Or maybe people DID visit their graves just so they could yell to their headstones about how they’re wrong about them ‘doing it wrong’. Get it? No? me neither…)
There are superheroes in comicbooks who practise this concept. Wouldn’t it be nice if there were superheroes in real life? Flying around, saving lives at the cost of their own? I don’t think so, because then we’d be more spoiled and self-centered than we already are now. We’d just be chillin’ away, drinking juice, while watching superheroes flying around and doing our work for us. Sooner or later life would’ve lost its gist and we’d be better of dead.
All those things above? Been there done that. All of them and more. I’m one of you too. I’m just not afraid to show what I look like without my mask. (Oh WOW! Have I made things REEEALLY uncomfortable now, huh?)
I rest my case, your honor.
(The judge loudly stroke his mallet.) “BAILIFF! TAKE HIM AWAY! TAKE ALL HIS MONEY AND TURN ALL HIS FRIENDS AGAINST HIM, THAT IS IF THEY DIDN’T ALREADY DO THAT BY NOW! THEN KILL HIM! NO, WAIT… I’LL KILL THE FUCKER MYSELF!”
p.s. On the whole ‘masks’ thing? Yeah, that’s a whole other story, people. Get ready to be MORE uncomfortable in the future!
p.s.s. Of course, I wasn’t just trying to be an SOB. And to prove it, I propose a solution. But that’s another story too.
(Narrated by a booming voice with an English accent – preferably Sean Connery, Bill Nighy, Hugh Grant, Hugh jackman, Hugh Hefner or any other famous Hughs. Saucy, a bit naughty, but gets the job done.)
(By the way, Hugh Jackman is actually Australian, but he’ll do. And Hugh Hefner’s not English, but he’s old and famous. Filthy rich too…)
(Oh, and Sean’s Scottish!)
we hereby presents THE METAPHOR THAT BUILT THE UNIVERSE!!!
Everyone agreed that there is meaning to every single thing created in existence. Everyone agreed that there is purpose. Even irony (irony is fun. I love irony!). So I’ll say that it should be fitting that existence was also built upon metaphors.
From the very beginning of time man has tried ever so fiercely to create order and suppress chaos. Man tried to make order – they claimed – so life can be understood and lived much easier. I’ll say it is ironic that man actually created order simply to SUPPRESS chaos. Nothing more. What’s more ironic is the thin line that constantly exists between order and chaos.
Now:
Who is Adam? (What a moronically easy question, right? WRONG!)
Adam is the first man. Doh! Even a drunken grandma knows that! God created Adam to inhabit His Paradise, because a Paradise without a witness is a Paradise without purpose, because EVERYTHING has purpose. God then created Eve so Adam didn’t have to experience Paradise all by himself. Eve existed so they could argue about the beauty of their celestial Home and learned from each other. Thus came language. Then sex was created. Sex was created so we learn to have fun. But then children were created to get you to understand responsibility in having fun, thus concocting infinite causes and effects which, in time, created condoms.
But WHAT is Adam? (See how the rabbit hole deepens?)
Adam DID exist. So did Eve. I believed it. But once in a while you come to the realization that this is just another form of order man tried to put upon mankind. Faith put aside, Adam is basically a concept. An idea. A metaphor. Here’s the skinny, gang: EVERYONE IS ADAM TO HIS/HER DESCENDANTS. EVERYTHING HAS A BEGINNING, AND OUR PARENTS IS OUR BEGINNING. Who created you? God? Yes. Now put aside your faith and think again. WHO CREATED YOU?
Again, everything that was created has a purpose and, again, the basic purpose of everything created is to put order to chaos. Communication is a form of order, which later evolved into Language; a higher form of order. The food chain is another. Love is a form of chaos, and man suppresses it with marriage. ‘Kamasutra’ is also a form of order (And to think it was an exciting book!)
Every form of art and science is mankind’s battle to retain order. Man meticulously (and ridiculously) created a name for everything in this universe down to the smallest cracked atom (“Sub-atomic particle”, for example. Sounds cool, huh?). This neverending tingle to name stuff’s like an obsession, you know? More like POSSESSED to me…
And then there’s religion. Now, where do religions come from? WHY was it created? Religion was set upon man so order could rein. But I seem to be having trouble witnessing TRUE ORDER, even with religions around. So this idea is a bust! All I can come up with – AGAIN – is that religion (and everything else) was created to SUPPRESS CHAOS.
But I’m not making sense. How can the universe be built upon metaphors? This is RIDICULOUS. Yeah? Well so’s your FACE, man!
So supposedly everything has meaning. Metaphorical meaning. So what’s the meaning of stars? “They represent the height of imagination, which is infinite”.
Why did Cain killed Abel? “Because nobody’s perfect”.
Why is there Sin? “To avoid things from getting dull”.
Why do living things eat? “Because there’s something to be gained from the loss of others”.
Why do our lives revolve around money? “Because everything needs something”.
What’s with war? “Knowledge is power and power is everything, and everything needs something”.
(Are you getting the hang of this yet?)
How about the metaphorical meaning of death? “So you don’t wander aimlessly in life”.
The deal behind men and women? “To drill into your thick skull that there’s TWO SIDES to everything”.
Why do I have to get married? “Because if you don’t you’ll disturb the space-time fucking continuum”…
Get real, man. You have imagination. USE IT to suppress chaos, but use it also to QUESTION order. Without our so-called order, mankind would perish. But without imagination, mankind would NEVER BE. Without imagination we would’ve been stuck with Adam. No Eve (thus no missing set of ribs). No Apple of Knowledge sold by a crafty Lucifer appropriately dressed as a snake (the FIRST salesman, ladies and gents!). No Earth. No fish. No T-Rex. No women flinging clubs and running around naked. No wheels. No dolphins. No Peewee Herman. No museums. No flash sticks. No barbecue sauce. No tattooes and piercings. No Friendster. No 108” plasma teevee. No chicken and egg joke. No women flinging cellphones and running around naked. No lawyers…
You know what? Maybe we’re better off without imagination… Go ahead and be boring, that’s the cool way to live… It’ll be the height of the 21st century! Maybe we should start a discussion group to find ways to kill imagination! Wait… no… the very IDEA of a discussion group requires imagination, so… I guess we’re doomed…
So I used BIG words. Fine. You can handle that. So your head hurts a bit. Aspirin! But why am I being such a dick?
Metaphorically? Because I LIKE SPICE!
Or was that rhetorical…? No? Ironic…?
…now MY head hurts…
June 2nd, 2007
My family and I moved to the house we’re living in now – if I’m not mistaken – in 1991. There was a small grocery store across the road and several houses to the right from ours. It was owned by a couple who had a baby boy. Everyone who lived in several blocks radius went to them to shop. It was quieter back then. The store was thriving because they were the only one selling groceries. I can still remember the day I moved in and went to that store. I bought a cold Fanta poured into a plastic bag and I sipped it with a straw as I skipped my way home. It was a hot day.
Some seven years or more ago, a shop-house complex was built right across the road from our house. Small businesses came and went. A barbershop, a cell-phone service center, a comic book rental, playstation rentals, noodles shop, a Xerox, and a lot more than I can remember had tried their luck in this complex. One grocery store at the corner began its business and stuck there right to this day and haven’t shown any signs of turning over like the others.
The neighborhood gradually became more crowded as more houses were built and renovated and built some more. Children grew and the complex was filled day and night with guys and girls aimlessly hangin’ or chillin’. A small supermarket emerged near the intersection. A sports center with a huge hangar, a tennis court and a swimming pool was built close from home, taking only a five-minute walk to get there.
Suddenly the small grocery store has competition. Lots of competition. I could feel how bad their business was going to get from the very first time the store across my house was opened. I don’t understand what happened. I don’t understand why and how it happened. It happened. The small store, along with the family running it, was in more and more trouble as the years passed.
The new grocery store, being just a road-cross away, became my family’s new frequent visits, abandoning the old one. Abandoning the couple. We grew apart, in a way.
I can only watch as this nice couple struggled to keep their business going. At first I noticed their store became emptier and emptier. They’re selling less and less products. And then they switched to selling just vegetables. This last six months I saw them making a living selling gado-gado. By this time their store had been renovated into a two-storey building. The thing that moved me the most is their supposedly optimistic attitude, mostly noticed by the renovation, and their passion for children (They had a new baby almost every two years). I lost count, though. I think they have 5 now…
I used to come by to their store to buy stuff every day. We used to buy everything from them. The closest I get to them nowadays are the times I passed their store on the way to work and said hi. The couple are also getting thinner and thinner.
I heard from my mother that they’re moving out. They’re going to sell the store and move somewhere to somehow start over. But it’s been months and they’re still there. They’re still as nice as ever to me, and a part of me felt very guilty for it.
The man from this grocery store is a slender and very simple-looking man who’s never said much. He’s calm and takes his time in doing things. He’s also quite religiously-devoted, and his family’s fate doesn’t seem to change that. This man had sad, accepting eyes. I’ve seen him smiled and laughed several times and they were nice-looking smiles and laughs.
And then one quiet night I returned from work and found him sitting alone in the dark in front of his store. His rickety frame was leaning a little to the left, knees close together. He was rubbing the palm of his left hand slowly with the thumb of his right, with elbows resting on his knees. He was staring blankly to the ground in front of him with those sad eyes. He was still as a stone. He no longer looked accepting. He looked lost and desperate.
I wanted to say good night as I was about to pass him, but – noticing what’s going on – I changed my mind. Right then his predicament was made clear to me. He’d lost. It was his life and he’d lost. And he’s bringing his family down with him. And he knew it. And it was all his fault because he doesn’t know who else’s it was, and because blaming others was wrong and useless…
When I got home I entered my room, sat down and stared blankly at my desk for like ten minutes. It’s not like I was thinking of a way to help him. No. I’m a selfish man. I was thinking about myself. I was thinking about how to make this situation easier on my conscience because I was already losing more sleep than necessary… The thing about living life is that you turn into a villain every once in a while, every one of us, even when the people around you don’’t realize it. It happens because it’s impossible to live life as just one complete person… You gotta be at least two…
Sekitar satu minggu yang lalu saya bermimpi. Bukan sebuah mimpi yang aneh, cuma tentang keseharian yang biasa-biasa saja. Saya sudah tidak ingat detail-detail di dalamnya, hilang begitu saja tepat ketika saya terbangun. Tapi setiap mimpi selalu meninggalkan kesan, dan kesan itulah yang masih tertinggal sampai sekarang.
Saya bermimpi semuanya baik-baik saja. Semua yang salah, semua yang seharusnya tidak terjadi, semua yang justru saya inginkan untuk terjadi, ada di dalam mimpi ini. Semuanya menjadi baik-baik saja. Di dalam mimpi itu saya merasa bahagia karena saya bisa membereskan semuanya, karena semuanya berakhir sesuai keinginan saya. Saya mendapatkan semua yang saya inginkan.
Waktu saya akhirnya terbangun, kesan itu tertinggal dan menguap ketika saya sadar kalau ini cuma mimpi.
Minggu-minggu terakhir ini sangat berat untuk saya. Kejadian demi kejadian membebani batin saya sampai saya sempat gila dibuatnya. Ketika itu terjadi, saya membuat satu keputusan yang kurang bijaksana, dan keadaanpun berubah menjadi semakin buruk.
Sekarang mungkin semuanya tampak seolah kembali ke keadaan semula. Saya ingin semuanya kembali seperti semula supaya kali ini saya bisa mengambil keputusan yang lebih baik. Tapi tentu saja itu semua cuma ilusi. Keadaan tidak akan pernah sama lagi, dan semua kesempatan yang telah saya lewatkan tidak akan saya dapatkan kembali.
Saya tidak akan pernah bisa memahami kenapa saya mengalami semua ini. Tapi saya menerimanya. Saya harus menerimanya karena saya tidak mampu berbuat apa-apa untuk merubahnya. Maksud saya, saya bisa merubahnya, tapi saya tidak akan melakukannya. Tidak sekarang.
Saya sudah siap merubahnya. Selalu siap. Tapi dalam hal ini, keteguhan hati saja tidaklah cukup. Apakah kamu tahu, apa yang saya bicarakan? Apakah kamu seperti saya? Apakah dalam hal ini saya sendirian?
Tentu tidak. Saya tidak sendirian. Banyak yang mengalami apa yang saya alami. Tapi lucunya, kami semua yakin kalau kami sendirian. So… it can’t hurt for you to be a bit nicer. We’d appreciate it…
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