Luka Cahaya

Dimana luka mengering menganga

Teruslah berjalan, berlari, bersuara

Dirimu, diriku, dirinya, semua sama

 

Di tengah sunyinya kegaduhan

Waktu terkunci sang Kala berhenti

Aku, kau, kita, di hadapan semesta

 

Ku bersujud di hadapan-Nya

Biarkanlah yang terluka

Terus terbuka

Karena di saat yang sama

Sang cahaya menerka

 

by: Rendila

* Terinspirasi dari kutipan Rumi:

“A scar is where the light enters you.”

(Sebuah luka adalah dimana cahaya merasukimu)

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Saving Face Act

I tried so hard to keep the monster at bay.

But I could only do so much.

I’ve lost my footing.

I’ve lost my rock in the tidal wave.

My body hurts.

Pretending hurts.

The monster is peeking, trying to show himself.

What use is it to reach out when all I see are brick walls?

 

 

Irrational.

I should probably take my meds again.

It’s been more than a year that I left my blog empty. I haven’t really written anything remotely close to my real thoughts for a long while, I realize. I have long since forgotten my desire to beautifully express my thoughts…

I’ve grown a lot this past year, I guess. Maybe “matured” is the right term for this but I still have a lot of growing up to do and there are so many things I still need to learn. I no longer strive for the things I used to be so passionate about. I used to strive to prove myself but I guess there are just better things to do. Since I gained a sense of realization upon learning what true contentment of simple pleasures really feels like, in the end I just want to be happy. I might have experienced having a stable job, I continued my study, and I learned (and am still learning) to accept a lot of things about myself. I do try. I really am trying to meet the demand and my role as a human being living in the real world. I guess it’s fine on the surface.

What hurts is something that is invisible.

There’s always two versions of myself battling one another every single day and they take turns steering the wheel, guiding my every move. Sometimes it’s fleeting but sometimes it’s just so overwhelming.

Right now, it’s fucking overwhelming… Fuck…

There’s always this twisted feeling inside, an ache, an itch I can’t seem to scratch. They are the irrational pain in my bones that I physically feel when I am down. I know I’m not physically sick but my body just hurts a lot to move even when there’s nothing wrong with it. I guess not going to therapy for more than a year is one of the reasons why I feel this way from time to time. I always want to say that I am not okay but people close to me always have such a high expectation about me when truthfully I just want to lay in the corner and curl up into a ball.

The thing is, when I do talk, they’ll say “You got everything… “, “You’re so lucky…” “Appreciate what you’ve got”, “Do yoga”, “Smell some fucking aromatherapy candles”, “There are people who have it worse than you do”, and “Have faith…” What if what you experience is just extremely irrational that words can’t just seem to convey them? If you’re in my shoes, you’ll see a handful of hot oil in a pan and immediately will think about all of the possibilities of it spilling and burning your skin, you’ll see the ocean and will think about how a fucking typhoon will sweep you away, you’ll see the sky and will think about the thunder that will strike you, you see your loved ones taking a trip but you constantly worry for their safety that you check Google maps to see if there were any accidents, and what hurts the most is that when you see a relationship you always seem to think about all the possibility of you fucking it all up so you end up retreating back into yourself and let the feelings fade away… I know this is not normal… It’s irrational, I know that but I just can’t help it. I fear a lot of things that are irrational and I worry constantly.

No. It is not sadness that I am most worried about: it’s the emptiness, the overwhelming hollowness that sometimes would take over when you truly feel nothing. I’d rather be sad and feel something any day.

I always feel like I can’t show them that I just want to be angry. I want to but I can’t. I have this voice in my head telling me to suck it up all the time even when I feel like I’m about to crumble. Sometimes I just want to go up to people and say that I’m just struggling to deal with things but I just can’t, praying and hoping that they can see through my smile. But people always want things to be okay and stable… So I guess I have to be okay. Play my roles as the support system. Right? But it hurts. I really does.

I have no idea why I’m writing this… In the back of my mind there’s a voice telling me that they’d probably just roll their eyes and just think I complain too much when they read this… The world is harsh, I know. But, I just–I don’t know…

Honestly… it’s debilitating. I just want them to understand that.

Would they?

 

 

 

 

People Watching

She was sitting on that park bench alone, constantly biting her finger nails and staring into space. She didn’t check her phone even once since she sat there. I glanced at her from time to time from where I was sitting; an old log with a large stone nearby just perfect for me to sit and write on my laptop. I know I shouldn’t feel like what she’s doing was strange, but she was young and yet she didn’t even play a game on her phone or even so much as glanced at it to look at the clock. Maybe she didn’t have a phone. I don’t know.

Maybe you’re wondering what I was doing writing outside in the morning and noticing what other people were doing. I was people watching. It’s something that I do often as a writer. Why, you ask? Well, it’s so that I can understand people better. Maybe not on a personal level, but I can make up stories about who they are based on what I see. It’s useful especially when you’re making a character in a story.

She then glanced at me. Probably she noticed that I had been looking at her for quite some time. I immediately focused on my laptop again, my cheek flushed from embarrassment. That’s one of the downsides of people watching. They eventually noticed.

Sometimes I wish I have the ability to be invisible. Maybe I can understand people better. Imagine this: you can observe every single thing that they do, every single flicker of the eyes, their likes, their dislikes, and maybe even why they are so unhappy.

“Hey.” A voice said.

I looked up. It was that girl.

“Hi.”

“‘Saw you eyeing me for quite some time.” She said. She was chewing a piece of gum. I flinched every time she smacked her mouth. I hate the sound of mastication. “Why?”

“Just because.”

“Not much of a talker, are you?” Smack smack. Why won’t she leave me alone?

“Sorry, but I want to be alone at the moment.” I said.

“‘Kay.” Smack smack smack. She turned around and sat again at the park bench from earlier. She was still looking at my direction, crossing her arms and legs. Defensive.

I turned my attention to the second paragraph I was writing earlier.

Hours must’ve passed. I finished my first chapter. Then, I got up and stretched my arms and legs. I looked at the bench again.

She was still there. Staring me. I looked up at the sky. It was getting dark. She was no longer chewing her gum, but this time something about her unnerved me. I immediately packed up my things and left.

I finally got home and emailed the chapter I wrote earlier to my editor.

Knock knock. What’s that?

I went to the door and peered into the peephole. No one’s there.

Knock know.

Wait.

The sound wasn’t coming from the door.

pexels-photo-120271

I turned around.

She was staring at me from the mirror.

 

“24” by Rendila (March 12th, 2016)

There are many hours in my lifetime.

Twenty four of them had passed by.

Twenty four years of me breathing

Twenty four years of me being alive

But how can those years pass by so quickly?

It seems only yesterday that I learned to read

It seemed only yesterday that I scribbled red lipstick all over my face

It seemed only yesterday I fell down so many times after taking off my training wheels

Walking, dancing, singing and catching eels in the rice field

Now at the dawn of the first hour of my twenty four years

I think I’m beginning to see

Amor Fati.

“Spark” by Rendila (January 2nd, 2016)

Ignite that wick on the tips of your fingers

Allow it to burn the rain

Allow it to burn the time that had passed

And may it keep the thunderstorm at bay

And make all the sadness go away

Make all the candles inside this crooked mansion of a soul glow

Make all the scratches of the nails on the wall appear like mere wallflowers

Turn all of my unread pages

Turn the keys I left on the doors of the cages

Inside, you may find my secrets

Inside, you may find me.

“When It Rains.” by Earthyhuesgirl (December 10th, 2015)

My brain is a spilling Pandora ’s Box.

Each spool of my thought unfinished

Tangled and twisted

There’s a constant dark cloud in my head

Just waiting to pour its content into my soul

The ticking of the clock feels like walls crumbling

The ceiling above my bed a canvas for the images in my head

Constant thoughts of things that never will be

Endless possibilities running in my mind

like trains without schedule and going to uncertain directions

Tapping of fingers, tapping of the legs…

When the rain finally pour its muddy water

I drown in my worry and sorrow

I know that my sorry will not matter tomorrow

By then, the only thing I can hold on to is Hope

Maybe she can show me the silver lining.

“The Golden Rose” by Rendila (November 15th, 2015)

It was once said that if you find The Golden Rose, you get one wish. The Golden Rose was believed to be the flower from the seed fallen from paradise to earth. Some would go mad trying to find it and some went missing, never to be heard from again. Legions of people for centuries, some say millennia, have travelled far to the Northern Forest to find it. Kings and knights alike have failed. Empires have risen and fallen. Time passed and the story continued to pass from lips to lips, from the old to the young. But the story of The Rose still went on so people assumed that it was still there, perched somewhere, untouched, and blooming in the pale moonlight for many millennia… Until one day…

***

A small farm boy from the nearby village in The Kingdom ventured into the woods, searching for a game for supper. Famine and drought had ravaged the land for years and killed most of the villagers. He was on his own. Armed with just a single dull and rusty knife, he walked on the dry forest soil scattered with dry dead leaves from what once was a lush and abundant forest. Most of the trees were dead and the few remaining were dying.

He was thirsty… and hungry… He only had a handful of insects left in his small bag, which can only last a few days. He knew he had ventured too far, but he didn’t care. There’s nothing left for me in that godforsaken place anyway… He thought to himself. His lips parched dry and bloody. His right foot was slightly limping from a fight over a cup of dirt water.

Night was approaching. He didn’t realize that it was getting dark. A wolf howled in the distance. He could feel goosebumps in the back of his neck; he didn’t want to be the prey… Not today anyway. He continued to walk anyway.

When it was getting too late and his strength wavered, he realized that he needed to find shelter quickly. But the hunger and thirst took over, the world suddenly spun and his feet gave ways beneath him. Darkness enveloped him…

Suddenly, a burning stench filled his nostrils. He woke up to a burning campfire beside him. His head was resting on a stack of hay and he was covered in someone’s old and tattered cloak. He was inside a cave. There are many cave drawings painted on the walls. There was a man boiling something over the fire. “Hello, young ‘un.” The man said with a gravelly voice.

The farm boy sat up suddenly and stars swam in front of his eyes. “Who are you?” The farm boy said.

“‘Who are you?’ Is that how you greet one another these days? Not even a ‘Hello’?” The old man said. His face unreadable.

The farm boy stood up and pointed his knife at the man.

“What? You’re going to kill me?” The man said without even flinching.

“Aren’t you scared?” The farm boy said, still pointing the knife at the man. His hand started to tremble from the lack of strength.

“Go ahead. Kill me.” The old man said. “No one is going to stop you… Then again… no one is going to help you.” The boy noticed that the old man was unusually clean. The farm boy stood for a second, a lump was forming in his throat out of nervousness. Something is not right… But all thoughts vanished from his head as he saw a bottle glinting near the campfire. Immediately he dropped his knife and ran straight toward it. He drank the content of the water without hesitation.

The old man chuckled. His grin exposing a rotten set of sharp teeth.

“Thank you.” The farm boy said after a long swig from the bottle.

The man grunt in response. He was looking down at something inside his cloak that resembled an old wooden box. Something shone from the inside of the box which sparked the boy’s interest.

“What’s that?” The farm boy said.

“None of your concern.” The man said as he slipped the box back inside his cloak.

“Is that food?” The boy said, hope rising inside him. He inched slowly toward the man.

“No.” The man said firmly.

The farm boy suddenly lunged forward toward the old man. His hunger for food took over and he pinned the old man to the ground and wrapped his hands around the man’s throat. The old man suddenly smirked. “What a foolish boy.” He said.

“What do you mean— Arrrgh!” Suddenly there was a burning pain on his side. The old man kicked the boy as he stood up. The boy writhed on the ground clutching a knife protruding at his side.

“If you put aside your own greed, we could have shared the wolf.” The man spit out the words like venom. “Pity. You reminded me of my own son at some angles.” The man crouched down and forcefully pulled out the rusty blade from his side.

The pain was unbearable. The farm boy could feel the blood pouring out the wound and pooling underneath him. “Why…”

“That’s no way to gain trust from other people, my dear boy.” The old man pulled out the old wooden box from inside his cloak. “Do you really want to see what’s inside? Hmmm?” The old man chuckled.

Tears poured out of the boy’s eyes. He was in agony…

“Do you remember that old tale? What is it? Oh, yeah. ‘The Golden Rose.’” The old man opened the latch of the box and took out what looked like a shining flower. The color glowed like molten metal as it reflect the glowing ember of the campfire. “It turns out there’s always a catch inside every miracle.”

The boy could no longer speak as his vision fades slowly… He could no longer feel the pain. He could only watch and wait…

“Huh… you’re dying. I forgot what mortality feels like.” The tone of the old man’s voice was no longer gravelly. His posture was no longer hunched. Was he acting earlier?

“You see? What I gain from wishing for immortality is that’s just it: Immortality. No more. No less. It’s merely diminishing my worry of the ultimate end. I no longer even care about the time! However, I still feel pain. I still feel sadness. I still feel alone. I still feel thirst. I still feel… hunger. I can’t even let go of the godforsaken thing or I’ll turn to dust.” He looked at the boy who was now staring at him with a blank face. “You’re…” The man touched the side of the boy’s neck for pulse. “…dead.” He closed the boys eyes shut. “Huh…” The campfire’s glow now cast an eerie shadow on the cave wall. The silence made the man stumbled backward. He stared at the boy’s lifeless body for a long while, his eyes showing no emotions.

“Well, it’s been years since I’ve had a human for supper.”

***

There was another ancient tale. The tale of an old traveler. Some believed him to be one of the missing kings who had searched for the Rose. It was said that he found it. This tale was also about a liar who had spread the rumor of The Golden Rose from paradise to lure people into trap to kill them, some say even eat them. The traveler cannot let go of the flower for all of its power are received from his proximity to the flower. The potency would diminish whenever another touch the flower. In truth, the origin the tale of the Golden Rose was derived from another legend: The Lucifer’s Lotus.

MAJOR CUT by Rendila (September 4th, 2015)

He stood there

a knife in his hand.

A quick incision, he made

His palm bleeds

Honor to the brotherhood

An oath, he made

To the bones and ashes

of the fallen heroes

Tears from heaven fall

As if together

Joined in mourning

His blood washed away

with the rain from his eyes

He kneels

Prayers to the forgotten

and the beloved

Uttered in unison with the thunder

The sweet sharp union

Of pain and hope

I will be back someday

He said.

When the time comes

For me to join with the new battle

In another world beyond.