Tangan itu terlihat defensif. Kaki itu terus berjalan.

Pikiran berputar untuk menghentikan kontradiksi yang tidak beresensi ini. Namun ternyata hati ini sudah memilih autopilot.

Berhenti melangkah. Dengarkan mata itu. Lihatlah senyum lirih itu. Separuh jiwamu ada di hatinya, namun segenap kepedihan itu semakin beriak.

Inikah yang dimaksud sadomasokis? Perlukah kamu merasakan itu? Pun ketika kamu tertawa, namun teriakanmu bergema dan bargaung di tiap rongga.

“Cinta,” bisikmu. “Mungkin ini cinta.”

“Jangan becanda. Kamu terlalu tua untuk membuat humor tentang cinta.”

“Sejak kapan cinta memiliki batasan umur? Aku seperti lumpuh ketika ia menyentuhku. Degupku jelas keluar dari barisan nada yang sudah kususun rapi. Kalau bukan cinta, lalu apa?”

“Cinta tidak semudah itu hinggap.”

“...lalu apa?”

“Pelankan langkahmu. Pelankan langkahmu. Dan kamu akan menemukan jawabannya.”

“Denyut jantungku..., ia memelan. Apakah itu yang kamu maksud?”

*

Di antara hembusan asap rokok, lelaki itu melihat seorang perempuan sedang duduk dan kosong menatap layar komputer. Sesekali perempuan itu tampak sibuk menulis sesuatu di bukunya, lalu tatapannya melayang ke lelaki. Sahabatnya. Kemudian ia melempar rokok yang masih sedikit terbakar, menginjaknya.

Tangannya terkepal, ada kotak kecil di dalamnya. Kalung. Dan sebuah inisial.

“Ini bukan cinta. Tidak mungkin aku mencintai perempuan itu. Sayang mungkin.”

“Hm..., akui kerapuhanmu. Kamu terlalu terlambat untuk tidak mengakui bahwa itu cinta.”

An old post from my Tumblr page.

And now, these hands are filled with sand, vanishing grain by grain.

How cruel.

Not because you left. Not because things changed. Not because time insisted on moving forward while I stood still. But because I had finally found a tangible proof that you existed.

You.

The possibility I had spent years constructing inside my head. The answer to questions I never dared ask out loud. The face I unknowingly searched for in crowded rooms, in passing strangers, in songs that lingered a little too long after they ended. And then, just as I reached for it, certainty became memory. Funny, isn't it?

How something so brief can stretch itself across years. How a moment can outlive the people who created it. How the mind keeps a collection of insignificant details as if they were sacred relics.

A laugh. A glance. A sentence I can no longer remember entirely, yet somehow still hear. Perhaps that is why my eyes betray me every now and then. A familiar scent. A familiar season. A familiar shade of light slipping through the afternoon.

And suddenly there you are again. Not in flesh. Not in voice.

But in fragments. Always fragments.

Like sand returning to my palms only to escape through my fingers once more. And for a fleeting second, I am tempted to gather every grain, to challenge time itself, to hold on tighter than before. But some things were never meant to be held.

Only remembered.

An old post from my Tumblr page.

You let the thoughts wander for several minutes and then you try to put yourself in that passerby's shoe, wondering whether her/his life is as tough as yours or not and if they do, how do they manage to survive? Is honesty something important to hold in her/his life? Or s/he is just another kiss-ass to reach where her/his at right now. Before you know it, you re-think everything that you're questioning and try to see it in another point of view. This happens for probably 15 minutes before you become completely confused at what and why you were doing.

You go back being you, thinking about your own problems until you become numb. Sitting there with a vacant look.

Exactly why are you here? How do you consistently manage to mess everything up? Why do you have to wear a fake laugh everywhere you go when actually you haven't the slightest idea of how your life will turn out? Why are you still stuck in this very moment of your life?

I hate to see you cry, lying there in that position.

There's things you need to hear, so turn off your tears and listen.

Pain throws your heart to the ground. Love turns the whole thing around. No it won't all go the way it should, but I know the heart of life is good.

You know, it's nothing new. Bad news never had good timing

Then, circle of your friends will defend the silver lining.

Pain throws your heart to the ground. Love turns the whole thing around. Fear is a friend who's misunderstood. But I know the heart of life is good, I know it's good.

And then this song plays, accompanies you while you're sitting there, watching others who pass you by, noticing how minute after minute passes and how the banality seems to magnify itself.

An old post from my Tumblr.

A cigarette on your left hand, while your right hand softly strokes your hair, making it more messier. And sexier. God, the way you don't care about what others think, the way you don't even give time to shave today; leaving that shadowy black tiny spots, the way that you don't give a damn about fashion, the way every sounds and conversations don't seem to bother you; you're in your own comfort zone, no one can disturb unless you permit them to.

Plain black polo shirt, jeans that you purposely teared it up here and there, a white sneakers. That's it. You sit there, furrowing your eyebrows because you're trying hard to decipher the book that you read. And that, is that a tattoo? On your neck? I can only spot a bit, but I'm sure it's a tattoo. Makes me wonder what kind of tattoo you've got underneath the polo shirt.

You glance at that girl who pretends to focus on her reading when in fact she's been eyeing you since she arrived. But then you glance away at other passersby. Looking at them so ambiguously, almost as if you don't really pay attention to them, you're busy with the thoughts in your head, provoked by the book you read. Your forehead still wrinkles. And then you close your eyes, you're massaging them. You put your glasses on the table, change your sitting position.

You keep reading your book while drinking your cappuccino or something, how the hell should I know. Is it me or you're putting on a show?

I'm choking. My heart is experiencing an anomaly. Your eyes are fixating on mine now. Is that a smile? Or you doing in on purpose? Please don't. Please look away so I can look at you as long as I want. No name, no shaking hands, no smiling at each other. Be my mysterious dark stranger; a hope that a guy like you, the exact guy I often imagine, exists. Can you read mind? Because you seem to do exactly what I want you to do.

You left the cafe, and as you're sure that I'm looking your tall figure, you slip a smirk. You left me with a tempting smirk.

An old post from my Tumblr page.

Last week, I made chocolate crinkle cookies for the first time. To my surprise, they worked. The cracks were there. The texture was right. Nothing exploded. No emotional damage was sustained. Naturally, this led me to believe I had become a much better baker than I actually am.

So this week, I decided to make key lime pie. The internet said it was easy. The crust disagreed.

After a brief falling out with butter, biscuits, and the laws of physics, I finally got the crust right. Then the filling decided it wanted attention too. It was so runny that I started questioning not just the recipe, but every life decision that led me to that exact moment.

And yet, a few hours later, sitting quietly in the fridge, it began to set.

Which got me thinking. Maybe baking is a lot like life.

Sometimes things look like they're falling apart when they're actually just taking longer to come together than you expected.

Or maybe I'm just trying to justify the amount of condensed milk I sacrificed today.

Honestly, it could be either one.

The way, finally, we all cave in to question what even is the meaning of our life?

While we ponder and ponder, life simply just exists. It doesn't seem particularly interested in providing one.

It just continues.

It’s just a series of evolution and big bang and voila here we all are.

I see habits from different people to live their life. And I find those who can travel easily from one spot of another without a financial problem is the ones who seize life the most.

Cause I find it personally absurd how in the exact moment, life can be different. Not just because we’re all a different person who lives in a different city et cetera but because our destiny is each tailored specifically for us.

Tailored by whom? Well, us and bloodlines before us.

Imagine at the exact moment:

• I’m writing this post

• You’re reading this post

• Person A is having fun traveling 

• Person.B is having sex with their crush

• Person C is mourning for loved one

• Person D is in a car accident

• etc

I find that strangely unsettling, not because bad things happen—but because life doesn't pause when they do. While someone is experiencing the worst day of their life, someone else is having the best.

The universe doesn't seem to make distinctions between the two. It simply accommodates both. Maybe that's what makes life feel so unfair. Or maybe unfair is the wrong word.

Maybe life is just indifferent.

And perhaps that's the most absurd thing about it.