Hidup tanpa si jempol

seringkali kita bersyukur atas karunia atau anugrah yang kita dapat, tapi rasanya jarang deh, kita bersyukur atas apa yang memang sudah kita miliki.
seringkali diperlukan sebuah kehilangan untuk menghargainya.

sabtu lalu, g menutup pintu mobil dengan buru-buru

dan…
tangan kiri mengayunkan pintu tepat kearah tangan kanan yang masih nangkring dengan manisnya di pinggiran pintu…
slammed! damned!
jempol tangan kanan g yg imut dan mungil seketika berdarah dan cenut-cenut.
Ya Tuhan, kayak hidup udah kurang susah aja batin g.
malamnya sakit semakin mendera *halah* dan bikin meriang…. maksud hati mo ke UGD MMC yang ada g tepar di ruang tamu sampe pagi.
pagi harinya masih cenut-cenut, dan sijempol yang semula lumayan terang warnanya perlahan menghitam bak jari sadako.
lupakan penampilan deh, keriaan mulai membahana ketika g menyadari betapa banyak hal yang sulit dilakukan tanpa si jempol.
pagi-pagi, mo buka makanan kucing, cnuuuttt….tangan kiri beraksi
ngangkat gayung, cnuuutt…. wah…tenang masih bisa dijept pake empat jari lain.
buka softlens… agak akrobat sih…
beres-beres…ya bisalah asal janga kesenggol aja, pengen ngebacok orang rasanya.
tring ting….sms berbunyi… dan …
g gak bisa sms-an!!!! jempol g yang lincah ini lagi turun panggung….
oh tidak…. bayangkan…ternyata berjasa sekali si jempol dalam dunia telekomunikasi.
dan, untunglah dengan keypad qwerty smsan mayan bisa dengan jari2 lain yang ngejengkang2 kesana kemari.
dah…siang, masih bete nih, butuh therapy dong. shoping yuk, cihuyyy…
mandi, terus dandan…lancar? salah!!
pake celana jeans ketat itu adalah mustahil tanpa kelihaian si jempol untuk ngancinginnya…dengan berbagai gaya udah g coba dan mustahil bin mustajab.
akhirnya, adek g lah yang harus turun tangan… oh…sekarang g ngerti perasaan handicapped people.
ngerol rambut pun menjadi tantangan lain, demi penampilan ciamik, ngerol ala tangan kepiting pun g jalanin …

*kami para wanita adalah makhluk perkasa.
-jalan diatas tongkang setinggi 7cm seharian di mall : check.
-menjepit bulu mata, mencabut alis, mencabut bulu2 tak diinginkan disekujur tubuh? well…we do it for fun: check
-membalurkan ramuan berbau mencurigakan kerambut dan tubuh: check
but still, jejeritan pas ada labah2 dan nangis ketika…well let’s say jempolnya kejepit pintu mobil!*

sampai saat inipun g menemukan lebih banyak hal lagi yang sulit g lakukan tanpa si jempol. menekan bar spasi misalnya, atau menggunting kertas, membuka resleting tas…
mensyukuri anugrah yang datang tiba-tiba memang tidak mudah, namun mensyukuri apa yang sudah kita miliki lebih tidak mudah…karena kita cenderung lupa dengan apa yang sudah ada, kita terus menrus memandang langit meminta karunia yang belum datang lupa untuk menyadari yang kita miliki adalah sesuatu yang paling kita butuhkan.

*sigh*

Dear….

You asked me a lot of questions about me.

You asked me whether i feel the same way about you
You asked me if I Love YOU
You asked me, “Can i trust you to be mine and only mine?”
You asked me to be kind, you had enough of all those shabby stories of heartache and dissapointment of yours.

all i can say,

i can’t promise you tomorrow or forever, i only have “now” and you are my “now”
I can’t promise you i will always be kind, but please believe that this is me and i’ll always be me
I can’t promise you that i’ll be perfect, cos i’m not. Only wish that you’ll love me for me
I can’t promise you that i’ll always be strong to fight my own devil, our journey will be tested, i need you to hold my hands along the way and stand by my side.

i can only say that, i can picture myself spend the last of forever with you.

We’ve travelled so far all these years just to rejoined and found each other.
I can’t promise you the world, i can only give you my heart in my hands.

Papa

Write a story about me, Papa said.

I was busy writing at the back of my school books, pretending doing my homework while i actually writing about “Mila” a nine years old girl who’s in love whit her next door neighbour. Papa supposed to check whether i’ve done my homework or not, Mama the chief commander always caught me not doing it, that’s why i have to pretend.

He caught me in the act, but instead of repeating the same words like Mama, he said,

Write a story about me.

He’s a laidback person, he believes in Karma, He believes in God, he believes in me.

That was a fun saturday night, he just got home from business travel. He brought a lot of present for Mama, me and my sisters. In my early teenage years, i was so fond of fancy papers and cute cards. He bought me a pack of papers included envelop and gift tag. three white kitten in a bowlf blue yarns.
“Eventhough I may not tell you very often, i’ve always been grateful to you” those line written in the bottom of the papers. The pack consist of 15 Papers, 10 Envelopes and 5 gift cards. I took one gift cards, wrote something inside then went to Papa to give the card to him.
He was watching TV with my younger Sister, Mama was cuddling my youngest baby sister in the bedroom.
“Papa…this is for you.” I said
He looked at me with his intensed eyes – seems that he always look deep into your eyes to your heart-.
He received the cards, open it then read it, he then smiled to me.
I smiled back.
He then grab his wallet, handed me my weekly allowance.
“It’s saturday night, you supposed to give me on Sunday night, Pa.” I said
“No, it’s alrite, i have to give it to you now. Timing is everything, love.”
i was puzzled, but happy to get this allowance earlier. Without knowing that when he spoke about time, it’s his time with me that were about to finish.

Write a story about me, he said.

That saturday night, a scream awaken me. i stormed to my parents bedroom, surprisingly there were so many people there.
There’s my Grandparent, my father’s older sister, my neighbour who is a doctor.
My mama cried in the way i never see before, or may i will never see again. What could be more painful then letting go the one you love the most, even losing your own life couldn’t be worse.
That nite, we went to ER, Papa never woke up the next fifteen minutes, i saw him take his very last breath then with a drop of tears in the corner of his eyes, he left. in silence.
I was so numb, i can’t cry, can’t scream, i can only stood still while everyone hug me and weep.

Write a story about me, he said.
He was and still is, my hero. I can easily recalled how it feel to be hold in his big warm hug. I remember the nights when he cuddled and swing me very slowly till i fell asleep. He tied my hair to whatever style i want every morning before i go to school then only when i;m done he will wear his tie and get ready to work. He liked to shake his leg unconciously when he sit, work even when he sleep. i oftenly protest this behaviour only to be teased by him that i have this disturbing habit too.

Write a story about me, he said.
He’s joker, crowd pleaser, he loves to play with kids and laugh like little boy. When we compete in a game he never let me win, he will push me to my limit but never make me feel bad when i’m failed.
He is the best thing ever happened to me.

Write a story about me, he said.
Only one year after he passed away, i managed cry. That was one lazy afternoon, i just finished reading a book, then realise how silence this house was.
I go out of my room then calling everybody, noone answered but the maid said Mama have gone to market with my sist’s. I then asked her, “Have Papa called? he always called me from office around this time to remind me to do my homework.” The maid looking at me uneasy.
I then realise, he’s gone. he’s really gone. he’s not on a construction project out of town, he’s not working late, he’s nowhere. he’s gone.
I went to the kitchen grab a slice of bread, holding it with both of my hands then sat on the dining table. I bite slowly but cannot swallow. Felt like there were a big stone inside my throat, not allowing me to take anything inside cos i haven’t let anything go.
i cried hard till i cannot make any sounds, i cried till all the fear i have inside burst into tears.

Write a story about me, he said.
He loves to draw, he loves to cook, he never said things loud to my mama, he loves to kiss our damped hair, he loved to see us smiling. He loved mountain promised me that one day we’ll stay in a mountain and live more simply. He loved beach because i love beach, he love everything i love and make it happened for me.

It’s been 14 years since he left, but i still cannot find the way to write about him, so much things i wanna say and there’s no best way is good enough to talk about him.

I recalled the night i gave the card to him, the last time he looked intensely to my eyes as if he was trying to convince me that i can live without him.

I wrote in the card, “I’m glad you’re home, Papa.”

Zero = Perfection

Back then, I always thought that One plus One is One in relationship. Two become one said the not-so-spicy anymore girls from UK. One of a kind personality met another one of a kind personality. Tumbling, free-wheeling in an endless diamond sky then hopefully in a hundred years or so they will complete each other, and live happily ever after in the name of fondness, physical attraction and tonnes of mutual crush.

They said that you have to find the one. The one that done a lot of bad things, mannerless stuff and sumhow you still love them, even more. They said you have to be the one. The one that dare to showed up before shower, no make up, and got accepted and be loved for who you are.

I just went out of a relationship, been trying to be the one and fit my own idea of “the one” with my partner. at the end, it doesn’t really works. actually, didn’t work at all.

The more i try to get close, the road became longer and i realised how i’ve been walking down the road alone this whole time. I was there, and he was nowhere near. He left me part dead and incomplete during the time. When i decided to take another turn, when we decided to stop, i was gasped. Nothing i can hold on to.

It strucked me, how i’ve been relying all of me to his existence. Existence that was none. i hold on to nothing but my own idea of happiness. It’s bad for my self esteem.

Years ago i watched a movie by Kim Ki Duk, Korean Director, “3-Iron (2004)”. In Korean it’s read as Bin-jip means Empty Houses.

The whole idea of the story is relationship between a loner man, who loves to break into empty houses. at one house, he presume to be empty a battered housewife. The movie is notable for the lack of dialogue between two characters. He witnessed how she is abused by her husband. He took her away and their silent relationship began along with their travel from one house to another.

At the end of the movie, both of them stepped into a scale. the number showed “0″. as they’re completed each other. balanced.

the idea of 1+1 suddenly ripped out of my head. Cos i thought it was “1″, it turns out to be right, and look who’s been left 1?

I blame….

Will Wright for turning me into the strategic-simulation game addict.

why, oh why, The Sims have to be sooooo …  how can i put it into word, err… great? fascinating? what a lame words.

ok, let’s put it this way, i know i’m so late in this Sims-addiction thing please don’t be harsh, but it decrease my beauty sleep drastically since i started a family in Veronaville. i only slept 3-4 hours a day now.

puffy eyes, degrading my selection on office wardrobe and snacking in the middle of the night. that’s what i got.  and i’ve never been happier since Blair Waldorf re-united with Chuck Bass and bitching Georgina.

 

Love Like Fallen Leaves

asa goto ni

koe o osamuru

kaze no oto wa

yo o hete karuru

hito no kokoro ka

Each morning

The wind dies down

and the rustling leaves goes silent:

Was this the passion of all-night lovers

now talked out and parting?

~Saigyo~

from: Awesome Nightfall: The Life, TImes and Poetry of Saigyo by William R. LaFleur