Bara api di perapian masih menyala dan menari dengan lemah gemulai, menebar kehangatan di dalam ruangan. Sementara itu, hawa dingin yang menyerang di luar tidak bisa masuk merasuk ke kamar ini. Mereka semua menabrak kaca jendela dengan membabi buta, meninggalkan bercak-bercak kelabu yang merata dan mengaburkan pandangan.
Di hadapanku, seorang lelaki muda tengah asyik bermain di atas karpet. Mata birunya yang bulat terfokus memandang mobil-mobilan yang ada di genggaman. Ekspresinya menunjukkan betapa dalamnya ia terlibat dalam dunia yang diciptakannya sendiri. Keluguan terpancar dari kedua matanya. Perlahan-lahan, dia memalingkan wajahnya ke arahku dan tersenyum simpul.
“Apa yang terjadi dengan mobilmu?” tanyaku pelan.
Ia menjawab dengan ringan, “Dia terperangkap, pa! Mobilku mau keluar rumah dan berputar-putar disana.”
“Hei, bilanglah ke mobilmu, di luar salju terlalu tinggi. Sama saja, dia tidak akan bisa berputar-putar. Si mobil akan jauh lebih aman ada di sini bersamamu dan papa,” sahutku sembari tersenyum. Tanganku meraih kepalanya dan mulai mengacak-acak rambutnya dengan lembut.
“Kalau gitu, kita pergi saja ke rumah eyang. Kan disana tidak ada salju. Salju disini menyebalkan, pa!”
Aku terhenyak. Kalimat-kalimat yang keluar dari bibir mungilnya itu menyentakkan sesuatu yang ada di dalamku. Pikiranku mulai berputar mundur, mengingat kembali sengatan matahari pada kulit sawo matangku, curahan hujan deras yang sering membasahi badanku, serta bau khas yang keluar dari lemari dapur di masa kecilku.
Dengan suara sedikit tercekat, aku menjawab, “Karena rumah kita disini, nak!”
“Aku mau pindah ke rumah eyang saja, pa!”
“Lalu? Papa mau ditinggal sendirian disini?”
“Loh, papa juga harus ikut aku! Masa papa nggak kangen dengan eyang?”
Himpitan yang ada di dadaku mulai bertambah kencang. Bulu kudukku mulai berdiri dan otakku kembali menggila. Perlahan-lahan pikiran, kenangan, asumsi, mimpi, dan wajah-wajah lama mulai bermunculan. Satu-persatu, pelan tapi pasti. Muncul begitu saja dengan kejutan-kejutan yang membawa kembali perasaan yang telah lama tidak kurasakan. Seiring dengan menumpuknya semua kenangan itu, dadaku terasa semakin sesak. Ruangan di hadapanku mulai mengabur dan terasa sebagai sebuah ilusi belaka. Tiba-tiba saja, aku tidak lagi tahu perbedaan antara dunia nyata dan dunia maya.
“Hayo, papa kangen sama eyang ya?” sahut putraku. Aku tersentak dan kembali ke realita. Kepalaku terangguk pelan dan aku mulai meraihnya ke dalam pelukanku.
Lenganku menggenggamnya erat. “Kamu tahu? Kamu itu mirip dengan eyang kakung!”
Dia tersenyum penuh arti.
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Oma, Wu Zetian, and Mata Hari
Several days ago, on my way to faculty, I encountered a lady - an old lady - suffering from stroke sitting on a wheelchair. She couldn't utter any single sentence, but humming some sounds instead. Behind her, an old guy pushed the wheelchair. He might be the husband, I assume. Well, UK really is a haven for old and / or disable people.
But that special scene drew me back to my grandmother, to my Oma. Just like the lady I saw, she suffered from stroke for years. Finally she gave up at 1998 and passed away, leaving my grandfather feeling devastated over the loss of his loved one. The stroke is such a demon, transforming my uber-active Oma into near-vegetative state. Being a mere child, I could not do anything. Hell, I hated the stench on the bed and made me hesitated to draw near. And I live that regret up to this day. Had I known that I am going to miss her that much, I would sleep next to her and ignoring the reek bed. But regret always comes late, doesn't it?
The recent comments over Oma's youth picture strengthen this sense of retrospect over her. Oma was a very beautiful girl. She was very clever and smart, at least that's what people said. Some even mentioned that she is foxy and cunning. Hmm, that sounds like a deadly combination, eh? Beautiful, popular, but cunning and clever. From various discussion, turned out many people thought that if my Oma lived in an imperial era, she might probably be the second Wu Zetian. Background check on her family also revealed that I have a political bloodline, since Oma's family came from the influential family in ancient China. So, second Wu Zetian is totally possible for her.
She was seen as a dangerous woman by some people. But I am lucky enough to be born as her grandson. It is a common knowledge that grandparents love their grandchildren so much. Thus, I get to feel her great affection. Probably too much affection so some people said that she spoiled me. Hmm, might be (hey, does that mean I am admitting being a spoiled baby?)
But above all, Oma exposed me to chinese culture. If there is a person who knew a lot about that, she must be my grandmother. She is the one bestowing me with the name Li Xi Da. Not only naming me, but she calculated the strokes and change one stroke only to imply better luck and life. Mine was not the first time, since she also changed a part of my aunt's name into something else. No, cannot explain it here since it is very complicated. But above all, she is a very civilized women. She knew all about the culture and tradition.
My first visit to the temple was because of her. It was my first introduction to the Buddhist's and Taoism's pantheon. Starting from that point, she gave me lots of chances to watch Monkey King. She taught me the classical songs of Teressa Teng (which is rooted deeply and will make me punched people in face when they say that the songs are outdated). Her book collection was amazing, ranging from classical stories (Water Margin, Three Kingdoms, Monkey King, and many others) to medical and fortune telling. Sometimes she told parts from the classical epoch as my bedtime stories. Indeed she made me a true Chinese, live up to my "other" name, despite my appearance, dark skin and big eyes.
She is a woman of culture indeed. She lived up her chinese rituals as strong as she practice Christianity. Something bizarre for people hearing that, because society thought that Chinese rituals and Christianity contradicts one another. But she ignored them. In fact, she was also an expert in fortune telling. When she was still alive, she foretold her daughters and me. Something that I will really try to live up to.
Her interest in other cultures motivated her to keep learning. The knowledge that she gained helped her to immerse more in other people's conversation, and by that slowly absorbs new knowledge. That way, she doesn't look very dumb, but at the same time, she learned. Sounds like a perfect spy, eh? When I read about Mata Hari later on, she reminded me a lot about my Oma.
However, she also excelled in the heart domain, at least to me. When I did bad things to her, she would say that I broke her heart. As a child, it was very powerful for me. i never wanted to break her heart, because then I thought that I would lose her. That she would hate me, that she would left me all alone. From people in my extended family, she and my Opa are people who never scolded me. In fact, everytime I had problem with my parents, I ran to them. And they always provided console and comfort.
Now, I just want her to be proud of me, the first grandson and son. I will fulfill her nice parts of prophesy and avoid (as much as I could) the bad parts. What else should I say? Even all these words still can't represent how much I love her, and how much I miss her.
But that special scene drew me back to my grandmother, to my Oma. Just like the lady I saw, she suffered from stroke for years. Finally she gave up at 1998 and passed away, leaving my grandfather feeling devastated over the loss of his loved one. The stroke is such a demon, transforming my uber-active Oma into near-vegetative state. Being a mere child, I could not do anything. Hell, I hated the stench on the bed and made me hesitated to draw near. And I live that regret up to this day. Had I known that I am going to miss her that much, I would sleep next to her and ignoring the reek bed. But regret always comes late, doesn't it?
The recent comments over Oma's youth picture strengthen this sense of retrospect over her. Oma was a very beautiful girl. She was very clever and smart, at least that's what people said. Some even mentioned that she is foxy and cunning. Hmm, that sounds like a deadly combination, eh? Beautiful, popular, but cunning and clever. From various discussion, turned out many people thought that if my Oma lived in an imperial era, she might probably be the second Wu Zetian. Background check on her family also revealed that I have a political bloodline, since Oma's family came from the influential family in ancient China. So, second Wu Zetian is totally possible for her.She was seen as a dangerous woman by some people. But I am lucky enough to be born as her grandson. It is a common knowledge that grandparents love their grandchildren so much. Thus, I get to feel her great affection. Probably too much affection so some people said that she spoiled me. Hmm, might be (hey, does that mean I am admitting being a spoiled baby?)
But above all, Oma exposed me to chinese culture. If there is a person who knew a lot about that, she must be my grandmother. She is the one bestowing me with the name Li Xi Da. Not only naming me, but she calculated the strokes and change one stroke only to imply better luck and life. Mine was not the first time, since she also changed a part of my aunt's name into something else. No, cannot explain it here since it is very complicated. But above all, she is a very civilized women. She knew all about the culture and tradition.
My first visit to the temple was because of her. It was my first introduction to the Buddhist's and Taoism's pantheon. Starting from that point, she gave me lots of chances to watch Monkey King. She taught me the classical songs of Teressa Teng (which is rooted deeply and will make me punched people in face when they say that the songs are outdated). Her book collection was amazing, ranging from classical stories (Water Margin, Three Kingdoms, Monkey King, and many others) to medical and fortune telling. Sometimes she told parts from the classical epoch as my bedtime stories. Indeed she made me a true Chinese, live up to my "other" name, despite my appearance, dark skin and big eyes.
She is a woman of culture indeed. She lived up her chinese rituals as strong as she practice Christianity. Something bizarre for people hearing that, because society thought that Chinese rituals and Christianity contradicts one another. But she ignored them. In fact, she was also an expert in fortune telling. When she was still alive, she foretold her daughters and me. Something that I will really try to live up to.
Her interest in other cultures motivated her to keep learning. The knowledge that she gained helped her to immerse more in other people's conversation, and by that slowly absorbs new knowledge. That way, she doesn't look very dumb, but at the same time, she learned. Sounds like a perfect spy, eh? When I read about Mata Hari later on, she reminded me a lot about my Oma.
However, she also excelled in the heart domain, at least to me. When I did bad things to her, she would say that I broke her heart. As a child, it was very powerful for me. i never wanted to break her heart, because then I thought that I would lose her. That she would hate me, that she would left me all alone. From people in my extended family, she and my Opa are people who never scolded me. In fact, everytime I had problem with my parents, I ran to them. And they always provided console and comfort.
Now, I just want her to be proud of me, the first grandson and son. I will fulfill her nice parts of prophesy and avoid (as much as I could) the bad parts. What else should I say? Even all these words still can't represent how much I love her, and how much I miss her.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Family Ghost
Warning! If you are a non spiritual person, you will find the context of this text annoying as hell. Continue at your own risk!
It has been a long and tiring week for me. I could not work on my essay for the whole week. My brain is constantly shutting off whenever I felt the crack of the idea in it. That idea turned to be an unfinished one, hanging alone and rotting. As days went by, more cracks appear, but they closed in a amazing pace. Leaving the rest of the idea untouchable and decaying. Slowly but sure, the decay spread through the whole mind, corrupting my sanity, just like a cancer cell multiplying and consuming the healthy part of the body.
Writer's block! That's the common term for my disease. It is not deadly, but can be really offensive for a writer. Yet, I am in the middle of writing my essay for the course. I invested myself so much in the essay and let my life hung on the thin thread. People started noticing that I lost my weight even more, just because I forgot to eat. This tumor made it worse.
Nope, it was not the worst. I had a huge trouble with my interview. Something silly happened and I did not get the expected data. My corroding mind suddenly went berserk outrageously. The cancer had exploded and consuming every piece of my soul and sanity. A dear friend over messenger noticed this and asked me what happened?
I didn't know. I really didn't know. He and my mother knew that there must be a trivial thing stuck in my very soul to cause this humongous rage.
"Maybe your date?" suggested my mother. Date? Seriously? I did not have someone I am seeing right now. I totally invested my life to my essay.
"You n
eed a fresh air. Just stroll around the town!" a dear friend advised me. I'd just strolled my bike till the neighboring village. It's not about the fresh air!
And I realized something. I miss having "crowd" in my room. It felt so lonely, with me as the only soul there. I miss having my late brother beside me. All these months, my room was just a complete solace. Back home, there were many "people" accompanied me. Sometimes, a strayed one came and yield for help or warmth. Sometimes they appeared in my dream. Sometimes, they appeared before me. In short, my old room was a spiritual crossroad.
Living alone in my old house did not give me the chill of loneliness. I got my companion. My late brother sometimes came. There was this old man guarding next to my sleep. Sometimes he even gave me a soft massage when I felt exhausted. But none in my recent room. I guess, I really need to give myself a moment of silence.
It has been a long and tiring week for me. I could not work on my essay for the whole week. My brain is constantly shutting off whenever I felt the crack of the idea in it. That idea turned to be an unfinished one, hanging alone and rotting. As days went by, more cracks appear, but they closed in a amazing pace. Leaving the rest of the idea untouchable and decaying. Slowly but sure, the decay spread through the whole mind, corrupting my sanity, just like a cancer cell multiplying and consuming the healthy part of the body.
Writer's block! That's the common term for my disease. It is not deadly, but can be really offensive for a writer. Yet, I am in the middle of writing my essay for the course. I invested myself so much in the essay and let my life hung on the thin thread. People started noticing that I lost my weight even more, just because I forgot to eat. This tumor made it worse.
Nope, it was not the worst. I had a huge trouble with my interview. Something silly happened and I did not get the expected data. My corroding mind suddenly went berserk outrageously. The cancer had exploded and consuming every piece of my soul and sanity. A dear friend over messenger noticed this and asked me what happened?
I didn't know. I really didn't know. He and my mother knew that there must be a trivial thing stuck in my very soul to cause this humongous rage.
"Maybe your date?" suggested my mother. Date? Seriously? I did not have someone I am seeing right now. I totally invested my life to my essay.
"You n
eed a fresh air. Just stroll around the town!" a dear friend advised me. I'd just strolled my bike till the neighboring village. It's not about the fresh air!And I realized something. I miss having "crowd" in my room. It felt so lonely, with me as the only soul there. I miss having my late brother beside me. All these months, my room was just a complete solace. Back home, there were many "people" accompanied me. Sometimes, a strayed one came and yield for help or warmth. Sometimes they appeared in my dream. Sometimes, they appeared before me. In short, my old room was a spiritual crossroad.
Living alone in my old house did not give me the chill of loneliness. I got my companion. My late brother sometimes came. There was this old man guarding next to my sleep. Sometimes he even gave me a soft massage when I felt exhausted. But none in my recent room. I guess, I really need to give myself a moment of silence.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Reflection : Love and Faith
Today is a valentine's day. Nothing really special, especially since I've been single since last Christmas Eve. The night before, I received a text from a dear friend mentioning that Valentine's Day is an annoying day for single men like us. So far, it never really bothers me at all. I never really found the real spirit of Val's Day. I've celebrated it since elementary school with my best friends by exchanging chocolate. And since then, the stamp for Val's Day is not to celebrate love, but a chocolate party.
But I saw a video link by an ex-student. It's a new Indonesian song about forbidden love. And why it is forbidden? Simply because both of them confess different faith. A foolish matter for me, but still I cannot help it. Being born as Indonesian, I cannot deny that religion has become a supreme power over people's life. Hell, I had to confess that I once was a church activist, right before I got fed up with people's hypocrisy over their religious dogma.
I once fell in love with my junior in High School. She was totally my type. Careless, tomboy, reckless, but smart and critical. (Sigh, I know my type is so weird! Don't give me a refine girl, I would reject her!). People kept saying that we would make a nice couple, since we carried the same traits. Rebellious, careless, direct, frank, rule breaking, and many others. (Another sigh!) But one obstacle lied before us. It's a different religion. It is supposed to be only one, but quite significant.
Still being very naive, I thought that I could overcome the problem. No, no! I was wrong! We drifted apart mainly because she learned more about her religious belief. She lives to it, and started to develop eccentricity. That was then the end.
Another story was with my ex. Again, we confess different faith, which was actually not a problem with me. I've been dismantling my belief in any religious rituals. We got no problem during the whole relationship. Interestingly, the disturbance came from outside. It was my family that kept warning me about the different religion among us. My mother even threatened me, "If later you get married in the mosque, I will not bother to come! You can have your wedding without me!" It was something that made laugh. (Some of you might know the reason why. :p) FYI, I broke up not because of the faith......
But one thing that concerns me is the fact that my parents interfered with my own love life. What it is with their interference? Can love be divided only between people of the same religion? Well, so far the classic argument is the children. When the children are raised by parents with different religion, they will be confused with the differences. But then, why should they bother? For confessing any faith is a human right in itself.
If we put religion as personal matter between us and The Almighty, then why should people interfere with our own happiness? With the choice of lover? Does it guarantee that people will have a happy life when they marry person within the same faith? Does it guarantee the inseparable bond when marrying people of the same faith? I still cannot help but wonder about that. Why is the freedom limited by the concept of religion?
Closing this scribble, I want to quote the translated lyric from that song.
"I am for you, you are for me
But is thing possible, for our different faith
God is indeed one, we are the ones being different"
PS : If love is indeed God's greatest gift, why should people divide it?
But I saw a video link by an ex-student. It's a new Indonesian song about forbidden love. And why it is forbidden? Simply because both of them confess different faith. A foolish matter for me, but still I cannot help it. Being born as Indonesian, I cannot deny that religion has become a supreme power over people's life. Hell, I had to confess that I once was a church activist, right before I got fed up with people's hypocrisy over their religious dogma.
I once fell in love with my junior in High School. She was totally my type. Careless, tomboy, reckless, but smart and critical. (Sigh, I know my type is so weird! Don't give me a refine girl, I would reject her!). People kept saying that we would make a nice couple, since we carried the same traits. Rebellious, careless, direct, frank, rule breaking, and many others. (Another sigh!) But one obstacle lied before us. It's a different religion. It is supposed to be only one, but quite significant.
Still being very naive, I thought that I could overcome the problem. No, no! I was wrong! We drifted apart mainly because she learned more about her religious belief. She lives to it, and started to develop eccentricity. That was then the end.
Another story was with my ex. Again, we confess different faith, which was actually not a problem with me. I've been dismantling my belief in any religious rituals. We got no problem during the whole relationship. Interestingly, the disturbance came from outside. It was my family that kept warning me about the different religion among us. My mother even threatened me, "If later you get married in the mosque, I will not bother to come! You can have your wedding without me!" It was something that made laugh. (Some of you might know the reason why. :p) FYI, I broke up not because of the faith......
But one thing that concerns me is the fact that my parents interfered with my own love life. What it is with their interference? Can love be divided only between people of the same religion? Well, so far the classic argument is the children. When the children are raised by parents with different religion, they will be confused with the differences. But then, why should they bother? For confessing any faith is a human right in itself.
If we put religion as personal matter between us and The Almighty, then why should people interfere with our own happiness? With the choice of lover? Does it guarantee that people will have a happy life when they marry person within the same faith? Does it guarantee the inseparable bond when marrying people of the same faith? I still cannot help but wonder about that. Why is the freedom limited by the concept of religion?
Closing this scribble, I want to quote the translated lyric from that song.
"I am for you, you are for me
But is thing possible, for our different faith
God is indeed one, we are the ones being different"
PS : If love is indeed God's greatest gift, why should people divide it?
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Blind Date and Sacrifice
It was a blind date night, a night of charity event in University of Cambridge. I already filled the form on the very first day of the launching. Well, some people back home thought that I am just being desperate in attempting the blind date, but the truth is I just wanna try this new social experience. What does it feel like to meet a total stranger and go on a date.
The conversation among my classmates about the blind date suddenly changed my opinion. They were talking about having a bad date and planning on an "emergency call" for that. Honestly, I did not think about that point yet, not until they floor that solution. I guess, I was just being too optimistic and considering courtesy too much that people will not leave their date no matter how awful that will be.
When I got my form back, the first shock came. I know my date! Well, at least I know the person, but not knowing personally. Aaaargh, I wanted to date a total stranger! I wanted to know a new person! I envied people who did the research on their blind date partner via google or facebook, while I didn't need to do that. That certainly crossed out the thrill of doing the "research". The losing thrill, the thought of emergency call (which was made worse by my stolen phone), and the bad first impression of the person put me really down.
The thought shifted to the option that I will be the bad date. I started being very pessimistic and consider myself as not hyped enough to be on a date. Guess people already know how socially disable I am. The thought of getting stood up in the middle of the date lingered in my mind, poisoning the joy of going for a date.
But then everything went smoothly and nice. I was completely wrong! We spent five and a half hours together in a combination of dinner and pub crawl. Nothing bad happened, at least from I perspective. I did not get stood up. Hearing from the others who was left by their dates with various reasons, I felt very thankful. At least my date stayed with me until the end of the night.
No, it's not the case that I fell in love in the first date. Since the first time I already prepared myself that this will be a one shot event only. But I couldn't help but falling in love with dating. Going on a nice date reminded me how nice can a date be, how nice can getting involved with someone be. It's like someone points a flashlight in front of my face and shouted, "Wake up! Stop lamenting over your wrecked love life and start seeing people again!"
Well, on the way home, I had to stopped several times just because I had an overwhelming thought about that. My chest was tight, the sentiments brought me a lot of undescribable feeling. If that can come out as tears, what kind of tears would that be? Happy tears? Tears of sadness? One thing that I found was how precious dating can be. How precious can someone beside you be.
Realizing the great value of that, I looked up in the sky and secretly prayed, "God, now that I know how precious can a better half be, I only have one wish for this year. Please just give me a stable job abroad first. I will give up the possibility of having a perfect love life for that!"
The conversation among my classmates about the blind date suddenly changed my opinion. They were talking about having a bad date and planning on an "emergency call" for that. Honestly, I did not think about that point yet, not until they floor that solution. I guess, I was just being too optimistic and considering courtesy too much that people will not leave their date no matter how awful that will be.
When I got my form back, the first shock came. I know my date! Well, at least I know the person, but not knowing personally. Aaaargh, I wanted to date a total stranger! I wanted to know a new person! I envied people who did the research on their blind date partner via google or facebook, while I didn't need to do that. That certainly crossed out the thrill of doing the "research". The losing thrill, the thought of emergency call (which was made worse by my stolen phone), and the bad first impression of the person put me really down.
The thought shifted to the option that I will be the bad date. I started being very pessimistic and consider myself as not hyped enough to be on a date. Guess people already know how socially disable I am. The thought of getting stood up in the middle of the date lingered in my mind, poisoning the joy of going for a date.
But then everything went smoothly and nice. I was completely wrong! We spent five and a half hours together in a combination of dinner and pub crawl. Nothing bad happened, at least from I perspective. I did not get stood up. Hearing from the others who was left by their dates with various reasons, I felt very thankful. At least my date stayed with me until the end of the night.
No, it's not the case that I fell in love in the first date. Since the first time I already prepared myself that this will be a one shot event only. But I couldn't help but falling in love with dating. Going on a nice date reminded me how nice can a date be, how nice can getting involved with someone be. It's like someone points a flashlight in front of my face and shouted, "Wake up! Stop lamenting over your wrecked love life and start seeing people again!"
Well, on the way home, I had to stopped several times just because I had an overwhelming thought about that. My chest was tight, the sentiments brought me a lot of undescribable feeling. If that can come out as tears, what kind of tears would that be? Happy tears? Tears of sadness? One thing that I found was how precious dating can be. How precious can someone beside you be.
Realizing the great value of that, I looked up in the sky and secretly prayed, "God, now that I know how precious can a better half be, I only have one wish for this year. Please just give me a stable job abroad first. I will give up the possibility of having a perfect love life for that!"
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