"REALISTICALLY-SPEAKING"

21, green as the blooming grass

already through hardship,

but with absolute class

quiet, kind

a family-loving man

given up his dreams

all for their well-being

21, a young soul in green

delivering meals to make ends meet

risking his life in the city streets

his life ended under the wheels of a bullet-proof van

of the (so-called?) law enforcement

who has sworn “to protect and to serve”

instead of committing more violence

they may claim:

“oh, it was just an accident!”

despite the televised evidence

all around the world

Affan, who was 21,

didn’t deserve that on him

his death was our sign

to keep fighting for our rights

against the oppressive regime

rest in peace, Affan

your name rhymes with ‘heaven’,

where I hope God will let you be

reunited with the rest of your family …

Aameen …

Hi, there.

It’s 1994.

You thought middle school would offer you something more.

Unfortunately, you were disappointed as I could see.

You wished you could get away from your big sister’s shadow,

wondering if this was as far as you could only go.

Fear not,

if you happen to read this.

I’m no stalker,

just a tired time traveller,

unable to comfort you from a distance,

as far as any galaxy may stretch.

So, your teenage life wasn’t as grand as you’d like it to be.

Well, stop watching those Hollywood rom coms!

They could turn you dumb.

Girls like you would never be fairly represented.

Find something less jaded,

like creating stories that matter.

So, what if you were chubby?

Hey, who said you were ugly?

Don’t listen to those who act and feel so entitled!

Who are they to demand that you follow their beauty standards?

They won’t care if you get sick.

They’re nothing but insecure jerks,

so full of rage baits!

I could see that in high school and university,

you were struggling silently,

with grades, social life with unwritten rules and secret cues

that would only leave you with no clues,

and out of place,

like an alien among humans,

or an outcast among normies.

I know you’d start to think:

“Maybe Dad’s been right.

I’m such a freak that no one wants to be with me!”

I know it hurts,

But don’t be too hard on him.

He’ll come to his senses and regrets,

so, he needs to be forgiven.

I wish I could give you a spoiler,

just to make your life feel a little easier,

but then how will you learn?

You’re bound to find out.

that life is not about being admired,

but creating your own path.

You’ll be marching on,

since staying put or giving up are not your favourite options.

Boyfriends are not everything.

People can still break your heart,

no matter how kind you are to them.

You’re not meant to be a princess waiting to be saved,

because you’ve always been your own warrior,

defending and protecting yourself from the evil side of this world.

Not everyone should have access to you,

and that’s the safest to do.

Still, I believe you’re going to be just fine.

Why?

Your existence today, tomorrow, and always?

It’s the reason that right now, I’m still around.

So, please … stay alive for both of us.

Love,

It’s 1994.

You thought middle school would offer you something more.

Unfortunately, you were disappointed as I could see.

You wished you could get away from your big sister’s shadow,

wondering if this was as far as you could only go.

Fear not,

if you happen to read this.

I’m no stalker,

just a tired time traveller,

unable to comfort you from a distance,

as far as any galaxy may stretch.

So, your teenage life wasn’t as grand as you’d like it to be.

Well, stop watching those Hollywood rom coms!

They could turn you dumb.

Girls like you would never be fairly represented.

Find something less jaded,

like creating stories that matter.

So, what if you were chubby?

Hey, who said you were ugly?

Don’t listen to those who act and feel so entitled!

Who are they to demand that you follow their beauty standards?

They won’t care if you get sick.

They’re nothing but insecure jerks,

so full of rage baits!

I could see that in high school and university,

you were struggling silently,

with grades, social life with unwritten rules and secret cues

that would only leave you with no clues,

and out of place,

like an alien among humans,

or an outcast among normies.

I know you’d start to think:

“Maybe Dad’s been right.

I’m such a freak that no one wants to be with me!”

I know it hurts,

But don’t be too hard on him.

He’ll come to his senses and regrets,

so, he needs to be forgiven.

I wish I could give you a spoiler,

just to make your life feel a little easier,

but then how will you learn?

You’re bound to find out.

that life is not about being admired,

but creating your own path.

You’ll be marching on,

since staying put or giving up are not your favourite options.

Boyfriends are not everything.

People can still break your heart,

no matter how kind you are to them.

You’re not meant to be a princess waiting to be saved,

because you’ve always been your own warrior,

defending and protecting yourself from the evil side of this world.

Not everyone should have access to you,

and that’s the safest to do.

Still, I believe you’re going to be just fine.

Why?

Your existence today, tomorrow, and always?

It’s the reason that right now, I’m still around.

So, please … stay alive for both of us.

Love,

Photo: https://unsplash.com/photos/water-dew-on-window-ve-R7PCjJDk

The rainy June reminds me of a girl,

who loved such a cool, wet weather,

walking under the downpour,

as if it were a giant shower.

It reminds me of “Hujan di Bulan Juni”,

my favourite collection of Indonesian poetry

by the one and only

the beloved Eyang Sapardi

whose warm smile and presence I’ll forever miss,

although I’d only met him once

whose passing had turned my misty eyes,

into sources of waterfalls

back in 2020.

The rainy June reminds me of how I’ve always wished for the rain to fall,

every time something brings me to tears,

for I hate to appear

like some damsel-in-distress

when Prince Charming’s nothing but a myth

that no little girls should ever believe in.

This rainy June has taught me,

that sometimes it’s okay to be an anomaly,

instead of what the world expects you to be,

yet doesn’t care if you’re unhappy.

This rainy June reminds me,

both of Daddy and Eyang Sapardi,

and something similar they’d both said:

“This world isn’t kind to weakling cry-babies.

Accept faults and losses,

but stop wasting time and energy,

wallowing in misery.”

I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people’s jaws drop open,

at the sight of my tiny mum,

wondering: “How could they be?”

For God’s sake, I was also born a baby!

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people love asking me this stupid question:

“Why are you so fat?”

I could mention how I survived the abuse when I was three,

when my babysitter force-fed me,

or the PCOS which causes hormonal depression,

which leads me to overeating disorder and anxiety attack,

which I still fight on a regular basis,

but they consider them excuses.

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people assume I eat all the time and a lot,

except veggies and fruit.

Of course, they always tell me to diet,

even when I just have my first bite.

Some also treat me like their personal trash-can,

all for the food they can’t finish,

just because they don’t think before stuffing their plates at weddings!

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people tell me my sister is much prettier,

only because she’s taller and slimmer.

I wish they’d just tell her themselves instead!

Saves time – I could even give them her number.

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, when I’m single, people make my fat the scapegoat.

But when I start dating or having a boyfriend,

they think I put a hex on him,

or that I have a fat bank account.

Sorry to disappoint them, but I don’t even work for this country’s government.

When I break up, of course they say: “Makanya, kurusin!

Biar gak diputusin!”

(Translation: “Lose weight, then.

So, you won’t get dumped!”)

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, when I have a skinny boyfriend,

people call us a ‘ten’.

Wait, that’s not even a compliment.

Visually, they think he’s the one and I’m the zero.

I can’t believe I still have to explain!

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, shopping for clothes is a daunting chore,

especially at local stores.

They claim it’s an XL (or XX … X? … L),

but I swear to God it feels more like an L (or worse, M).

I suffocate, feeling like being tightly wrapped in a giant bandage.

I’m always scared to cause a rip.

I often give up even before the second trip.

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people want my proofs or reports,

that I still do regular workouts.

They’re not even my personal trainers,

nor do they give me a free gym membership.

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, there are people who tell me:

“Relax, they also make fun of me,

just because I’m skinny!”

I’d like to tell them to wait for their turn,

or speak out in their own platform!

(Which, honestly, they don’t usually do.)

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, they accuse me of promoting obesity,

just by existing – as if I owe them an apology for looking like this,

as if “body-positivity” is only for certain beings,

as if I tell them to start stuffing their faces with more pork chops,

which I don’t even eat.

Of course, they can’t accept that I can still be happy.

They accuse me of avoiding reality.

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people want me to take the responsibility,

for what they don’t like to see

when they still have other choices:

like look away – or blind themselves, please!

Of course, they keep reminding me that I’m fat,

as if they’re magical witches cursing me,

but they’re just annoying bitches who won’t stay away!

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, they never believe me if I tell them I’ve been sexually harassed.

They smirk and deny, “Who wants to really do that to any fat chick?

That guy would probably get kicked.”

(No, he gets a kick!)

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people always stare at me,

every time the elevator makes a loud beep.

What?

Hey, I’ve got in here first!

Not my fault!

Why don’t they all get out?

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, people always give me unsolicited advice,

about how to lose weight,

assuming I’m unhealthy,

only because they’re thin,

and even when they’re smoking,

or when they’ve never even been fat themselves,

or even when they’re not certified dieticians!

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Of course, they won’t accept that fat is just a fact.

It always turns ugly – no thanks to their biased opinions,

which I never ask.

 I’m a fat Indonesian woman.

Yes, I know that already.

No need to tell me – time and time again.

I’m not stupid nor blind, but I do fancy their silence,

if they have nothing polite to say …

I’m not sure how I’ve been feeling lately. It’s the end-of-the-year holiday again. I don’t feel like celebrating anything.

I even canceled going to Yogyakarta for my office outing. Why? I’m exhausted. I even preferred doing another cat-sitting gig with my best friend’s cat. Yes, that adorable, fat calico named Nora.

I’m spending more time at home with my family now. I’m kind of broke myself. The traffic must be terrible now.

No worries. I’ve got plenty of books to read. I usually don’t have much time to finish them when I’m at work. Right now, I’m finishing Ruth L. Ozeki’s “My Year of Meats”. It has been an interesting read so far.

Of course, I’ll also be doing more writing. There are freelance gigs and writing competitions. There are projects I’d also like to take part in. I love writing so much. I know I’ve already mentioned that way too many times.

My mind is still all over the place now. I don’t know. My heart’s been broken a lot lately by this ongoing genocide in Palestine.

God, when will You stop them? I can’t take this anymore.

This is my translated work from my Indonesian fiction of the same title, inspired by a Hoobastank song. Check this link and find the original work on page 4: https://ugc.production.linktr.ee/896be0f7-c5fb-4b66-b814-2e0aad0860b3_vol.35NOV2023.pdf

“I run away … through the dark and empty space … where the wind will erase your memory … / Here in the black … there is no turning back … / It’s the only place where I can get away … “

I remember the first time I bought my favorite US rock band Hoobastank’s “Fight or Flight”. Not only a loyal fan, I’ve been interested since I first listened to their first single “This Is Gonna Hurt” — full of power and rage. It suits my emotional state at that time.

I’ve grown crazy over their other song “No Destination”, although I doubt this song will be best remembered. The majority of Indonesians only remember Hoobastank as that band who sings their all-time ballad — “The Reason”.

I don’t recall when I first developed this habit as I went home alone at night. On my motorcycle, I’d speed by with my earphones stuck to my ears — which were also directly connected to my Discman inside my backpack.

Only that song, “No Destination”, could make me cry — especially when my heart was badly clouded …

-***-

“This is where I know I’m safe … / The road is my escape … / a hiding place from you under the sky … / There’s nowhere else I’d rather be … / The moonlight blankets me … / The starts will be my company tonight … “

“Tired, son?” Mother asked nicely when that man smugly walked into our family dine-in. Behind the cash register machine, I tried hard to mask my annoyance. Since Big Sister started dating him, Mother’s attitude had changed drastically. She’d become extra friendly and very accommodating towards the man who was not even her son.

I could no longer recognize my mother. She was also spoiling Big Sister, who had already been working full-time with a more stable salary. Our family dine-in had just started opening. I’d been a graduate long enough without a dream job yet. So, while sending my work application letters and short stories to some media platforms to earn extra cash, I was helping out at my family dine-in. It was not my dream in my twenties.

Dad had started getting more senile that he couldn’t work anymore. Our dine-in hadn’t earned us as enough income as we needed yet. There were times when they had to cut down my salary. I hadn’t seen my friends for a long time, unlike Big Sister who could still hang out with her friends.

“Yes, Auntie. Very tired.”

How impolite! My mother brought him a cup of hot tea and he accepted it as if he was her employer and she was his housemaid. He didn’t even thank her. I was so sad. How come Mother still looked so happy, as if he was her favorite son?

“Raina,” Mother’s voice suddenly broke me out of my reverie. I could already guess her next instruction to me: “Please fetch Bibi Ani in the kitchen and ask her to fix some rice with fried oxtail soup.”

I’d already known that it was for him. He never paid. Mother didn’t want him to. Our dine-in hadn’t made that much profit yet.

I knew why Mother was pampering that man too much. She wanted Big Sister to get married right away. Big Sister was already 28. She was so afraid of the “old maid” stigma.

-***-

“The further I run … the more I become … weightless and numb … to the hurting … / Worries and fears … hold no gravity here … / It’s the only way, it all makes sense to me … “

“Next time ask if anyone is still using the internet at home! Don’t just shut it off! Apologize to him! You’ve disturbed his work!!” After she’d finished yelling at me, Big Sister slammed down the phone. Not once did she ask for my side of the story. I mean, I’d already apologized. I didn’t know if her husband had trouble hearing or just loved blowing things out of proportion just so he could appear as a victim in his wife’s eyes.

If only Dad hadn’t had a stroke, I would’ve left home to find my place to live right away. I’d have rented a place with even the little money I made at that time. Only for him, I’d pretend that everything was just fine.

Unfortunately, all my best friends had taken the worst of me. I sometimes felt guilty due to the sudden bursts of emotions, shocking them all. I sometimes wondered if I still deserved friends like them.

“I DON’T WANNA GO HOME!” I burst into tears, soon after my meltdown over what had been at home for the umpteenth time. It was embarrassing as if I weren’t a 25-year-old grown woman. I’d returned to being an envious 15-year-old because Big Sister seemed to have always received all the attention from our mother. I thought I’d gotten over such feelings. “My mom still has got one daughter. She won’t miss me when I’m gone!”

“Sssh … Raina, don’t say that …” They all hugged me, trying to comfort me. “Your mother will realize this herself … “

-***-

“No destination … / I have found the calm inside the storm … “

There were already countless nights I’d sat on my motorcycle, listening to the same song over and over. Compared to back then, since Dad had finally passed away in 2014, I got a good job far away from home. Without a second thought, I took it and started looking for a rented place to live.

Mother knew I was angry and hurt, yet she didn’t try to stop me from leaving. She didn’t even comment, just asking me to come home at least once every weekend. I’ve only got one parent left, so why would I want to be insolent?

Every time I return home, all I hear is complaints. Mother’s Favourite Son-In-Law has finally shown his true colors, acting insolent at home but still expecting others to respect him. Strangely, I’ve been mostly quiet this time.

Have I gone numb, perhaps? I still remember one night when I used to live with them:

At that time, I was returning home from overtime at work for my first real job. It was at ten, and I saw that the light in the kitchen was still on. He saw me, I wasn’t stupid. I could still hear the click in the dead of the night before he walked away.

The kitchen door had been locked when I approached it. I phoned Ma, feeling bad about having to wake her up. When she finally opened the door for me, she asked, “Who locked this?”

I mentioned his name angrily and with repulse, before storming into my bedroom. I’m not a cowardly snitch. I” 'd only chosen to be honest that night. I no longer cared that they’d find me spiteful because I’d just gotten that job far away from home …

Me: “My father was the only honest man I really knew.”

Them: “Why? What did he say?”

Me: “He once said: ‘Nobody can or will always stay with and for you.’ And he was right.”

#realisticallyspeaking

Many may interpret this as my expression of grief. I’m going to have to say … yes and no.

Dad passed away on January 19, 2014. His birthday is on October 23. He’d be 75 if he were still around.

Then, what about me? Well, I turned 42 in November this year. How does it feel to be at that age and still single? Not surprisingly, nothing special. I’m not dreading or relishing anything from that. You could say that I’ve probably grown numb.

Must I worry? I honestly don’t know. I haven’t really had a chance to analyze or identify my own feelings lately. I’m too busy with work and simply trying to get by. It’s getting harder to set aside time to just do something like this:

Writing … for the sake of writing …

I’m also struggling to catch up on my reading. I used to be able to read a lot and finish faster — one book after another. I also did that with countless of articles, short stories, and poems too — per week.

Nowadays, I can only finish reading one article per day … if I’m lucky. Still better than nothing, eh? I also slowly finish reading a book one page at a time. Not ideal, I know, but once again — it’s still better than nothing at all.

Isn’t it typical of us — human beings — to miss what we’ve often taken for granted before?

Have I already grown cold on the inside? Hopefully not. I’m glad I still feel because the current news in Gaza is still making me cry. I wish they’d stop with the killings and the lies. Ceasefire now!

I know Dad was never the most openly emotional man. You could never imagine him as the father who would comfort his daughters after a breakup with a boyfriend. He never did.

Instead, he’d always challenged me with the same question: “So, what’s next?”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

“Okay, so you’re in trouble / stuck in a rut / rejected. What are you going to do next?”

Those who had misunderstood him in the past (I included, shamefully) must have thought he was being dismissive. According to Ma, he didn’t know how to comfort a person, let alone a woman or his own daughters. He was never taught that and he felt he couldn’t teach himself that well. Since he was a little boy, he’d been taught that showing real feelings — including grief — was a sign of weakness. Anger was necessary, especially when he needed to defend himself.

“Your father was an unhappy man.”

When I sometimes look back, I remember him and those sad stories about him. I have to resist the urge to cry. I wish I’d had more time to get to know him more / better, to understand him better …

… and to have forgiven him sooner, for all he couldn’t do or should’ve done …

On the outside, I began to imitate some of his traits. People say I look more like him, but that’s not really accurate. My brother is a carbon copy of him, although he’s got a taller, leaner figure like our maternal grandfather. I don’t glare like he did and I’ve got Ma’s snub nose.

However, I’ve picked his old mannerisms along the way. These days, I tend to shut myself down all too easily. I rarely talk; I’ve grown quiet and I sometimes get myself lost in my own thoughts.

Some people ask me why I work in North Jakarta while still living in the South. It’s ridiculously far. I’ll need at least an hour and a half to get there and another to get back — whether it is by motorbike or by bus and train. Why not move to North Jakarta instead, closer to work? Or, why not try to find a job much closer to where I still live?

I get those questions a lot. I like living in the city center because it’s easy for me to get around. It’s easier for people to reach me as well. About the job? Well, that wasn’t my original plan. I got transferred to the North branch during the Covid-19 pandemic because the other one close by had closed down.

I like the job okay so far. I can manage, as long as I can still steal some time outside to write.

Of course, there’s also another strange reason I don’t tell them all:

I simply love being on the road these days, despite the traffic. I get to emotionally detach myself from people for a while — and just be at peace with myself. Sounds like a paradox to you? Maybe. To many people, a traffic jam is equal to chaos. To me, it’s an opportunity to blend in and sort of disappear for a while.

That way, I don’t have to interact with people that I don’t like. I don’t have to answer their super intrusive questions as if I owe them an explanation of why I’m like this. I know I sound defensive, but I sometimes feel the need to be (left) alone.

Dad was right — and he couldn’t be more right if he could see me today. I guess now I can see why he’d taught me to be more independent, down to the point that I’ve forgotten how to open up properly and let people in.

Eventually, everybody leaves. I know that because I’ve experienced a lot of departures. I’ve been the girl who had to see every guy she’d ever loved to end up with somebody else — and people blamed her for that. I’ve been that girl who’d been lied to by guys who claimed to have loved her, only to either take those words back or worse — play her around. This is why I always hate it when people accuse me of “not trying hard enough” or “not making more effort”.

What the hell do they all know? Nothing. They don’t even care that what they say can make you feel ugly as hell as if you’ll never be good enough for anyone out there. What effort — when the other side just won’t do the same for you too? That is so stupid! You’ll only look sad and desperate with that.

The bad news is, they’ll be the same people who mock you for that too. Believe me, you can never win with them.

Even your friends who once promised to always be there for you would turn away too. People change. They can either get too busy or quarrel over something so petty. They can die before you do too.

This is why I have no problem being alone. Dad had been right all along. As sad as this may sound to you, I have to be good at being on my own. This includes learning how to not take everything way too personally like some angry, self-entitled bratty girl.

This is why I have to be ready to always look after myself, just in case:

· Romance may not be meant for everyone.

· Friends abandon you, especially over petty reasons, such as you disagree with them, but it’s perfectly okay for them to dismiss your every valid argument. Double standards much?

· You’re not really a priority to anyone, even when they claim that you are theirs.

· You’re the last resort, not a destination or a companion. Hell, you’re not even their first option.

· You’re about to be forgotten …

(This fiction work is the English-translated version of my Indonesian short story, “Aku Tahu, Kamu Mencintainya” — https://ugc.production.linktr.ee/X1jn7ikRRqKVS4fNLymf_vol.%2031JUl2023.pdf -> Page 13–15 )

I know you love her. I’d heard of that dozens of times. At that time, as a best friend, I was still your patient listener. I’d let you vent all you like. As someone who had been secretly in love with you, I was suffering. No, not because you loved her and didn’t love me. I was in agony to see how you had been badly hurt by the one you loved over and over again.

You said she was cheating on you. At first, the girl you loved had been too busy lately. You began to communicate less. Every time you asked her for a meetup, she always had excuses not to. There were always her reasons and you felt so lonely.

Until you caught her kissing another guy for the first time. Until she admitted and apologized to you. She even begged you not to break up with her. She said she had ‘lost her way’.

“So, what do you want now?” I asked you. You sighed sadly.

“I don’t know,” you answered doubtfully. “I love her. I don’t wanna lose her. I don’t want her to cheat on me again. She’s promised that she won’t do it again.”

I only held my breath and rolled my eyes. Thankfully, we’d only talked on the phone that night. Sorry, but I didn’t buy that. However, at that time, I was only thinking about being considerate of your feelings. I didn’t want to hurt you.

-***-

I know you love her so much. I’d heard of that tens of times. At that time, as a best friend, I was still your patient listener. I’d let you vent all you like.

As someone who had been secretly in love with you, I thought I could take it at first. In the name of friendship, I kept my ear strained and thickened my heart to reduce the hurt. You still needed a listener. You were hurt once again and in need of support. She cheated on you again. Not only (acting as if) busy, she now challenged you. She said she still had second thoughts about your relationship. There were too many differences that got in the way. Cultures, religions, and all that jazz. She was even more confused with what was already obvious: to carry on together with all those obstacles or just break up.

As I’d predicted, you still couldn’t let her go. You’d still give her another chance. At that time, I couldn’t understand. Okay, so I was a bit hypocritical. I’d secretly hoped you’d come to your senses and see that I was the one who had really loved you all along. I had no problem with you not wanting to be with me, as long as not with her. You deserved someone better than the cheater who had only her pretty face!

Didn’t you know? Lately, I’d been crying silently while listening to you vent. Life had felt so unfair. How come you didn’t realize that I actually loved you? I could be more loyal than she ever was. I realized that I wasn’t your type, although many would have gotten angry when they learned that I felt less beautiful — thanks to you and her.

“Enough! Why do you keep fighting to get him?” they all yelled at me. “Loyalty is useless if your love is unrequited. That is utter rubbish! You deserve to be happy too.”

I wanted to tell you the same thing. Why would you ever fight for such a toxic relationship, knowing how difficult it was for her to stay loyal to you? She’d cheated on you again. You two had another fight again. You’d cried again and she apologized once again and promised you the same damn thing. So you hadn’t reached your breaking point just yet.

I hated feeling like this. I’d never wanted to love you. It was basically a useless feeling when you kept choosing the one who kept hurting you. I’d felt stupid and so boring that someone once insulted me like this:

“You’re way too nice, so that’s why guys don’t see you as a challenge. They’re chasing those who get them curious, not the boring ones because they’re too easy … “

-***-

I know, you’ve loved her too much. I’d heard that hundreds of times. At that time, as a best friend, I started feeling sick and tired of listening to the same old story on repeat. As a best friend, you didn’t want to take any advice nor listen to the truth, no matter how painful.

I’d been fed up with the same heartache from seeing you get hurt all over again. Your pain had been your choice since you kept allowing yourself to fall into the same hole. You didn’t even care how much it hurt me when you tried to end your life. All thanks to her, which made me hate her even more. Thankfully, at that time, a friend had come to your rescue. You were saved, although you weren’t exactly safe from my rage.

“I DON’T CARE WHO YOU WANT TO BE WITH AS LONG AS SHE DOESN’T KEEP HURTING YOU LIKE THIS!!!”

I supposed it was the moment you realized who had always really loved you. A best friend who had been willing to be your dumpster every time you vented out the same damn thing. The best friend who was still willing to listen to you, when that girl had finally broken up with you for good … and chosen to marry someone else … in just two weeks …

-***-

Perhaps, if this were a romantic novel or a cheesy romance, the ending would be so typical. You would’ve realized that it had been me all along — waiting for you with loyalty, waiting for you to have stopped loving her and started loving me instead. That would’ve sounded idealistic but cliche, eh?

Unfortunately, that’s not how the real world works. I’ve been used to being abandoned and walking on alone. I’ve grown accustomed to heartbreak after heartbreak and seeing the men that I’ve loved always end up with someone else. I’ve grown tired of the same predicament, but what else can I do? I’ve never asked any of this. I was also not the kind to beg anyone to stay … just for me.

Eventually, you chose to marry someone else and I went staggering from one failed relationship after another. Perhaps I’ve grown numb, so that was why I’d stopped caring when — a decade after that — you told me that you were in a divorce process.

Do we still have our chance? I don’t think so, even when I have finally given it all up to God. I’ve been too fed up and exhausted to hope. All I know is that this is no fairy tale. Loyalty does not always pay you except with folly and regret. You can’t even guarantee your own happy ending.

Eventually, you’ll only have yourself. This is the real world. Sometimes cheaters get everything easily, while the loyal ones must always be ready for another case of abandonment. The concept of ‘true love’ has started feeling so ancient in my head, just like the old fairytales which had been read to me as a child.

Perhaps not all women are meant to find their own princes and win their true love. Sometimes you have to fight for yourself because nothing is eternal here …

That is why, I shall never wait on you again. I hope you’ll never decide to find me because I’ve finally made up my mind to never rely my happiness on you … or anyone else …

Let me remember this moment. I know I may not experience this every day. For as long as we both shall live, I still wish for more.

Still, I’m realistic. I don’t want to be pushy. I don’t want to scare you off or anything like that.

I’ve almost given up on you. The last few times we met (before the Covid-19 pandemic), I’d thought that was it: you were unreachable.

Poetry brought us together in 2018. I was heartbroken at that time and so were you. Typical. Someone you loved back then had chosen to marry another man.

We chatted right after that poetry event and told each other’s Instagram accounts. Then we went our separate ways. You live in the West while I am in the South.

I had to be extra careful with you – and our interaction too. I’d learned my past lessons. I didn’t want to make it too obvious. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. Honestly, I still don’t.

I had to give up my dreams about you when we met face-to-face the next time after that night. It was the same poetry event as the last time. I, as usual, showed up alone. I’ve mostly been the typical Ms. Independent.

That night, you showed up with her. You seemed radiant with joy – and so did she. After you recited your love poem (you’d sounded so positive), you announced to every one present just how much you loved her. I could see her blush despite her polite smile.

So you had moved on. Good for you.

I congratulated you after that, before hiding myself inside the cafe – right there in the corner ... just to cry. I am so sorry. I really was happy for you that night.

I was just sad for myself that night.

I think we’d still run into each other at some other poetry events after that night. We chatted like we usually did, with our normal friendliness. I mean, we are sort of friends, aren’t we? Even when you still seem very distant, secretive.

Even when I’m still way too afraid to be completely honest with my feelings for you ...

Should I be, though? Even if I were okay with you rejecting me, could we still be friends? Would you turn away, as if I were the most hideous creature on earth you may have ever seen?

As usual, I tried not to think about that. Was it even worth the trouble?

-***-

Then, the Covid-19 pandemic happened.

We didn’t get to talk much for a while. We could barely meet up. I only said hi to you once in a while through social media. You know, the usual. I mostly just commented on the stray cats you’d encountered. (You love cats too! Yay!!)

-***-

Okay, so let’s go back to that more current night, during Poetry Night. (Yup, that’s literally the translation of that poetry event’s name.) I didn’t think you’d show up.

When you told me you would, I was ecstatic. I didn’t care what time you’d arrive there, as long as you’d show up as promised. I wanted to see you for real, not just on social media.

I’d secretly missed you ...

I hadn’t seen you after my performance on stage that night. Somehow, I worried that you might have missed it – or worse, changed your mind about coming at all.

On Instagram DM, I told you that I’d just been on stage. You sent a distant photo of me on stage with a short reply: “I know.”

Oh. My. God.

From the angle of the photo you’d taken of me, I managed to locate your whereabouts. You were sitting amongst the crowd, wearing a baseball cap, glasses, a jacket over your shirt, jeans, and trainers. Your dark, wavy hair was cut short. You were grinning when you saw me.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaimed. You got up from your seat and we shook hands vigorously. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were already here?”

“Why should I?” You smiled and slightly winked at me. I giggled. Okay, why was I acting like a teenager all of a sudden?

Then you invited me to sit with you. That was how the rest of that Saturday night went on, with us sitting together and talking. Us enjoying other poetic performances on stage.

Us, giggling at each other’s jokes ...

I even encouraged you to read one of your poems again on-stage – impromptu. I didn’t even care that you read the same sad poem you had, back when your ex left you for another man.

No, I wasn’t jealous of her. I was still sad for you, though. How was the other girl you’d brought to the event the last time? Are you guys still together? I’m afraid to ask. I know it’s none of my damn business.

It was obvious that – even after all this time – you still love the girl who had left you. I get that. Not every one can heal as fast as people expect them to.

Still, do you have any idea just how beautiful you are to me? I guess that’s why I still haven’t had the guts to tell you exactly how I really feel about you.

The truth is, I still don’t know. I’m not sure myself, and I’m sorry for that. I just know that I love seeing you smile and laugh. You’re not afraid to reveal your vulnerability. That makes me wish that – if it would never be me – somebody else will be lucky enough just to be with you.

Meanwhile, I’m still a coward. I’m still hiding my feelings, for fear that I may never have you this close again ...

Perhaps I am almost in love ...

This has nothing to do with being ungrateful. We have our daily routines. We often do what we love and repeat them.

However, there are times we may feel bored. We need to do something else, something different. Learn something new.

Variety is what we all crave ... at least once in a while. It’s something out of the ordinary, like a spice of life. Throw a sauce into the mix of your dishes. A slight chaos disrupts the usual order.

Attending a concert with your favorite musicians in it is one example.

So, everyone in Indonesia knows how hyped the Coldplay fans are about having them here. For the first time ever, Coldplay is scheduled to have their concert here on November 15. The ticket wars had been over after May 19. If you’re one of those who didn’t get any, you’re welcome to weep.

Of course, “nobody said it was easy”. (No pun intended, really.) Nobody said it was going to be a fair fight. Those with more money and the strongest internet connections won!

Deal with it. Life is like that sometimes. You don’t always get what you want.

There is still more room for a miracle. Who knows? The concert is on November 15. It’s still May. There are still free quizzes with their ticket giveaways. I know it’s a long shot, but still ... please, try anyway. You might get lucky. It ain’t over ‘til it’s really over!

I just hope that you haven’t gone as far as selling off your refrigerator at home for one Coldplay ticket. Yes, I understand that they are that good. Please, don’t leave your common sense at home. You remind me of some people who had sold their houses to fly overseas just to see their national football team play. Once you’re back to reality, you’ll soon realize what you’ve sacrificed.

And I really do hope it’s worth it ...

Okay, so last March was the very first time I attended a rock concert after the Covid-19 pandemic. (I LOVE HOOBASTANK!) I realised just how much I missed doing a lot of outdoor things I used to frequent.

Well, that includes travelling. I’m not talking about the one I did in December 2022. That was an office outing. I’m talking about my own plan, my destination, and my own itinerary. I know I haven’t done much of those lately and for real. I haven’t got that many solo travelling experiences, unlike some people I know.

My most memorable travelling experiences are with someone I know – and I’m trying hard not to think of him now. We’re still not on speaking terms. It’s a long story.

I’ve been contemplating going back to Bali sometime this October for a poetry slam event. However, I’m not sure of the odds. The money is still the issue here.

The second is the recent situation there. I’m not going to lie, there have been many bad foreigners thrashing around and doing awful things as tourists – like disrespecting their sacred grounds or sites and seeking illegal work. Niluh Djelantik is one of the most outspoken public figures going against them. I agree with her after I’ve seen too much live footage as evidence online. Some of these clowns really went the extra mile ... just for likes on their social media pages.

And the local government officials? Don’t ask. These days, you ought to make anything go viral in order to be taken more seriously.

On Instagram, I support Mbok Niluh. Imagine having guests over to your house and they start thrashing about there – basically disrespecting you. Would you like that?

It has got to the point where some random strangers started spamming my comment box by mentioning some random fake accounts which discredit her (or should I say, pathetically try to). As usual, I simply report and block them.

Hopefully, if I ever get to Bali this year, I’ll be perfectly safe.

Okay, did I say that I had two weeks of Eid Mubarak? How time flies. Now I feel that it’s still not enough.

I know, I know. I’m not supposed to be complaining about this. It’s still so much better than nothing, right?

Besides, I really am relaxing ... more so than when I’m at my own place. I don’t have to fret about work for now. I have more time to write for fun ... and also side hustles.

I even had the rare chance to dine with Brother at Holycow Steak for dinner. It’s been a while and it was very delicious.

I also had a nice family lunch at GM in PIM. I’ve always loved their noodles. I also ordered coffee ice cream with chocolate chips on top from Cold Stone for my dessert after that.

It has been so hot lately, but I guess I’ve already told you that. Lately, the temperature has risen. The hottest is in South Tangerang so far.

I’m still waiting for some friends to catch up with me this holiday. One is suggesting a karaoke session and another says they will probably catch up with me at another poetry event this month.

As usual, we shall see ...