Hei, kamu. Iya, kamu! Aku memanggilmu.
Aku menulis ini buat kamu.

Ada yang mau aku kasih tahu.

Kamu tahu tidak, kalau tubuh kita mampu merehabilitasi kembali dirinya secara konstan? Secara harfiah, tubuh ‘menciptakan’ dan menghancurkan dirinya sendiri -dalam setiap detik dari eksistensinya.
Tubuh manusia memperbaharui dirinya sendiri dengan menakjubkan: 98% sel diperbarui setiap tahun sekali.
Ini artinya, tubuhmu hari ini berbeda dengan tubuhmu kemarin. Karena setiap 6 minggu kamu mempunyai hati yang baru, dalam tiap bulan kamu punya lapisan kulit baru, dalam tiap lima hari kamu punya jalur pencernaan yang baru. Bahkan, tulang kerangka tubuhmu diperbarui dalam tiap tiga bulan.

Setiap tahun tubuhmu itu benar-benar berbeda dengan tubuh yang kamu miliki tahun sebelumnya.
Tubuhmu benar-benar berubah pada setiap selnya.

Berulang-ulang proses itu berlangsung, selama kamu hidup.

Kamu tahu, aku paham betul tentang tubuh. Tapi aku tidak pernah mampu memahami mekanisme perasaan. Atau jiwa. Atau ruh. Atau apapun lah, tetek bengek namanya. Pokoknya tentang itu aku tidak mengerti.

Semua orang pasti pernah, menutup mata, dan membayangkan melihat wajah ibu-ibu mereka. Atau setangkai mawar. Sekarang pun, kamu bisa membuktikannya. Tutup matamu, dan coba ingat-ingat rasanya dielus rambut dan kepalamu oleh ibumu. Atau, biar lebih gampang, coba ingat-ingat rasa es krim strawberry. Kamu merasakan dinginnya, merasakan wanginya, merasakan manis-masamnya. Tapi di mana rasa itu berada? Dengan cara yang sama, sekarang coba tutup mata, dan dengarkan tiba-tiba ada musik di kepalamu, padahal tidak ada tape atau gramafon dari dalam sana. Tapi berani sumpah, kamu tahu itu ada!

Semua orang pasti pernah jatuh. Entah jatuh dari pohon waktu masa kecil. Atau jatuh waktu belajar naik sepeda. Atau jatuh waktu main benteng-bentengan atau air soft gun (yang ini aku!). Jatuh sampai lutut berdarah, celana sobek, atau cuma luka baret. Ada yang cepat sembuh, lalu main lagi, lari-lari lagi. Jatuh lagi. Ada yang sampai bikin kaki patah, sampai rela ketinggalan setahun sekolah, tapi besok-besoknya juga tidak apa-apa. Dan bertahun-tahun kemudian, walaupun bekas lukanya masih ada, dan masih ingatkejadiannya, tapi tetap sudah tidak apa-apa.

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Semua orang pasti pernah jatuh cinta, berkali-kali bahkan. Termasuk aku. Tapi kalau mau jujur sama hati, pasti ada satu kali yang berarti selamanya. Tidak ada gantinya. Bisa melakukan apa saja buat yang satu itu. Apa saja, walaupun itu berarti harus melepasnya.
Dan asal kamu tahu saja, semua manusia itu sama.
Kamu, itu aku.


This One is My Soul M8

ust when I thought the One is the best, it does indeed get better. The rigid design, the way it falls perfectly into my palm. The sleek and clean UI, the amazingly fast processor, and all the features totally blow me away. The camera works so good especially under lowlight condition. But more than that, the manual setting lets me get the result as I expected. And I can save the setting as my default. The Ufocus (updated) is super neat too. The BoomSound in M8 definitely produces stronger, sharper and cleaner sound than before. And the battery, lasts a day for my normal (heavy-moderate) usage! So when HTC sent me this phone for review I definitely get the best experience. Hence, this one is my soul m8.



Hold Me While You Can

Between all-white bed sheet  and the sound of beeping monitor every now and then, I cringed a bit by the scent of  disinfectant.

“Does it hurt?” you asked.

I looked at my hand engulfed in yours. My hand seemed so small and fragile there, nestling between your hands.

You held your hand out that time remember? Open, palm up and leaving it up to me to give my hand. I thought with some amusement that men must take lessons.
I remember how we sat decorously apart. Sitting side by side, staring at the sea. I sat with my knees drawn up, forearm around them, trickling sand through the fingers of the other. We exchanged sidelong glances once in a while. There was his hand on the sand between us. Open, palm up. I slid mine into it. We continued staring at the sea.

Later, we played, doodling messages on the other’s palm, silly endearments and questions we were too shy to voice. But I still remember that hand, lying open on the sand, waiting. It asked, without asking. Lesson I learned that day; holding hands is in a way more intimate than other intimacies.

I remember the first time you held my hand. Your hand was warm, big and gentle. You stroked my fingers then too. Not looking at each other’s eyes yet, hand in hand, pressure returning pressure, squeeze responding with squeeze, world reduced to that connection, our hands twining together. No need for words just then. A glance and a smile and all that needed saying said, without words.

There was that day when you drew me close. Nestling against your shoulder with your arm around me, I felt small and safe. When your hand cupped my cheek and you dropped that fleeting kiss, it burned a brand in my memory with its gentleness.

You looked at me with such tenderness, an indulgent adult at a dear toddler. You leaned forward once, to cup my face and give it a fond shake. I protested that I wasn’t a child. Your smile said you thought otherwise.

My hand seemed so small and fragile there, nestling between your hands. You patted it, gentling it like you would a kitten or a baby bird.

“You have become too thin,” you accused, as thumb and forefinger circled my wrist. You gripped both hands in one and looked upset. “See.”

“Does it hurt?” you asked. I looked at my hand engulfed in yours.


No, dear –I thought. It doesn’t hurt. Not when you hold my hand like that.



He plays with my ring. I wince a little when he finally manages to remove it. There is always reluctance in parting.

He’s got the most beautiful fingers I’ve ever seen. The long stalks that held pencils, pens, paint brushes, cigarettes and women among others. Cigarettes didn’t suit him some years ago. They do now. 

Women. It was a singular thing in his life before. The past never is really past. I always look back.

“Tell me about her. And her. And her. And every one of them. 8 years of women to catch up with.”

The numbers and names roll off his tongue.

Really? So many? I never ask.

“And the sex?”

“It’s always been interesting. It’s different… different women different times and same woman different times.”


“Tell me more.”

We never had secrets. And when we finally did, they ate us up. Secrets not shared become bigger than you and they gobble you up.

It was a train journey. The flimsy curtains showed more than they covered. But one hoped they covered more. Train seats aren’t really meant for two to lie. And in that lay all the fun. 
But he stops abruptly. He stretches his hands recklessly towards me. 

His fingers that unhooked many layers off many women. His fingers that trembled when they wrote his address on a book I still have saved. Fingers that caught a handful of sky, more sky than my small ones ever could. They’re still as beautiful. 

I had lent out what was mine. Now I take them back. 




An Ode For You

An abandonment like a washed shore, frothy remnants of something gone, a few shells left back like scars on otherwise uniform skin.

Missing someone forms a dull ache that you learn to live with.
This year I missed you a little less than the year before. And someday I’ll stop remembering to miss you. Gradually. You see heart is a traitor, a sellout for reasons of one’s own benefit.  One day heart makes you believe, and one day it makes you forget what you believe.

I must have loved the rain. But it was you who made me realize it. When the first unexpected summer rain fell, I ran out to pick the clothes from the line. Even in that moment of urgency, sanity always my being, insisted on flinging a cloth over my bare heads. You tugged mine off and asked me to enjoy the rain. You told it was beautiful and it was a shame to watch it through soggy layers. It was beautiful. It still is. Always.

It was you who pointed out the stars in the sky and told me their names. Sleepy eyes hardly got it registered. But I always knew you would be there the next night to tell me their names all over again. How foolish was I. I never again will see a tomorrow except when I see it.

You said “Love heals, not hurts.” Forgive me for disagreeing, but why it can’t does both? Believe me when I say I’ve had very very very bad times and you, just being exist, keeps me going. Even if you are not around, only in my mind, it’s enough.

How can I forget someone who I see in the stars and the rain?! So I look for a way to capture our memories into words and give them a life forever..

I have always believed that certain things are better left unsaid. Mainly because they seem to lose their magic or beauty, the moment they are uttered. You proved me wrong. Something as beautiful as you, need to be uttered.

Consciously trying to forget someone is a sure way of never doing it. The paradox when you have to think about someone to actually need to forget them.
But I’ve actually forgotten you. Most of you.

However, you stay in stories I tell people. In smells and nostalgia.

You stay in the empty space that you left behind.

almost prayer


Do you remember…
How we met one summer, just as you were going out and I was coming in?
How the next summer we went to the zoo to watch the Hippos yawn? How we laughed at monkeys and people alike?

The summer that we first dealt with death? Your hand that you gave me across your bed and mine. I had taken it and slept holding it.

“Stars don’t cry..” You wiped my tears.

Do you remember how you would come to see me, dirty collars and a dusty cycle? How we would talk sitting beside each other on the brown steps of the neighbor’s house, ignoring the pointed looks of our mothers?

When the next summer we went to the snake house? When you tapped on the glass cage and the tired snake gave us a scornful look. I know we both were a little scared though we pretended otherwise.
I don’t know why we went to strange places.

Do you remember how you confessed your fear of cockroaches to me?

Do you remember how we would long to be alone, away from the curious eyes of a cousin neither of us wanted?

Do you remember that sultry summer when you told me I had changed?

When you smiled at the changes of my growing body?
I smacked you from behind the chair you sat on, trying to hide my blush. I was glad you noticed it. It really took a painfully long time growing!

Do you remember the silk pashmina I wore for your brother’s wedding?
Managing it was a so damn irritating especially when my eyes kept looking for you. I know you searched for me too. When you finally found me and brought those friends of yours and I saw their mouths droop in disappointment, my lips trembled. But when I saw the way you always looked at me, the green damn pashmina didn’t seem too awful then and I smiled my first smile of that day.

I always looked best in your eyes.

You remember how you walked away and I never called you back?
I never knew you walked away.
You never knew I called a thousand times.

You were right. Stars don’t cry. But fallen stars do.