On the second age of the earth, lived a brotherhood of Silver Tongue. The member of this brotherhood mastered Silver Tongue's technique, an ancient wizardry of sounds and words. So powerful was this technique that a civilization would be at mercy of one wielder. No sword nor magic could kill the Silver Tongue wielder but Silver Tongue itself.
H'ruu, the High Master of Silver Tongue, had ruled over the brotherhood for eons. He had seen many wars over centuries, christened new generations and burried all of them. H'ruu seemed to be the perpetual leader of Silver Tongue brotherhood, until the Three Generals appeared, the survivor of the fourth Holy War.
Three Generals were three of H'ruu's best champions. They are Lord Gespenst, Lady Stalia, and Lady Seytank. With great confidence, H'ruu crowned his three champions as the new leaders of Silver Tongue brotherhood. Their first task was to train the new batch of champions and maintain the familial connection among them. For Silver Tongue brotherhood should not aim to win the war, but helped people in need. It was too dangerous to really wield the full power of Silver Tongue in the battlefield. New champions should not be tempted to harness it as a warcry.
Emerged from the ashes of Holy War, the three generals knew the consequences of abusing Silver Tongue. They were given the mission to brought Silver Tongue back to its root, a brotherhood. There was a power beyond sound and words, family bound.
The first batch of Silver Tongue consisted of Lady Mayl'nda the Fair, Lady El'nda the Calm, Lady F'yza the Small, Lord Dhamma the wise, Lady Roth the Slim, Lady Arone the Judge, Lord Farda the Exile, Lady V'cha the Silent, and Lady Ikea the Slick. As the new champions, they had to go into fourteenth Clan War. Sworn under the pledge of repressing power, they could not win the war. Yet, the bound between them grew stronger. It was the beginning of a Silver Tongue family.
In the midst of the clan war, several new champions joined force with them. D'mee the Silent Cry, Leo the Gentle, Lady Rosye of East, Earlain the Firm, Lady Diertche the Destroyer, and Sharp Tongue Rheani. Assisted by these new recruits, the clan slowly ransacked the opponent. They grew into a considerable force of war without using full power of Silver Tongue. Unique ability of each power greatly enhanced the force and balanced the war.
But war was never forgiving. Lady Saytank had to leave the field to rebuilt her hometown. Lady Arone the Judge and Lord Dhamma left to Highland, still with the promise of helping anytime they were needed. The task grew more difficult for Lord Gespenst and Lady Stalia to mentor the champions. They had more recruits joining to replace the departed.
Northwind Deo, a junior recruit, brought his companion to the clan. El'stya the Gale, Deflective Hyuga, Lady Hamutia the Speed, Calm Mind Jestina, and Calm Heart H'nee soon joined the ranks. It was in this time that despite the loss of the prominent members, Silver Tongue Clan gained more respects. Their newfound power came from the wine they shared, from the unison moves they made, from the melody they combined.
More and more champions sided with Silver Tongue, following their increased power and respect. Three female warriors, Eulla, I'anthe, and Berenedete joined the rank, proving themselves as powerful allies. They led several battles and brought some victories for Silver Tongue. Estvin Elvin worked together with Lord Deast and Fast Pick Jun'O became a valuable team. Meanwhile, Hot Blooded Al-Dheet, Cheerful Reekhy, and Book Keeper Elka provided another ransacking force. Lady Mey'ng acted as the support officer for the garrisons.
Despite all the victories they gain, a dark power lurked in the heart of Silver Tongue. An ancient demon, Nu'Inda the whore manifested herself after being bathed in blood. She approached Lady Ikea the Slick and tempted her with power.
Lord Gespenst, on the other hand, had grown tired and old. He desired a rest, yet his pledge to Master H'ruu exempted him from withdrawing before finding a worthy successor. In his view, Lady Diertche the Destroyer, and Sharp Tongue Rheani were the perfect successors. The champions before them had withdrawn to normal life. Lady Mayl'nda went back to her legacy, taking the throne of her kingdom. Lady Roth the Slim withdrawn to assist support of the battle.
Fuelled by her ambition, Lady Ikea took the power of Nu'Inda the Whore and became known as Ikea the Bitch. She sabotaged every effort of succession and tried to kill Lord Gespenst. Her lust of victory and hunger of sexual touch led her to rip her Pristinal Robe and donned the Passion Bustier. Another Civil War took place between Ikea the Bitch and Lord Gespenst's followers.
Forced to utilized the full power of Silver Tongue, Lord Gespenst subsided Nu'Inda the Whore and bursted Ikea the Bitch into pieces. Though he was on the winning side, Lord Gespenst's wound was too deep. He had no other choice than stepping down the throne. Knowing that Silver Tongue Clan would never be the same again without him, some loyalists withdrew themselves together with the Lord.
Seeing the empty throne, Ikea the Bitch seized the opportunity, crowning herself as Queen Ikea the Slut. Her reign wrecked the sense of family within the clan. Under her rule, every member was permitted to utilize the Silver Tongue. Unfortunate for her, the very heart of Silver Tongue was kept by the Three Generals. What Queen Ikea the Slut knew was only the surface level.
The bonding power with Nu'Inda the Whore put Ikea into a constant sexual crave. This lust put her into the embrace of Cloud Warrior from other clan. Determined to wreck havoc on Silver Tongue, Cloud Warrior made us of Ikea's sexual crave and tricked her to willingly surrender the power.
Once Cloud Warrior seized the throne, he banished all the previous champions from the clan. (Former) Queen Ikea was banished (without her knowing it) into a small cottage, deprived from her former glory and sexual craving.
Lord Gespenst could not do anything but cried. One day, the vengeance will come to Ikea, Nu'Inda, and the Cloud Warrior.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Sunday, June 12, 2011
A Mountain Boy
Time flies. As if the Hermes sandals are taken by the old Cronos. True, time has been my best friend in healing all the wounds. But time is also responsible for the new wounds called separation. Separation from people you know, new friends you made for a short time, new place you can finally call home.
Few days ago, a dear friend from Korea went back home, leaving Cambridge. It's barely possible for us to meet again (especially if I am going back to Indonesia. Duh!). No flashy farewell party, no crazy farewell drink, no classy farewell dinner. Just a hug outside the receptionist (YES! St. Ed doesn't have a plodge. LOL).
I told her my plan to go back for graduation and further plan to present in the seminar on March 2012. Can't deny that I wish to see her again in the future. She was happy and said, "You have done so much in your academic life! Your struggle was not wasted in vain! A mountain man going to Cambridge, eh?"
Her sentences got stuck in my mind and brought me to another contemplative mood. True, I have never dreamed of going into this university. As a student, I was never the brightest. In my elementary years, I tried so hard to get the first rank in class. But, how many times have I had that privilege? A socially awkward and super talkative dark skinny boy. Not the bright one nor the rich one. Hell, I could barely afford books. True, I did dream about Cambridge in this stage, but just as a wild imagination from reading Sailor Moon.
Junior high sank me lower. 30th rank out of 40 students? Desperation and panic attack every term during the final exams? Got into the 239th rank out of 400 students for the mock exams? And still social alien due to the lack of interest in soccer and rock music. My best aim for the university then was just Gadjah Mada University.
Senior high? Good grief. I was not in a good school. Rural one where people know nothing of its whereabout. Dreaming of going abroad was too much to bear. With the tuition fee of 5000 IDR (equal to 33 pence) per month, affording a ticket to go even to Malaysia or Singapore was a mere wild thought. My only hope was to participate in a student exchange program. Guess what? There was an offer of AFS student exchange. But if I was selected, I had to pay up to 600 USD for that. Now, how could I get 600 USD? Afterall, I am just a village boy. Yes, my house is on the mountain, far from the city centre. You, dear Cantabrigian fellows, might not believe me if I say that until the second you read the article, phone line has not reached my house yet.
My university is not popular either. Please, my fellow Cantabs will never hear of that place. Not a flashy one, not a famous one. It is not even Gadjah Mada University. Less exchange program, less scholarship. What could I do? Twice I put myself on the Fulbright exchange program and got rejected twice. My desire back then was just finishing the undergrad and live a simple life as a teacher. Yes, a mere teacher who teaches in senior high school. Earning a decent amount every month, enough to buy meal and pay the rent. Totally lack of ambition, eh? But what could I do? Without any scholarship, I could never afford the tuition abroad. Self funded was never a choice. Hell, it's not even a choice! I really need to be a high class hustler to get the money. Well, that's an ironic joke among friends.
After graduation, I decided not to settle down on any permanent job. If I have a permanent one, it will be hard for me to pursue the scholarship. Various part-time jobs only for the sake of living while trying to get the fund. For almost two years, I applied to many scholarships available. Nothing successful, and I grew impatient. I need money to keep living, I need a permanent job to secure the future.
There were times when I wanted to just give up. There were times when I got really frustrated, thinking that I picked a wrong choice. Afterall, I was nobody studying social science (or worse, education). So many scholarships for natural sciences, for medical study, for biology, engineering, chemistry, and their friends. But education or literature? I was literally crying alone in my room many times, regretting my decision. The decision for my undergrad major, the decision to reject all the permanent job offers, the decision to be stubborn.
And just by the time when I was almost giving up, my phone rang. Something I could never expect, a chance to be a part of Cantab network. And here I am, a Cantab member. Something that I did not even dare to dream.
Am I lucky? Perhaps. But if I gave up, I would not be here now. I might have ended up in a cheap master course somewhere. I might have ended up being rich from working. Who knows? But I took the blow, I took the risk, and here is the boy from mountain.
Few days ago, a dear friend from Korea went back home, leaving Cambridge. It's barely possible for us to meet again (especially if I am going back to Indonesia. Duh!). No flashy farewell party, no crazy farewell drink, no classy farewell dinner. Just a hug outside the receptionist (YES! St. Ed doesn't have a plodge. LOL).
I told her my plan to go back for graduation and further plan to present in the seminar on March 2012. Can't deny that I wish to see her again in the future. She was happy and said, "You have done so much in your academic life! Your struggle was not wasted in vain! A mountain man going to Cambridge, eh?"
Her sentences got stuck in my mind and brought me to another contemplative mood. True, I have never dreamed of going into this university. As a student, I was never the brightest. In my elementary years, I tried so hard to get the first rank in class. But, how many times have I had that privilege? A socially awkward and super talkative dark skinny boy. Not the bright one nor the rich one. Hell, I could barely afford books. True, I did dream about Cambridge in this stage, but just as a wild imagination from reading Sailor Moon.
Junior high sank me lower. 30th rank out of 40 students? Desperation and panic attack every term during the final exams? Got into the 239th rank out of 400 students for the mock exams? And still social alien due to the lack of interest in soccer and rock music. My best aim for the university then was just Gadjah Mada University.
Senior high? Good grief. I was not in a good school. Rural one where people know nothing of its whereabout. Dreaming of going abroad was too much to bear. With the tuition fee of 5000 IDR (equal to 33 pence) per month, affording a ticket to go even to Malaysia or Singapore was a mere wild thought. My only hope was to participate in a student exchange program. Guess what? There was an offer of AFS student exchange. But if I was selected, I had to pay up to 600 USD for that. Now, how could I get 600 USD? Afterall, I am just a village boy. Yes, my house is on the mountain, far from the city centre. You, dear Cantabrigian fellows, might not believe me if I say that until the second you read the article, phone line has not reached my house yet.
My university is not popular either. Please, my fellow Cantabs will never hear of that place. Not a flashy one, not a famous one. It is not even Gadjah Mada University. Less exchange program, less scholarship. What could I do? Twice I put myself on the Fulbright exchange program and got rejected twice. My desire back then was just finishing the undergrad and live a simple life as a teacher. Yes, a mere teacher who teaches in senior high school. Earning a decent amount every month, enough to buy meal and pay the rent. Totally lack of ambition, eh? But what could I do? Without any scholarship, I could never afford the tuition abroad. Self funded was never a choice. Hell, it's not even a choice! I really need to be a high class hustler to get the money. Well, that's an ironic joke among friends.
After graduation, I decided not to settle down on any permanent job. If I have a permanent one, it will be hard for me to pursue the scholarship. Various part-time jobs only for the sake of living while trying to get the fund. For almost two years, I applied to many scholarships available. Nothing successful, and I grew impatient. I need money to keep living, I need a permanent job to secure the future.
There were times when I wanted to just give up. There were times when I got really frustrated, thinking that I picked a wrong choice. Afterall, I was nobody studying social science (or worse, education). So many scholarships for natural sciences, for medical study, for biology, engineering, chemistry, and their friends. But education or literature? I was literally crying alone in my room many times, regretting my decision. The decision for my undergrad major, the decision to reject all the permanent job offers, the decision to be stubborn.
And just by the time when I was almost giving up, my phone rang. Something I could never expect, a chance to be a part of Cantab network. And here I am, a Cantab member. Something that I did not even dare to dream.
Am I lucky? Perhaps. But if I gave up, I would not be here now. I might have ended up in a cheap master course somewhere. I might have ended up being rich from working. Who knows? But I took the blow, I took the risk, and here is the boy from mountain.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Monday, June 06, 2011
Dear my beloved,
I can never comprehend what is inside your mind. You are such a paradox indeed. Understanding your way of thinking can lead even Freud to madness. It's a labyrinth more complicated than the one housing the minotaur. Or worse, even Minotaur cannot bear to live in your everchanging labyrinth. A harpies' nest with constant dragon flame and the darkness of the deep ocean.
You are supposed to love and protect me in your bosom. Your role has been sung by the poets since the dawn of time, the tale of a heart you're supposed to have has been recited in both literature and psychology. Lacan called you warmth, Freud called you the first love, storytellers call you the womb, religious freak calls you the guardian.
Yet, you guarded me with knife and broom. Every bruise on my back is your sign of love, you said. The scar on my cheek is a proof of your everlasting affection, isn't it? What about the knives? Constant knives in front of my eyes? Are they also your way to protect me? You don't want me to get hurt outside, but you're willing to hurt me yourself.
In the name of your love, you would rather kill me yourself than seeing me getting killed outside. But an assumption cannot be justified, for I may not kill myself outside. Yet, my death will be certain on your hand. You love blood, you love the violence, you love the sound of my cry, and above all, you love the music of my surrender and desperation.
The knives have haunted my nights. It has been more than a year, but I just can't forget piece of sharp metal in front of my face. I just can't forget the rolling thunder from your mouth that threw me away to the slump of humiliation. At that night, you striped my humanity out of me. I'm just an animal you can slaughter at any time. For any reason. To your demand. In the end, it's always you.
I got out of your sight. Trying to start a new thing. Yet, now you can't shut your mouth asking me to get back. For what? You're no warmth, you're no love, and you're no affection. Are you trying to get me back to repeat the torture again? Are you trying to get me back just so you can kill me anytime you want? So you have your non-human object?
I am tired, dear Mum!
I can never comprehend what is inside your mind. You are such a paradox indeed. Understanding your way of thinking can lead even Freud to madness. It's a labyrinth more complicated than the one housing the minotaur. Or worse, even Minotaur cannot bear to live in your everchanging labyrinth. A harpies' nest with constant dragon flame and the darkness of the deep ocean.
You are supposed to love and protect me in your bosom. Your role has been sung by the poets since the dawn of time, the tale of a heart you're supposed to have has been recited in both literature and psychology. Lacan called you warmth, Freud called you the first love, storytellers call you the womb, religious freak calls you the guardian.
Yet, you guarded me with knife and broom. Every bruise on my back is your sign of love, you said. The scar on my cheek is a proof of your everlasting affection, isn't it? What about the knives? Constant knives in front of my eyes? Are they also your way to protect me? You don't want me to get hurt outside, but you're willing to hurt me yourself.
In the name of your love, you would rather kill me yourself than seeing me getting killed outside. But an assumption cannot be justified, for I may not kill myself outside. Yet, my death will be certain on your hand. You love blood, you love the violence, you love the sound of my cry, and above all, you love the music of my surrender and desperation.
The knives have haunted my nights. It has been more than a year, but I just can't forget piece of sharp metal in front of my face. I just can't forget the rolling thunder from your mouth that threw me away to the slump of humiliation. At that night, you striped my humanity out of me. I'm just an animal you can slaughter at any time. For any reason. To your demand. In the end, it's always you.
I got out of your sight. Trying to start a new thing. Yet, now you can't shut your mouth asking me to get back. For what? You're no warmth, you're no love, and you're no affection. Are you trying to get me back to repeat the torture again? Are you trying to get me back just so you can kill me anytime you want? So you have your non-human object?
I am tired, dear Mum!
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Masih tersisa harap ini untuk memulai hidup baru di luar Indonesia. Memulai sesuatu yang benar-benar baru dari nol, dimana tidak ada lagi orang yang mengetahui rahasia kelam masa lalu dan derita yang terpendam jauh di dalam dada.Hidup baru berarti teman-teman baru, yang tidak akan pernah mengungkit luka lama yang terkubur. Kesempatan untuk memulai hidupku seagai seorang Chrys, sebagai seorang individu yang tidak terpengaruh oleh guratan darah yang mengucur di waktu yang silam.
Hidup baru berarti mulai membangun rumah dan kehidupan tanpa terpengaruh oleh bayangan kelam sang pendahulu. Tidak ada orang yang mengenali keluargaku, siapa dan apa mereka.
Adakah luka ini begitu dalam? Adakah rasa sakit ini terlalu lama tertinggal dan menggores setiap dinding sukmaku?
Karena sayap sang burung yang telah mereka patahkan terlalu takut untuk pulih dibawah tatapan mata para penyiksanya. Karena suara kicau sang kutilang selalu lenyap ditelan gema tawa penangkapnya. Karena kaki terikat oleh sakit hati dan mata tak berani lagi membuka lebar.
Adakah luka ini begitu dalam?
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