Raharja

Raharja sedang melukis. Ia bermain-main dengan warna dan tak peduli pada sekitar.

Hari itu sudah hampir malam, namun jalanan Braga masih sibuk dengan orang-orang yang sibuk. Mereka berjalan-jalan tanpa tujuan pasti, celingak-celinguk kiri kanan entah mencari apa. Tak tahu ada berapa banyak orang yang berhenti sejenak di tiang-tiang lampu dan pintu-pintu kafe yang mereka anggap menarik. Satu demi satu mereka berganti gaya. Kadang menatap kamera, kadang tak menghadap kamera walau semua orang tahu kalau mereka sadar penuh akan keberadaan kamera. Aku tersenyum geli. Tapi itulah mereka, tapi itulah kita.

Raharja yang kutemui waktu itu adalah seorang pelukis jalanan. Kalau dikira-kira, usianya 50 tahunan. Dandanannya eksentrik, khas seniman. Ia dan lukisan-lukisannya duduk di depan toko masakan Jepang. Waktu itu jarinya menjepit sebatang rokok. Sepengetahuanku rokok yang seperti itu pasti bermerk Dji Sam Soe. Bapak dulu menyulut rokok yang sama. Dan aku suka melihat bapak merokok. Lalu aku rindu bau rokok yang kerap jadi kesukaan bapak.

Raharja duduk di sana, ada seorang juru parkir yang juga duduk-duduk di dekatnya. Ia menggambar garis-garis penting dan tak penting. Satu per satu garis-garis yang penting itu dibiarkannya tinggal di sana. Sementara yang lain, yang tak penting barangkali, dihapusnya tanpa sisa. Ia menghapusnya dengan bersegera, sampai pada akhirnya yang tertinggal di kanvas adalah yang penting-penting saja.

Kutanya Raharja soal garis-garis tak penting tadi. Mengapa ia repot-repot menggambarnya kalau toh pada akhirnya harus dihapus juga. Dia berhenti sejenak. Terkekeh tanpa lelucon. Barangkali ia mengejek. Barangkali ia tak percaya bagaimana pertanyaan semacam itu bisa keluar dari mulutku. Tapi tak masalah, karena aku juga tak merasa diejek. Dan bukankah terkadang ada hal-hal baik yang lahir dari ketidakpercayaan?

Pertanyaanku tak dijawabnya. Ia tetap sibuk dengan lukisan-lukisannya. Dasar seniman! Tapi aku juga tak terganggu dengan diamnya Raharja. Lalu aku menyadari bahwa garis-garis tak penting itulah yang membikin sejumlah garis menjadi penting. Tanpa garis-garis tak penting, garis-garis penting itu hanya akan menjadi garis biasa. Barangkali tanpa garis-garis yang hanya digambar untuk dihapus, garis-garis penting tak akan pernah tahu bahwa ia hadir untuk menjadi rangka atas lukisan-lukisan Raharja.

Yang kulihat Raharja tetap melukis. Ia bercerita tentang ia yang mau menjadi pelukis sejak kanak. Ia tak pernah menyebutkan apa yang membikinnya mau untuk menjadi pelukis dan apa yang membikin lukisan menjadi begitu penting untuknya. Lantas aku teringat tentang ucapan seorang penulis. Katanya apa-apa yang penting itu akan tetap penting walaupun tak diimbuhi apa-apa. Dia penting dengan sendirinya, penting dengan apa adanya. Barangkali Raharja juga seperti itu.

Aku mengalihkan pandang ke salah satu lukisan Raharja. Ia menceritakan sekumpulan ibu-ibu yang sedang memanen padi. Kalau tidak 5, jumlahnya pasti 6 orang. Langitnya dilukis senada dengan warna padi-padi yang sudah menguning. Aku jadi bertanya-tanya, apa padi yang siap dituai itu memang menguning seperti itu? Setahuku warnanya memang kekuningan. Tapi kuningnya bukan kuning keemas-emasan yang dilukis Raharja. Entah bagaimana cara membuat warna kuning emas seperti itu.

Raharja diam. Ia tak menyadari pertanyaan bodoh yang berputar-putar dalam kepalaku. Tapi ia tahu aku sedang mengamat-amati salah satu lukisannya. Sejenak, matanya ia tikamkan lekat-lekat pada lukisan yang kupertanyakan kewajarannya itu. Namun Raharja tetap diam. Yang tak diam hanyalah jari-jarinya yang tetap melukis walau diperberat dengan sejumlah cincin batu akik. Dia juga memakai kalung warna perak. Entah perak sungguhan, entah perak-perakan. Ah, peduli amat. Aku cuma suka jaket kulitnya. Ia terlihat serasi dengan rambut panjang Raharja yang sudah memutih.

Raharja pelukis dan aku menulis. Kami sama-sama mengarang. Kami mengarang kesenangan kami masing-masing. Lalu aku paham bahwa padi yang dilukis dengan warna kuning keemasan itu adalah karangan Raharja yang entah bagaimana caranya menjadi kesenangan buatnya.

Aku memilih-milih lukisan Raharja yang ingin kubeli agar aku punya sebuhul kesenangan yang sempat lahir dari padanya. Raharja memilihkan lukisan bunga tulip. Aku sendiri tak tahu alasannya. Ia seolah tak mengizinkanku untuk tahu karena ia tak bilang apa-apa. Lukisan itu biasa saja. Ada 8 kuntum bunga tulip. Warnanya ada 3: merah, kuning dan jambon (merah muda). Batangnya menyatu dengan daunnya. Sama-sama warna hijau tua, biarpun tak tua-tua amat. Benar-benar biasa, walaupun kata ibuku lukisan itu terlihat seperti asli. Tapi kawan, aku terlalu sering menyukai hal yang biasa-biasa saja.

xxx

Pertengahan Mei ini aku kembali mencari Raharja. Jalanan Braga makin penuh sesak. Maklumlah, hari itu hari libur walaupun masih hari Kamis. Orang-orang lalu-lalang sambil berfoto di sana-sini. Tanganku memegang kanvas yang kubawa dari rumah. Aku ingin Raharja melukis di atasnya. Lukisan yang ganjil, lukisan yang samar-samar atau bahkan lukisan yang gelap dan suram. Tapi sampai hari ini, aku tak bisa menemukan Raharja.

Lukisan Raharja yang dulu kubeli itu kutempel di dinding tepat di hadapan tempat tidur. Kutempel begitu saja tanpa bingkai. Permukaannya kasar dan aku gemar menyentuhkan telapak tanganku ke atasnya. Bila aku menatapnya lama-lama, aku pasti terjebak dalam kesenangan yang tak pernah meluntur. Pasti Tuhan memberikannya untukku karena aku sering lupa bahwa kesenangan adalah jatah buat setiap orang yang masih hidup.

Tulisan ini juga ada di Kumparan.

Work

I realize that work never gets as simple as Rihanna’s Work. Well yea, we know that song. And yes, it isn’t about working literally -that song talks about having sex. But having sex is verb phrase too. Ha.

Talking about work, it doesn’t require long time for me to love my job. I always love my job, I love working. Being someone useless is my biggest fear. That’s why I have no problem at pushing my self to work harder than others. I even got overtime until 1.00 AM at my first day working on here. Give me ton of worksheets or abnormal overtime, I’ll face everything fiercely. I can be a loyal cyborg at work. And yes, I always be.

But lately work has been completely exhausting. It’s kinda ironic because I just got promotion. I’ve indeed still been on transition phase -someone I replace hasn’t fully resigned yet. But I think it’s normal and it has to be like this. Well, unless you’re fired, you have to finish your works first -including knowledge and responsibility transfer- before leaving the company.

This promotion is totally promising, kinda top managerial. I know I’m not working on giant company, it’s still a startup. But even we’re still being startup, I’m absolutely sure that we have big potential. We’ve earned a lot. While lot of startup companies rely themselves on investors, we make money. We’ve been multinational company. There’re some problems here, but I completely agree that everything alive has problems.

What makes me exhausted is more like insecurity problem. Everything about this job just feels too much. I think my insecurity is logical. I don’t have compatible background. I’m not someone with high education degree. I have problems at communication and temper -which become crucial at leadership. I struggle with my bad habit, something I still can’t make a deal with. And trust me, compared to another candidate I look like a piece of joke.

A few days ago, I heard a story about someone I’ve respected. He’s such a multiple leader. This story is about everything he has to face at leading a specific area. In this area he doesn’t begin something new, he relays a leadership someone started before. And you know, when you don’t begin something new, but just continue what has already existed, people will compare you to your precursors. Your burden won’t be your job only, but people expectation too. It’s so normal if you’re being underestimated because of it. But what makes it awesome is there’re some moments – not kinda good moment I guess – that precisely become his leadership affirmation. And right now, it gets me sure this leadership  is indeed gave for him.

This fact should encourage me. But instead of being embraced, I just feel worse. That’s his case, not mine. What if mine was an anomaly of his case? What if I became a reverse? I prayed before taking this decision. And yes there was something spinning around in my mind that told me to take it. But what if this thing wasn’t coming from him I pray to? What if it was just my mind? What if it was a wrong thing? What if I shouldn’t take it because it wasn’t for me? It looks promising indeed, but the fact is I don’t have enough influence here. Those candidates look like can take over everything. It even feels like I really want to shoot someone right in his head because he doesn’t even report me anything he works on. I’m a flexible person, but I’m not God who knows everything he did without saying it all.

And a day after my boss told me that I was just doing something unnecessary -though I thought that was him who asked me to do it- I accidentally admit something. I guess I just make everything I don’t have as a golden calf which becomes a barrier for me to experience something new.

What if my case was indeed different from his (that multiple leader) case? Well, what is wrong about being different? What if this leadership or position or job or whatever was something I had to earn not take? What if it was a time for me to pull up my big-girl pants* and make a deal with it?

Then yes, this fact just got me a question: How can this leadership work if instead of making this person give me a report, the only thing I can do is creating a will to shoot him right in his head? Hell.

I think it isn’t about them who refuse me, it’s about me who can’t stand up for myself. It isn’t about something I don’t have, it’s about the wrong perspective. I guess it isn’t my boss who becomes wishy-washy about his order, it’s me who can’t choose what matters the most. It isn’t about being passionate anymore, it’s just about getting jealous. Something only produces bitterness, causes me to feel even live small. Another hell.

And yea, it is true that I could be wrong. It could be just what I wanted not what he wanted. But above all those horrible possibilities, I guess there’s one thing I have to keep: He has been good God to me. If I had been wrong for taking this job, as much as I’m sure I already asked him, I’m sure he would tell me about it.

*Pulling up big-girl pants is kinda idiom that is used to say “Grow up, move on and be mature!” A complete package, yea.

Not Just on Sunday

I suck at eliminating space, I’m good at keeping the distance.

Looking back on the last conversation I had with this person, I couldn’t help myself from having this line spinning around in my mind. We talked a lot, we heard so much. But somehow, those “a lot” and “so much” I mentioned aren’t that much for each of us. We took our portion, set ourselves to the best role we chose to play. I knew there was a space I never tried to eliminate. I was saved by the existence of that distance.

And I was thinking about connection. Did I push myself to build the connection through the distance I kept? Could it be built? Would it be something sensible? Could it be long last? Or would it happen only when I filled it by telling everything that drove me nuts even when I only thought about it? Would it be fair if I held back something I planned to say before? Could stories I let this person know indeed become a bridge I should to build?

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I came to Bandung around 2013. I got a job I had never thought before. Not so typical my job, but I decided to nod and throw a simply yes. It took a year to realize the existence of these people. Did it make me excited? I’m not sure about it. But I guess my uncertain answer defines the level of excitement I reached that time. Ha.

First, I came there only on Sunday –surely if I wasn’t tired or lazy enough. And this “there” refers to church.  OK, you can judge me now.

Church nowadays is more about connection, they break their walls and let people stay there, not just attend. I think it’s such a great idea. Mindful concept and completely human.

As an effort to keep being update with how nowadays church has been, I threw my sight to any sources that told me how to be an ideal church person. It looked friendly and threatening all at once.

I’ve never wanted to be a church person, I’ve never had been interested to spend the most of my time doing church things. A push to get connected using their way was a thing I eschewed the most. But as a human, there’s always something inside me that requires to be a part of something. To get connected to one-or-two thing(s), even though it isn’t the huge one.

I heard a lot about sharing and communication here, and these things refer to talking, about being open to one another. But, what if I wanted to get connected without really talking?

I often felt unsafe about telling anything personal. It usually came like this: You completely had something to say, you even picked someone to talk to in your mind. You were sure this person could be someone like your cigarette break friend, someone who wouldn’t detach you because of the whole horrible things you had and got.

But even though we were only got separated not more than 30 cm, even though I couldn’t find someone else around this person or no matter how hard (and ridiculous) I trained myself to talk to, I still couldn’t say it. Quoting from a tiny letter I subscribe, I talked a lot but didn’t say it all.

And it tore down all the wish to have that so-called-deep-life-talk which became a bridge to connect me to him/her. Then I tried to do it on someone else, and someone else, and someone else with the same ending. I thought I was out of any connections. Err.

I knew I never wanted to bring everything in past as a golden calf that obstructs everything good and new come in to me. But those things always left something disgusting. And somehow, I just wanted to keep it, let it be just mine for a while. I decided not to be so open, not because I didn’t believe in him/her, I just wanted to get connected before letting it be something touchable.

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But the more I tried to understand what exactly sank in, the newer perspective came without pushing. I wasn’t sure how it worked. It simply felt similar to the feeling I got when I headed down to the outdoor space after getting punched by ton of worksheets. A little refreshing but indeed relieving.

I was taught that being connected isn’t always about spending my whole night talking something I’ve dreamed of. I learnt that being a part of something also means not to push myself to be so stick with someone next to or front of me. I learnt that having a real companion isn’t only about having myself in intimate tears -but giving my ears, shutting my mouth up and keeping that thing just be mine a little bit longer.

I wasn’t sure it was right. But to me, it didn’t need to be right, just to be true.

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I was working on these questionable KPI stuffs while thinking of my fear about not getting connected because I haven’t been able yet to be so-called-nowadays-church-person though I admit my needs to be in this circumstance. This inability often got me short, to be honest. But as the same as I’ve moved on everyday into the new place directed by the higher power I often can’t describe, the warmth I even get only by letting myself sit in silence around them, never gets gray to have my back even when the process is being slow and exhausting.

An Embrace

• 

  Here’s where I got this pic

I’ve checked my email every 10 minutes and I haven’t found it. This “it” refers to an escape, a hammer to break a wall that has gotten me overwhelmed.

Maybe you have the similar one. It looks like a messiah, someone who gives his hand to lift you up, to move you into the safer place. You think it isn’t too much. You don’t ask for something glamour, something that makes you’re sprinkled with glitters or sparkles. It’s just something primary. Something that makes you human.

Then you look around and everything scares you. You indeed see no ghost or witch or zombie. But you see everyone looks like on the right path, hustle on their races –while you don’t even know where the hell yourself.

It doesn’t mean you haven’t tried at all. You’ve done a ton of things but you’ve gotten nothing for yourself. You’ve even been patience –but it’s just like waiting for a flying pig. Everything looks so right on others, while so fucked up on you.

Maybe you think you have no way out. Or perhaps what you see is always about someone’s else. You’ve been taught to be like a fruitful tree. You know fruit is never for the tree itself. You have to let people pick and eat it without knowing that it often drives you mental.

To your hands and urges to always put others first, I give my high five. To your secret tears and heavy smiles, I raise my glass. To your battles against fears over the great unknown, I cheer you. To your relinquishment plans and slow steps, I remind you about the love that won’t be undone.

So, to you who have never heard an appropriate thanks, who have never gotten a warm congrats. To you who have always been a backbone, a donor. In case your mind is playing tricks to turn your eyes on Him and giving birth for the lost feeling: You matter. You are important. You are perfectly held. You’re gonna be more than just fine, created to be rad on race and finish. And you’re loved. And I mean it.

Singapore

Hi, can I give you my hi?

I know Singapore can be fun for you. It offers you the youth spirit, excitement of being busy at making a living. It provides you a guilty pleasure of living as jetset. It makes you smile, laugh and awake until night goes completely late. It boosts your mood, your hope to live something better and level up yourself. It makes you alive.

All the business cards they gave me were just caught up in my eyes. I found names, companies, phone numbers, positions, smart and futuristic designs. I still remember how wide my eyes when some of those cards jumped into my hand. I was excited, full of hope. I wanted to tell everyone I got their numbers, they’d love to read and reply my email. The day when I got those cards, it felt better than payday.

But then, I realize what those cards mean. I remember what Seno Gumira wrote about business card. It means fear. Fear about how horrible our bosses when they find we can’t reach the target. Those cards mean the same whisper: “You know how to call me when you need me.” Is it yours? It can be mine too. Those cards mean a corporate which is related to personal purpose yell: “GIVE ME SOME MONEY!” It can be ours.

We have been in it. We can’t stop –because it grows us too. I count it as blessing. It feeds us, it teaches us how to take all responsibilities. It pushes us to be mature. It indeed can’t make us giants, but being a hero doesn’t require being a giant.

So, I want to keep sending my hi every time I see your number. I don’t want to rip those cards, just want to keep them in a closed tiny little box for a while. I want to sip my coffee, turn my phone off and stop worrying about numbers.

But, you know what would be better? If we could sit and talk.

A Switch

I was recently thinking of some little things I almost forgot, some little things I used to neglect.

Life has been completely exhausting lately. It’s funny yet making me feel so stupid to realize that no matter how much the love I give, there’s still someone who’s gonna hurt.

Usually, when things aren’t going right, I love to take some me time. I think I need to take the fresh again after those sacrifices. I think I need to have some space after those broken hearts. When things are going like that, I don’t like to listen to what people say. I feel too exhausted to give the compromise for people. I need myself without anyone around me.

I began this Sunday by doing some church things. I got a schedule to teach at Sunday School at 8.00 AM, so I had to be at church since 7.00 AM. Well, you know, it isn’t easy at all to say something good or anything sweet, or to declare how lovable God has been when life has given you a ton of shits. I thought it was such the right time for me to get some alcohol or cigarettes or whatever to cure just a little bit. But apparently, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t do it because I knew it wouldn’t work. Those things weren’t made to cure and fix a broken heart.

So I sat earlier in church hall, waited for the morning pray. And this person, my not so close friend but friendly and lovely and living with a beautiful heart, just came. He didn’t say anything wise or picked anything from Bible. He just gave me a short stopped by, patted my shoulder and asked me; “How is it going, Mar? Are you good?”

It was just a little thing. It wasn’t a cute little thing that was related to any idioms about cure. It couldn’t relieve my anger and fix my repetitive broken heart. It was just a little thing. But what makes it different: That little thing was like a switch that turned on something I didn’t even know its name but strangely, could connect me to the fresh air I had been looking for. And now, I’m still thankful for that.

 

Christmas

Christmas never came to me as awesome as what Home Alone, Love Actually or any Christmas movies showed me. It always came as the ordinary day, with no sparkle at all.

But no matter how cheesy Christmas according to my view, it always comes. And somehow, I just can’t believe that it is such my 28^th Christmas. Yes, dear, I’m indeed twenty-fucking-eight. Twenty-something phase is almost over. LOL.

And this year, Christmas comes a little bit different. It doesn’t push me to do some rituals I never like. It gives me something I completely need.

This year is rapturous, though it doesn’t give me any fairy tale experiences. What I faced seems boring and fucked up. But apparently –I’ve had simply fun, I did my (terrible) mistakes, I got my (badass) lessons, I decided to bury the hatchet and came home after 9.5 years.

2015 has taught me about the hardest, yet the best part of being kind to myself. All of us want to be drama-less. But no matter how hard we try to eliminate it, drama does exist. It keeps hitting us like an asshole.

Some things just broke my heart this year. I failed in one thing over and over again, got dumped and mistreated, repeated the same mistakes and was disappointing people I didn’t want to.

But apparently, I make the moves on even up as I go. I indeed get angry and feel fucked up in one day, but all I want to do in the next day is just to be happy. Just to be kind to myself.

And surprisingly, the last thing is such a trap. Well yea, what the hell is wrong about being kind to yourself?

To me, being kind to myself isn’t only about treating yourself to affordable stunning clothes, delicious foods, good coffee, all-you-can-buy shopping day, a lazy day, unusual vacations -those things are not wrong, but I just want to do more.

I realize that being kind to myself is also about being brave. I did so many terrible mistakes through my whole life. When I looked back, I found that those mistakes happened because I wasn’t brave enough. I wasn’t brave to take the further step, to say no and to decide. All those mistakes fucked me up. I felt messy, I became insignificant, I turned to be no one.

I know how it feels, that’s why I don’t want to be like that anymore. I will do anything to be significant. I’ll be brave to take the most impossible steps. It’s OK if I have to work the hardest at the office, it is not a big deal if I have no time to take my days off, it’s definitely fine if I have to open the way and take some bullets -because I’m sure everything will be paid off.

But the question is: Did everything change? Hell no.

I touch the sky when my knees hit the ground

Then I heard this song, not only hear, but I listened to. The lyrics are completely badass and the melody is simply stunning. But what becomes cherry on the top is, it sounds different. It sounds like a song that talks to you clearly. It doesn’t talk to you so loud or in mesmerizing-whisper-mode. It sounds normal, but you can’t simply resist it.

This song is talking about surrender. I never knew how to surrender. Life, in my angle, never taught me how to surrender. It taught me to be tough, to fight, to stand still, to elevate myself.

And that’s what I had done. But apparently I got nothing. When I felt like I was so high, was near enough to the life I wished for, I just fell in a shitty way. Then I had to begin again from the very first phase. I simply felt like Sisyphus.

My heart beating, my soul breathing
I found my life when I laid it down
Upward falling, spirit soaring
I touch the sky when my knees hit the ground

These words then turn to be something like  -how to say that- well, the words that surely will come out from my mouth (and hopefully heart too) for having experienced the deepest surrender, but yet known a higher hope. These words are a declaration I’ll declare for laying my life into Himself, for letting Him take the control.

Surrender maybe sounds so cheesy, another form of weakness. It also will make me look so lazy or childish, don’t want to work harder and push myself beyond the limit.

I want to fix everything I ruined. I don’t want to waste His love and brilliant plan in me anymore, I want to make Him proud of me. But apparently, what makes Him proud of me is not my effort: It is my willingness to surrender what I’ve done -see, so no excuse for being lazy, LOL- in Him. I will not find Him by elevating myself to the top, I’ll find Him at a position of surrender -though it means to knock my ego down, to kill my own pride.

I don’t know about you -but what I got is: The whole idea of surrender is not about what I have to do because I have lost, but what I have to do because He has already won my battle.

So, Merry Christmas. Grab a glass of your hot chocolate and feel loved -because He traded heaven to have you again.

Todd dan Marini, Marini dan Todd

Saya tidak tahu apakah pertemuan dengan Todd hari itu hanya sebuah kebetulan atau memang sebentuk keharusan, tapi yang jelas, saya berteman juga dengan Todd.

Saya tidak tahu pasti kapan Etgar Keret menulis Todd. Saya, toh, baru membacanya pagi ini. Di tautan tersebut, saya melihat di bagian akhirnya dicantumkan angka 2013. Tapi saya juga tak ingin tahu kapan sebenarnya tulisan itu dibuat.

Etgar bercerita tentang Todd. Baginya, Todd adalah teman yang baik, barangkali tak sekadar teman, tapi sahabat. Todd, kata Etgar, adalah jenis teman yang bakal kau pilih untuk ada bersamamu dalam rumah yang terbakar atau kapal yang tenggelam. Todd memang orang baik, ia adalah teman yang tak akan meninggalkanmu, bahkan di saat genting, saat ia sebenarnya punya kesempatan buat lari dan menyelamatkan diri sendiri.

Nah, siapa yang tak ingin punya teman seperti Todd?

Tapi kenyataannya, hari itu Etgar dan Todd tak sedang berada dalam rumah yang terbakar maupun kapal yang tenggelam. Mereka sedang duduk di sebuah kafe yang agaknya cukup eksentrik, menikmati susu kedelai sambil berbincang-bincang.

Hari itu Todd meminta satu hal kepada Etgar. Namanya juga teman, meminta tolong dan memberi tolong adalah hal biasa. Lagipula, hal-hal seperti itulah yang membuat kita jadi berteman, bukan?

Tapi apa yang diminta Todd hari itu ibarat pukulan telak buat Etgar. Pukulan yang tepat diarahkan ke perutnya. Kalian pernah dipukul telak di perut? Itu pukulan yang menyusahkan, membikin kepala pening dan kaki lemas. Rasa sakitnya tak cuma di bagian luar. Perutmu, rasanya seperti diperas, tak jarang pula membikin muntah. Apa-apa yang ada di dalam perutmu semacam dikeluarkan secara paksa. Dan paksaan, apapun bentuknya, selalu mahir buat menjadi hal paling memuakkan.

Todd meminta Etgar buat menulis cerita yang membikin perempuan-perempuan tergila-gila dan bercinta dengannya.

Untuk diketahui, ini bukan kali pertama Etgar diminta menulis oleh Todd. Dulu, Todd pernah meminta untuk dibuatkan tulisan yang membikin perempuan menangis. Sekali waktu, ia pernah juga memohon agar Etgar menuliskannya sebuah cerita yang membuat perempuan tertawa.

Etgar seorang penulis. Ia perlu menulis dan menulis sudah pasti jadi kesenangannya. Tapi nyatanya, hari itu, Etgar tak senang saat Todd memintanya untuk menulis.

Etgar bilang kepada Todd bahwa hal ini tak akan berhasil. Tulisan itu berbeda dengan sihir, sulap ataupun hipnotis. Menulis itu tentang berbagi. Tak perlu hal-hal besar, boleh juga hal yang remeh. Ia terkadang juga bisa menjadi hal yang memalukan karena kesanggupannya untuk membuka apa-apa yang tak pernah dilihat mata dan timbul dalam pikiran. Menulis adalah perihal yang intim.

Tapi Todd tak mau tahu. Ia enggan mendengar. Lantas, ia terus memaksa.

Etgar mengiyakan permintaan Todd. Ia pada akhirnya menulis di kamar yang ia sewa selama dua-tiga hari. Tapi Etgar tak bisa menemukan apa-apa yang secara emosional bakal membikin seorang perempuan hilang kendali dan naik ke ranjang untuk tidur bersama Todd. Etgar tak bisa membangun apa-apa buat membangkitkan naluri seksual seseorang. Lagipula, sejak kapan naluri butuh alasan?

Etgar bingung. Ia kepayahan untuk menentukan tulisan seperti apa yang bakal membikin seorang perempuan mau bercinta dengan Todd. Ia memikirkan loyalitas Todd yang bahkan membuatmu tetap merasa beruntung sekali pun sedang berada dalam keadaan genting.

Ia juga berpikir untuk menulis hal sebaliknya. Sebuah cerita yang bakal membuat seorang perempuan berpikir bahwa loyalitas itu adalah sesuatu yang berlebihan. Cerita yang bakal membikin perempuan tadi memutuskan untuk mengikuti kata hati dan tak perlu mencemaskan masa depan. Barangkali cerita yang seperti ini hanya akan membuatnya bercinta dengan Todd, tanpa merisaukan pernikahan. Cerita yang suatu saat akan membuatnya berkata kepada anak laki-laki yang sedang menonton tayangan konferensi pers seorang astronot; “Nak, orang itu adalah ayahmu.”

Etgar memikirkan banyak cerita. Hal-hal yang ia pikir bakal membantu seorang perempuan untuk mengenal Todd.

“Saat perempuan itu bangun, ia tak akan lagi melihat Todd di sebelahnya. Todd sudah pergi begitu ia membuka mata. Tapi ia akan tetap mencium aroma tubuh Todd yang tinggal di sana. Mirip dengan bau air mata anak kecil yang mengamuk di toko mainan,” kira-kira seperti itulah Etgar menulis cerita tentang Todd.

Todd marah atas tulisan Etgar. Ia tak bisa terima waktu Etgar menulis demikian. Ia bahkan membentak Etgar dan berkata bahwa ia menghabiskan uang lebih untuk membeli deodoran yang bekerja 24 jam.

Etgar tak diam, ia menjawab Todd. Katanya, ia sudah menulis cerita yang bagus. Satu-satunya yang harus dilakukan Todd adalah membaca cerita itu sampai selesai. Sebagai orang yang menulis, Etgar pun menangis saat selesai membaca ulang tulisan itu.

Tapi Todd tetap marah. Ia bilang kepada Etgar: Ia tak meminta dibuatkan cerita yang bagus, ia mau cerita yang membikin perempuan tergila-gila dan tidur dengannya.

Ia bilang, cerita yang ditulis Etgar bakal membebaskannya dari kesepian bertahun-tahun. Ia berbeda dengan Etgar. Ia tak punya pasangan. Ia tak punya anak yang bakal melaporkan nilai-nilai sekolahnya dan mengajaknya ke pertemuan orang tua siswa. Yang ia lakukan dalam beberapa malam terakhir adalah berpikir bahwa sebentar lagi Etgar bakal datang dengan tulisan yang sanggup memisahkannya dengan kesendirian yang membikinnya ingin mati.

Todd, pada kenyataannya, tak butuh mahakarya. Ia hanya butuh cerita yang dimulai dengan “Teman saya Todd, meminta saya buat menulis cerita yang membuat perempuan-perempuan ingin bercinta dengannya.” Cerita yang ringan, yang –mungkin- bakal diakhiri dengan gaya postmodern yang keren.

Dan pada akhirnya Etgar mengangguk. Mengiyakan lagi, lantas berkata; “Saya bisa melakukannya. Saya bisa menuliskan cerita yang seperti itu untukmu.”

Saya pun bertemu dengan Todd. Todd yang mirip yang dikenal Etgar. Todd yang juga tak akan meninggalkan saya saat kami sedang terjebak dalam rumah yang terbakar dan kapal yang tenggelam. Tapi, sama seperti Etgar, rumah saya tak terbakar dan kapal saya tak tenggelam.

Hari ini saya bakal bertemu Todd. Isi perut saya sudah keluar semua, saya tak tahu lagi harus memuntahkan apa.

28

I want to give parties to cover the silence, just like Mrs. Dalloway.

Happy birthday.

Lie

It is born because it has to be,

there’s something nasty I can’t show you.

Everything is absorbed through fear and fidgetiness.

Look! This monster is too real

and I can’t find my way to kill her.