A Magician of Heart

Tonight's the end. I gulp a whole bottle of codeine pills, and Vicodine, too, with a cheap Vodka I bought with the last pounds in my pocket. I count in my heart...

One...

Two...

Three...

In my waiting for departure I am thinking about her, the ghost who inflicts so much pain and so much joy in my life.

Four...

Five...

Never crossed my mind, that I can only love her in my defective mind. In my insanity, I found love.

Six...

Seven...


Five years have gone by since that one summer's afternoon. I can still remember the details vividly, as if it was just yesterday. The air... the room was radiant by the light of the sun that refused to step down. A flock of golden clouds sauntered slowly on the tangerine sky. I remember sitting down by the windows, on a wooden chair. It was warm inside. On the outside, some children were playing football. Some of them were cycling. None of their laughs could register to my brain. I felt bland. I felt lifeless. Yet I can flawlessly recall that day, because that day is the day she came to my life.

"How are you dear?" My mum's voice echoed from across the room. "Are you feeling well?"

"I am okay, mum."

I am okay, mum. It's just... I am not me. 

My heart dared not speak the latter sentence. I just couldn't stand the thought of me worry my mum again.

The fault in our stars have cursed our family with this defect. First, my father. A decorated sergeant who was honorably discharged in his prime time. One day, a depressive episode manifested, due to his mental illness that finally surfaced. The next day, he's probed with evaluation. Two months after, he was out of the military. The next year, he shot himself to death. Leaving a widow with measly veteran benefit and a son who inherit the same illness. Perhaps it's time for my turn.

I never expect that that afternoon carved a lasting impression, even more so since my mind is botched from a concoction of brain-suppressing medications. That afternoon... that gleaming window... about five meters from outside of the window, came her. The wind blew her short, silky-black hairs as she walked closer and closer to me. I could only caught a glimpse of her face... her eyes. She looked into my eyes - a habit that she never lost - and I swear to god I was trembling at that moment. And then she was gone, disappearing into thin air. So fast, as if the earth swallowed her in one quick swoop.

"Life is not a dream, you know." A whisper came from behind.

I jolted from my chair. And there she was, smiling menacingly.

"What the fuck... Who the fucking hell are you?!"

"Son? Are you okay? Whom are you talking to?"

"Uhh, sorry mum. I... uh, the kids outside are playing in our yards. Gonna mess your flowers so I shooed them away."

"Oh, okay, then. I am going to go downtown. You feel like coming?"

"I guess, no, mum. I am fine."
"Take care, dear."

"You too, mum."

"Liar, liar..."

That voice again. She was standing next to the door. I could now see her clearly. Her slender body leaned against the wall, with her thin legs crossed. She tilted her face to me. Her round face, her melancholic eyes, and one little mole adorning above her thin lips. Lips that smiled a beautifully cynical smile. Her face was a landscape of wonderland. She was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

"Are you an angel?"

"Maybe."

Her sweet puffy cheeks reddened as she chuckled. "You will know who I am."

Since then my life was naught but a poetic version of reality. She was a magician of heart. Her passing apparition distorted everything that is real. I saw her on my waking hours. On some night, she would even sit next to me on my bed, from dusk to dawn. Exchanging words and whispers. Commenting on my frailty body, or about this old world - the philosophers, the peacemakers, the war mongers - while having our eyes locked on each others'. Her mind was like a library of infinite books. A vastness that I could never fathom.


I didn't know her name, and she didn't tell me, either. Until one day, I saw the sky carved her name by the clouds.

Nadja. 

Nadja, the sweetest angel ever made by the immortal hands of God. The sweetest being in my life.


"You are not prepared to understand me. Everything that you see is a juxtaposition of two or more realities, including me."

I didn't understand a word she just said when I asked more about her. Since then I only knew her as an angel. A heaven-sent.


Day by day, Nadja haunted me. Even stronger. I saw her on TV. One day she was the anchor woman, and she told me a story about what happened in Middle East. But frankly I didn't care, I only cared for her voice, sung like lullabies. Like a bedtime story. On another day, she was the weatherman. The swirl pattern formed a heart shape. How sweet of her, I thought. I've never been romantically loved that much in my live.

One day - after disappearing for few days - she appeared as both the pizza delivery guy and the face on pizza box. Both of her was angry, saying I didn't miss her that much. I begged for apology to the baffled pizza guy and the pizza box. And that's when my mother noticed my illness.

My medications separated me from her. The first time I took them, Nadja taunted me. 

"You're weak. You're useless! You let those pills deteriorate your brain? You will never see me again!" 


Nadja resented me, questioned my love for her. My mum was beside Nadja, trying to contain her tears. Her body was unsteady, shivering. Her eyes were looking at me, tired, almost as if this life turns to an unending vigil. I could know that my mum was scared from the realization that the only love left for her is about to suffer like her husband. My heart was torn in dilemma. Love is not supposed to be contested, to be compared. Yet I had to choose.

Every time I took the meds, Nadja didn't come. I ached in agony. The medications robbed me of my Nadja and my willpower. I felt cold and empty. I couldn't express anything but a mask-like expression. Nadja is my bittersweet distractor. In my catatonic state I could only remember her, as if universe means nothing without her.

I missed her so much I decided to stop taking the meds, just to see her again. I expected her to be so angry with me, but she wasn't. She was as angelic as she always was.

"I miss you too."

I began to see her everywhere since I stopped taking my medication. I saw her face on the billboards alongside Cheshire Road. Her omnipresence began taking over my life. She was on everyone's faces, with all eyes towards me. Looking at times very cheerful, but sometimes also very sinister. She even wrote me messages, displayed everywhere. In newspapers, sometimes, I read a letter or poetry made by her, signed "Nadja." In other times, license plates on the street spelled her accusatory voices, like a barrage of moving angry text messages. It drove me crazy. It suffocated me.

On one rainy afternoon in the middle of August this year, well past 4 PM, I was driving my car downtown. I had to buy grocery since my mother was ill and must stay in bed. Usually, I always drank my meds in needs like this. But this time I forgot taking them, and Nadja began appearing again everywhere. I tried my best to ignore her, keeping my focus on the road. One of her was on the sidewalk, waving at me, trying to tell me something. I was too distraught by her to dodge a parked car.

Inside a car I just hit, a couple were struggling to get out. I sighed in gratitude, for such a fatal inattention almost took away several lives. I saw the man got a bloody cut in his forehead. The woman got bruises here and there. Worse, their faces gradually changed to Nadja's as they screamed and yelled and limped towards me. Soon, other people approaches me and my car. They were... all Nadja. My head hurt so much from the impact and all the illusions. I couldn't sort things out. I couldn't remember a thing afterward - except the feeling of touching my damp shirt, soaked with blood. I passed out.


I woke up at the Sacred Heart Hospital, with stitches above my left eyebrows and dislocated shoulders. Police demanded explanations, and after several inquiries, the court decided that I was too dangerous to myself and others. The court order compelled me to take medication else I would be put in mental institution. I could only imagine how sad my mother was. An agony not so subtle was hinted in her face. I didn't dare to see my mum's face afterwards.

Can you imagine lovers separated not by distance but by sanity? Maybe there is only one in this world; only Nadja and I. And now my sanity becomes an unbearable quality to have. I've dreamed of her so hard that I'd rather lose my grip on reality. I want my insanity back. I want to hear stories coming from her lips again; to sleep with her voice that is so dear to me while embracing her body as she lays next to me. I want Nadja no matter how much she caused me pain.

Eighty two...

Eighty three...

Tonight is nothing but a collection of emptiness. The empty sky deprived of star lights. The empty bottles of pills. The empty heart of a man. Soulless. Loveless. This immense feeling of bleakness permeating from my room is more comforting than ever.

Ninety...

Ninety one...

My inner clock is counting the moment. What will come after this? Will this wicked son get punished for inflicting so much sadness and disappointment to his mother?

Will I meet Nadja? 

I grin at such prospect. My vision begins to blur from tiredness and the pills. My whole limbs paralyze.

Nadja. The enigma who warped my soul and sent it in limbo. The beautiful angel who remains out of reach in reality and in my dreams. I have lost her. I no longer have her. May this death - this infinite night - bring me again to her sweet caress. May these pills be my one way ticket to ride.


Ninety nine...

I believe in everything that will bring her back to me.

One hundred...

As I close my eyes, every inch of my body screams her name.

I hear my room door creaking slowly.


-----



*) A homage to Andre Breton's book, "Nadja". Thank you, @nitnitha. :*

For Thee

Never - in my imaginations, nor even in the loveliest dream I've always wished to dream - come the days that we are like what we are right now. Seemed like yesterday when the images of you were still as remote as the stars beyond the universe; as heaven for the unrepentant, heinous sinner. You were the oasis that my eyes could see but could never reach. You were the mirage for the rain-thirst desert of my heart. At least, that's how you were in my mind.

But you now manifest as the air that I can now breathe. And I am forever grateful, even if this may not last forever. For what's the best thing a dreamer can have, but to have his oneiric longing turns to reality?

Our story was too simple, but it's not of being simply in love. The promises to leave, the implosions of the hearts, the undulating emotions, the indifferent moments - all knitted together with love in a story no sentence could carry.

And for now, let's walk together. Let's wish for the eternal sunny day and starry night. If there will be an end for this road, or a merciless thunderstorm to end our days, let's hope that none of us will regret this. I will watch you silently. I will pray for you from afar that you'll be happy, to be one with he who loves you better than me.

But for now, let me just be drowned in the sweetness of your hours. Let me put my heart home, in you. In your love.

The firmest faith can be told in the fewest words. For as the turtles can't sing, yet they also fall in love, even for centuries. May this speak as a declaration - a modest one - and let our love speak louder than this.

Let me love you modestly.

Let me love you incessantly.

Mercusuar

"Blessed are the hearts that can bend; they shall never be broken." - pengarangnya tidak diketahui. Sering disalahatributkan kepada Albert Camus.

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Pada mulanya adalah firman: "brocen wurde"; "telah hancur". Lalu, pelan-pelan, kuukir kata-kata itu menjadi sebuah epitaf imajiner di dalam dada. Mungkin memang - entah bagaimana - nasib menabhiskan aku menjadi sebuah gelombang soliton; ombak yang menjelajah lautan luas dengan kecepatan dan juga kesunyian yang konstan. Sementara dirimu adalah mercusuar, yang tegak menjulang dengan cahaya yang membutakan.

Ketika hidup merangsek dan menerjang tiba-tiba dalam kegelapan, siapakah yang hendak kujadikan pelita? Dirimu terlalu jauh, terlalu tinggi di atas tebing karangmu yang curam. Musim panas telah beranjak, digantikan oleh musim dingin yang kejam. Dan badai-badainya yang membekukan telah menghempaskan aku lagi dan lagi ke pantaimu. Hancur memecah menjadi sisa-sisa zarah.

Kau dan pantaimu adalah tempat yang magis. Benar, sayang, aku melihat keajaiban di matamu terang menyala bak seribu matahari. Terus terbakar dari lima tahun yang lalu dan tak pernah mati. Bagiku kau bukanlah penunjuk arah tempat di mana aku harus berhenti. Kaulah tempat aku harus melabuhkan diri.

Namun, sebuah ombak soliton tidaklah cukup besar untuk menjangkaumu. Untuk memelukmu dalam keabadian dan memujamu bagaikan dewi-dewi surgawi. Maka, aku hanya berharap agar gelombangku cukup kuat untuk membawaku pergi, saat bulan purnama menjejak langit pantaimu malam ini.

Kulihat cahayamu menembus pekatnya kabut dini hari. Aku pergi dalam diam, bersama pasang naik dan angin laut yang membawa rindu-rinduku serta. Selamanya.

Di atas, Tuhan mengangguk sambil tersenyum. Tak terlihat sedikitpun di paras wajah-Nya sebuah ironi.

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Frasa "brocen wurde" diambil dari puisi "The Battle of Maldon".  Sebuah puisi Inggris Kuno, berasal dari tahun yang tidak diketahui. Bercerita tentang pertempuran Maldon yang terjadi pada tahun 991.

To My Daughter

If you read this letter one day, it will mean that probably I am not on your side. I probably am not near you while you almost fall asleep, to sing you lullabies; to brush your hair lightly while reciting magical tales from the faraway lands. I'm afraid, when you read this, I am thousand miles beyond our home. But, my dear, you will know by this letter of how much I love you. And how much it tears my heart apart, knowing that you can't see by your eyes a father who loves you and who is fond of you.

Dear love,
Your dad is not a man who always acts as he thinks best nor remains faithful to his dreams. And worse still, not only my dreams, but I also sacrifice you and your mom. By now you might often wonder, "Why is my dad not here like my friends' dads?" And I can only think of how painful you think of our family as incomplete. Or how you are longing for the chances that we go to the zoo together, laughing at the clumsy giraffe, or perhaps complaining why they have to keep the tiger inside the steel cage when you think it should belong to the African jungle as you read it on the book.

Dear my beloved daughter,
The truth is, your father is the tiger. Locked in a steel cage called "job". As the tiger trade its freedom to roam the jungle so that the zookeepers have money for their family to buy food, your dad gave away his freedom so that our family have money, too. For you, for your mom, and occasionally for your grandparents. But unlike the tiger who is there against its will, I gave it to the government by choice.

Right now you probably are mad at me. Perhaps thinking of how silly I am to give up my dreams. I can understand that, dear. But I don't expect you to understand my decision. Instead, of this I tell you, let me be locked, but you must be there free in the jungle. Do not let them lock your dreams. Be the fiercest tigress ever in the jungle.

You must remember, that even though the tiger is locked, you must not thoughtlessly go near it, as it may hurt you. It may be locked, but at its mind it is still tiger, with its ferocious quality. And so is dad still keeps some of his dreams with him. Nothing can prevent dad from thinking about things beyond my measly job as government officer. So should you, dear, since the world is not your limit. You must think beyond that. You must go beyond the stars to the edge of the universe. Do not stop learning. Do not stop reading, even though I am not there to guide you. Be always curious of how this world works. One day, when I come home, I will tell you of how wonderful this universe is. I hope you will be interested by it, and build your dreams from it. And only by keeping and fulfilling your dreams you can be the best tigress, even much much better than dad and mom. Of this I endlessly hope for you.

Dear love,
To be the best tigress in the jungle, remember, you must be humble. Be kind and compassionate to others, especially to those who are weak and oppressed. Be sensitive to injustice committed against anyone anywhere in this world. You must - at the words of a poet, Rudyard Kipling - be able to talk with common people and keep your goodness and walk with kings without losing your humility. Do not dislike people because of their skin colors, or where they come from. Do not hate persons because of their religions, or because they love person with the same genders unlike your dad loves your mom. Do not like to avenge, forgive those who hurt you instead.

Be the best not because I told you to, but be the best because of you yourself think that this is good. You may not be proud of your dad's unimportant job, but you must be proud of yourself as I am always and always will be proud of you.

The jungle there awaits for you, dear. And soon, the stars above.

Give my kisses and hugs to mom.

With love,




Dad

The Emergence of Banal Evil

The day was Thanksgiving. A quiet Pennsylvania suburb was soaked by rain. The air was damp, with grey, disconcertingly cold, and sombre nuance. The trees were bare and stripped of their leaves, welcoming the winter. Enter two families, The Dovers and The Birches. Warmth radiated from these neighbors, exchanging fresh deer meats shot in the opening scene by the older kid of Dovers family, Ralph (Dylan Minnette) with traditional turkey-based Thanksgiving banquet. And what you see next is just typical friendly banters between two very normal families. Franklin Birch (Terrence Howard), asked Keller Dover (Hugh Jackman) and Grace Dover (Maria Bello) to request songs so that he can play with his rudimentary trumpet skill. While Franklin's wife (Viola Davis) sat next to him in jovial undertones. The youngest of both families, Joy (Kyla Drew Simmons) and Anna (Erin Gerasimovich) asked to play outside. The parents are reluctant at first, but then permit them as long as they were accompanied by their older siblings, Ralph and Eliza (Zoe Borde). Ralph and Eliza dragged them away from a suspicious RV. After that Joy and Anna ask to go to the Dovers' residence, to find Anna's lost red whistle. This time, they went without their older siblings. And they were missing. They weren't on Dovers' house. The Dovers and Birches searched frantically on their neighborhood. Ralph then pointed out the aforementioned suspicious RV as the potential suspect, but now it was already gone.

Detective Loki (Jake Gyllenhaal), the local ace detective, led the investigations. He and some police finally located the van and arrested the driver, who turned out to be a man in his late twenty but with 10-year-old-kid mentality, Alex Jones (Paul Dano). The lack of evidence forced the police to release Alex. Keller, in his desperation and distrust to police's capability, decided to hold Alex captive and torture him to get an answer. Meanwhile Detective Loki, cursed by his perfect "always solved" record little by little succumbed to his own personal demon. He slowly fell into obsession as the trails to find the girls were becoming more obscure.

And that was "Prisoners", a quasi-police procedural thriller by Denis Villeneuve. Villeneuve masterfully crafted "Prisoners" in dreary atmosphere not unlike Clint Eastwood's "Mystic River" or David Fincher's "Zodiac" and "Se7en". In fact, I thought Gyllenhaal's portrayal of obsession-ridden detective quite reminiscing to his Robert Graysmith character in "Zodiac". Jackman, however, reminded me of Jimmy Markum (played by Sean Penn) in "Mystic River"; a dad who gradually descends to moral anarchy in the wake of losing his beloved daughter. Howard, Davis, and Bello each acted superbly as depression started to cripple them all. Paul Dano, while not memorable, performed decently, too.

The music was minimal, almost none, even. If Susan Hill said "short story is unforgiving form", then criminal procedural series like "Law and Order" and "Criminal Minds" suffer from this short period of storytelling. Conflict resolved too fast, and the victims' characters are rarely explored in-depth. But "Prisoners" is on the right amount. It will imprison your attention, stealing your breath with each revelations that unfurls. Some of you will exit the cinema a little bit drowsy and worn-out. It is, in my opinion, one of the most emotionally exhausting neo-noir films in the last 5 years.

 "Prisoners" sparks again the memory of post-9/11 USA, with the torture-crazed administration, Abu Ghraib, and whatnots. Unlike, the series "24",  the film "Zero Dark Thirty" or "Unthinkable", the torturer in "Prisoners" is not a government agency. The torturer is a more-or-less a normal human being. A human being without political leaning and fascistic jingoism. "Prisoners" is a more harrowing allegory for us, precisely because it is an "intuitive pumps", an easy-to-chew "ticking bomb scenario" narrative unlike those hodge-podge thought experiments. It dares to ask us, "what will you do if you were Keller Dove?" while not depriving us of the thick descriptive details of both the torturer and the tortured. Alex Jones was not "masked" to make us less sympathetic to him. His scars and bruises were shown vividly. His tearful eyes were heart-wrenching. Even more so,  Jones, an unfortunate man with mental retardation, might be the worst possible victim ever chosen for torture. Keller, essentially, had tortured a kid. And it is easier for us to relate to Mr. Dover, a generic family man, than imagining us to be the person in charge of Guantanamo or CIA. The image of a family man who tortured a mentally retarded man sure will agony to our moral sense.

It is more disconcerting, as so many of us were like Keller. Sure, Keller might be championing machismo, fervent religiosity, and doomsday prepper mentality. But deep down he was pressured by his own thought. His conscience was never really dead. He was drown in compunction, justifying his actions as nothing more than just desperate measures in desperate time. He repeatedly told Jones "Where is she? I promise, I'll let you go!" There was one scene when he recited Our Lord's Prayer before applying torture, then cried on the line "...and forgive us our trespasses." He couldn't continue saying its following phrase, "...as we forgive those who trespass against us" as he saw his humanity crumbled before him. He was unable to forgive those who trespass him.

Keller is the very embodiment of Hannah Arendt's "banality of evil." This banality means two things. One, is that cruelty becomes so prevalent that what is once considered cruel, might evolve as something that is being perceived as normal; that our collective conscience is numbed. But it can also mean the second thing, that is, the isolated cases of evil things committed by people who in our judgment would never commit such atrocity. The trouble with Keller was he, and the many, were neither perverted nor sadistic. Those who committed banal evil they were, and still are, terribly and terrifyingly normal. "This normality", warned Hannah Arendt, "was much more terrifying than all the atrocities put together." Because if the so-called "normal people" supported torture, then what is left from us to be the vanguard of ethics and morality and humanity? No need to stretch our imagination, even Americans are more pro-torture now than during Bush's era. And what about some people who neither oppose nor support torture like Franklin and Nancy Birch? This is another face of banal evil, those who intend to enjoy the apparent "security" acquired from torture, but refuse to get their hand dirty. They know that it is wrong, but opt to piggyback it as free-riders. All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. And Elie Wiesel warned us that ambivalence and neutrality "helps the oppressor, never the victim."

Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/elie_wiesel.html#7cXF2j2eJoo5ILIf.99

Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/elie_wiesel.html#7cXF2j2eJoo5ILIf.99

Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/e/elie_wiesel.html#7cXF2j2eJoo5ILIf.99

Machiavelli once wrote in "The Prince": "...and in the actions of all men [...] one judges by the result." As all ticking bombs scenario, the usage of torture is the millenia old question of whether the ends justify the means. But is torture effective enough for us to justify the means?

In some cases, victims can even keep remarkable amounts of information hidden for days or weeks, or even spewed gibberish or outright lies. During World War II, American pilot Marcus McDilda tricked Japanese interrogators by saying the US was about to drop atomic bombs on Kyoto and Tokyo. In 1944, Gestapo officers subjected conspirator Fabian von Schlabrendorff to 4 weeks of tortures by metal spikes and beatings so severe he suffered a heart attack. But Fabian broke his silence only to give the Gestapo a few scraps of vague information when he feared involuntarily blurting out serious intelligence. There was also the case of Abdul Hakim Murad. For 67 subsequent days, Filipino police beat Murad, broke his ribs, burnt his genitals with cigarettes, subjected him to water-boarding, laid him out on an ice block, and pumped his stomach with water, but nothing out of his coercion resulted in a clear cut plan told to the investigators. In fact, his plan was uncovered from the computer seized from his apartment in Manila instead. Keller was not stupid, but he was in sheer thoughtlessness - something by no means identical with stupidity. And indeed, torture is never the panacea thought by Keller to solve his problem. His humanity has gone, and gone for wrong and futility. Without giving away the ending, what Keller did to Alex Jones not much advanced the investigation and search for the missing girls.

It disturbs me (thankfully "Prisoners" is fictional) when the question whether Keller will go to prison is answered "maybe" by a legal authority figure. For me, the question of torture must turn from individual ethics to law and public policy realm. Laws against torture should be enforced in all cases. A plea in mitigation might be considered only in cases with a proven urgent and immediate danger and massive impact, akin to ticking bomb scenario. Then, it must be followed by a voluntary confession by the officers doing the torture. But even so, the torturers should be removed from their job and spend some time in prison. I think this can be defended from a wide variety of ethical or metaethical perspectives. But the intuition is simple: if the situation is grave enough to warrant resort to torture, it’s certainly grave enough to oblige someone to take actions that will result in losing their job and going to jail.

But even if we win the battle (or find the missing girl) but lose our humanity then what have we really won? How do we pay justice to those whom we torture - for whatever reason? What if we torture an innocent person? How can we fix the damaged soul of the wrongfully tortured? What atonement must we endure to redeem our wrongdoing? It is the core message of this disturbing film: the losing of humanity and the emergence of banal evil.

And in the end, it is the inability to forgive one's self that gives rise to obsession and unhealthy fixation. In this case, Keller couldn't forgive himself for his failure to protect his family (exacerbated by his own machismo and his wife's depressive complains). He then projected his innate anger to Alex Jones. Loki, on the other hand, couldn't forgive himself as his perfection demanded that he solve this case. And it drove him crazy. It drove him into tantrum.

Forgiveness is hard. Jacques Derrida was right. To be able to forgive is to be able to forgive the impossible. Forgiving can never be finished or concluded – it must always be open, like a permanent rupture, or a wound that refuses to heal. And nothing is almost impossible as forgiving one's self for making failure. However, it is the only way for us to escape from our personal prison.

Surat Kepada Nona Artemis

Kepada: 
Nona Artemis, di pesisir Laut Aegea

Dahulu sekali, Nona Artemis, seorang filsuf yang berasal dari tanah kelahiran kita, Zeno, pernah berujar, "Takdir adalah rangkaian sebab akibat yang tidak terputus." Sebelum kita semua ada, Nona, kita adalah atom-atom yang berasal dari letusan bintang bermilyar-milyar tahun yang lalu, yang mungkin juga berasal dari letusan bintang yang lain, dari semesta yang lain juga. Dan begitu selanjutnya, dari tak terhingga menuju ketakterhinggaan yang lain.

Lalu, Nona, takdir menentukan atom-atom ini untuk lantas mewujud menjadi seorang bayi perempuan mungil, yang lahir 22 tahun lalu pada sepasang ayah dan ibu yang terikat dengan cinta yang sedemikian kuat, hingga perbedaan pun takluk di hadapan mereka. Tahukah kamu, Nona, jika bayi mungil ini lahir di gedung tempat ayahku memutuskan untuk berangkat menjadi atom kembali? Tahukah juga kamu jika bayi ini lahir pada tanggal 28, yang jika ditambahkan maka ia menjadi angka 10 - lambang kesempurnaan? Aku dan bayi mungil ini punya beberapa hal yang begitu mirip, sehingga kami bahkan berpikir jika di kehidupan sebelumnya kami berdua adalah saudara kembar.

Bayi ini kemudian tumbuh menjadi wanita yang menyenangkan bagi mereka di sekitarnya. Meskipun kuakui, dia seringkali egois dan tidak mau mendengarkan, dia selalu punya banyak cinta yang ia beri kepada orang-orang. Sama sepertimu, Nona Artemis, dia adalah pelindung anak-anak. Ia menyayangi beberapa anak yang ia anggap sebagai darah dagingnya sendiri, pada sebuah panti asuhan di kota di mana ia belajar sekarang. Pernah dia bertanya kepadaku, bagaimana seorang yang egois bisa menyayangi anak-anak yang tidak pernah dilahirkannya. Aku tidak tahu pasti, jawabku. Mungkin karena kita adalah makhluk yang paradoksikal. Bukankah kau sendiri juga paradoksikal, Nona Artemis, dengan panahmu yang sama-sama mampu membawa penyakit dan juga kesembuhan? (Oh, aku sering berpikir kalau bayi perempuan ini punya karunia untuk mendatangkan cinta dan patah hati pada saat yang bersamaan.)

Di ulang tahunnya kali ini, aku tidak bisa memberi apa-apa. Tidak juga sebuah kue ulang tahun dengan lapisan cokelat dan dua buah lilin merah berbentuk angka dua yang menyala di atasnya. Baginya, dunia ini sudah merupakan sebuah kue ulang tahun besar yang sedang ia makan sepotong demi sepotong. Ia taklukkan satu per satu.

Aku hanya bisa menyelipkan sebuah fragmen tembaga yang pernah digunakan di tanah kita selama lebih dari tiga milenia. Di bagian mukanya, ada gambar lelaki yang tulisannya selalu ia pakai sebagai rujukan mendongeng. Dongeng tentang tanah kita yang ajaib beserta dewa-dewinya. Sayang sekali, Nona Artemis, dunia ini menyibukannya sedemikian rupa. Merampas waktu yang ia punyai sehingga sudah jarang sekali ia bercerita. Namun aku maklum, Nona Artemis. Aku lebih suka jika dia menggunakan sisa-sisa waktunya di malam hari agar dia bisa istirahat, daripada ia harus mendongeng dalam keadaan yang susah payah.

Lewat fragmen tembaga itu aku sematkan doa, supaya kelak ia bisa kembali pulang ke tepi lautmu. Mungkin dengan membawa serta Aegea dan Aegypta, anak-anaknya yang tercinta. Aku sudah meminta fragmen itu untuk membisikkan ucapan ulang tahunku padanya, juga harapan agar dia selalu bahagia dan semakin bijaksana.

Karena waktu adalah siklus tak terputus, maka biarlah energi yang dicurahkan semesta pada saat ia lahir datang kembali pada hari peringatan atasnya. Dan semoga Phoenix dan Pyro yang lebih dahulu kembali ke surga di hari sebelum ulang tahunnya kali ini, mau singgah dahulu ke Olympia dan menyampaikan doaku kepada dewa-dewi.

Arturo

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P.S.: Nona Artemis, wanita itu seperti ini rupanya:

Bukankah ia mirip sekali denganmu?

Upon Your Lifeless Smile

Last night must've been the darkest, coldest night I have lived on. It's as if the hell froze over and I walked on its ice. Not a word, not even a goodbye was said when you decided to be gone - and stayed gone. Forever. I still remember the way you waved your hand on the morning I went to work. Your smile seemed sincere, completely concealed what drove your heart into taking such extreme measure. Yes, I couldn't even catch a glimpse of your wicked intention, no matter how minuscule. Not that morning. Not even hundreds of morning before.

I have always thought that last night I would've walked into our home (weary, of course), not forgetting to put my shoes on the wooden shoe cabinet near the front door (because you always maddeningly scold me for being so untidy - funny how it is now I remember this after you've gone), only to find you fell asleep on our bed. The flowers-and-dogs patterns that emblazoned the "cute" bed cover you bought a month ago would look crumpled covering three-quarters of your body. Maybe I would kiss you here and there. Maybe you would wake up and ask how was my work, why was I late, and so on. Perhaps you would be slightly upset because the increasingly expensive condiments you've bought have gone to waste because I didn't eat the dinner you've prepared since the early dusk.

Instead I found your lifeless smile. Your eyes closed. Your body was cold and rigid from the rigor mortis. The dogs and flowers were now gone from sight, and the color red took place. On the bed, on the floor, on the pajamas you wore.

I have lost count of how many times I tried to wake you up. An hour must've been passed when I kneeled next to your body and wailed over you, thinking heaven would pity me just this once and you would live once more.

I didn't remember how exactly I regained my composure and finally called police, your parents, and my parents. Next thing I knew, it was already morning. A dim cast of light shone through the windows. A crowd gathered outside our house beyond the police line. Our parents tried to comfort me, and your mum cried incessantly while covering her face with your dad's handkerchief. Our dads were mostly silent, perhaps they were in shock. Your dad patted me in my shoulder, saying, "She's gone. She's gone. Now we have to get used to it." My heart is always prepared to lose you. But not this way. Certainly not this way. I cannot get myself used to this, and perhaps never will. My thoughts and words were sealed, in between tears and a barrage of hugs and comforting gestures from our families, friends, and neighbors.

The hearse has already taken you away for long. I've signed death-related papers that were necessary. I refused to authorize an autopsy because there is no need to desecrate your beauty that never ceased. Police officer that inquired me about why did you commit suicide has gone. I couldn't remember what answers I gave them beside "I don't know" and some words I blurted aimlessly. He suspected me of abusing you. I didn't, right, dear? I am a good husband, right?

Some people urged me to take a bath, and strangely I just complied without question. They all busied themselves for the funeral service that will take few hours from now. I took my shirt - my bluish working shirt with red stains on both of its sleeves. I remembered last night again. I remembered how my expectation to see you calmly dreaming had turned into a nightmare. A worst nightmare. A worst nightmare which is also real.

I wept under the shower as the memories of you began playing in my head. I reminisced our sweetest moments, our first date, our engagement, our wedding. I bitterly laughed remembering how clumsy we were on our first night. I even missed our fights and debates, our cryings together. It's all perfectly normal. Very normal, even. What is it that made you did that? I never recalled the moment you developed a depressive episode or some suicidal tendencies. Or were you that good to hide it all? Is it because we haven't got children? Or is it because you were lonely since I became so absorbed with my job? Please come back, honey. Please! I promise you I will not leave you anymore. I promise you I will give my time for you!

Nothing but "I am sorry, I am sorry" muttered from my lips. I know that you are invisible now, but you can still hear me. Please forgive me, darling. Please forgive me because I haven't got a chance to say I am sorry. Please forgive me, wherever you are now.

I get dressed, ready to go to the funeral parlor. Still adorned with soggy eyes and sadness that stubbornly refuses to leave. A broken vase is broken once, and so is a heart that is torn to pieces could never heal completely. Of this I know, of this I believe.

They tell me to grab some foods first, but I can't. There is this heavy air of sadness choking down my throat. The blazing sun is now covered by overcast, such a perfect time to mourn. The stress, the sadness, and the sleepless night all pushed me into near-collapse. I try to reach the medicine locker, looking for an aspirin or something, but I end up knocking them over. Things are falling, and I give up. I go to the backyard and secretly light a smoke. It is wet in some parts. Tears. Turns out I unconsciously cry again. I inhale twice then stomp it on the ground without mercy.

I tell our families, friends, and neigbors that I will go to the service all by myself. Alone. I step outside, painfully looking back at our house, whose mortgage still take years to be fully paid. And now it is even bleaker than before. The thought of you and your lifeless smile will linger, will haunt until the day I never know. The day when I will finally decide to join you. But this is not the day. Maybe.