Hati, kamu berkhianat. Lagi-lagi kamu tergoda biru angkasa dan putih awan, padahal kamu tahu betul layang-layang putus tak bertuan tak akan membawa Raga terbang. Kamu selalu terpikat kepada amis lautan yang seolah-olah menjanjikan kebebasan, padahal kebebasan sudah berada dalam genggamanmu. Kamu terlambat sadar, Hati. Kata dan tanya sudah menghablur menjadi rasa. Sekali lagi.

Sekali lagi, seolah-olah belum cukup.


Last Night

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“I’m so tired,” I told you.

I loved it when instead of asking me Why?, you asked me What is it? Just tell me.

I never really understood or felt the difference, but last night it was different. What you said felt more reassuring than a mere Why? — which can sound haughty and indifferent, defensive and distant. What is it? Just tell me assured me that you were there for me. That you were prepared to listen and really listen, to receive whatever I was going to share. Also, that you had prepared yourself for another story about another guy that broke my heart. About someone like you, or almost like you.

“Is it related to those guys?” you asked. And then, added like a passing thought that popped up unwanted, that you tried to avoid but eventually decided to face: “Or is it me?”

With those questions, you held out your arms for me. We had discussed us many times, but never like this. Never this cautious. Never this gently. You allowed me to visit those scars carefully, almost with a caress. And it was this soft approach that finally brought tears to my eyes because it felt so much like home and told me the pain was healed.

It felt like someone was finally here — someone who would never leave, would never judge, would never try to be someone else, and would never try to ask me to be someone other than myself. It felt like I could stop running — from you, from us, from myself — and stop racing with life because, with you, I am enough. We are enough, as we are.

When the tears stopped falling, I realized we were truly best friends, with our past embraced and let go, written and erased, and without the romance secretly harbored and repressed, felt and denied.

We were freed of so many and given so much more.




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Think of the persons whom you respect most, and in imitating them you will secure the respect of those who look up to you.
– Jo March, “Jo’s Boys” (1886)


I must be very lucky to have him as my best friend.

I do write a lot about how much I love him and how I am codependent on him. I also write a lot about the confusion between us and the peculiarity of our situation. However, there may not be a better explanation for my strong attachment to him than respect.

I have said, more than once, that I respect him. Yet, it is not until I am thrown into a pool of new ideas, new lifestyle, and new everything that I can really understand the worth of that respect.

He became my conscience. He is the John Brooke to my Dolly — the Demi who soberly said, “No fellow needs to go wrong unless he wants to,” and he is also my Mother Bhaer, who wittingly appeared before a lost youth and pulled the right strings to steer him back to the prudence of a good life.

I have been intoxicated with my new life and temptations of pleasure, and I have been led to shame, but I will think of my best friend from now onwards and sober myself up. I will try to not be one of those painted girls with only fun and games, and finally grow up a bit.

And him, what I learned from him will be the lighthouse that lights my way into the sea until that light turns into mine and  I am ready to venture the unknown on my own.

Scary Situations

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It is scary enough to meet someone who cares about you and showers you with attention and gives you hope just to find out afterward that they cannot be trusted, that they maintain a facade, and that you cannot see their real intention.

However, it is still less scary than being friends with someone, getting real comfortable, and day by day trusting them more and more before one day it just strikes you that you are in love, that you are in too deep, that you cannot let go, and that you sense the feeling is, has never been, and is unlikely to be mutual.

Safe Haven



Don’t stop. Talk.

Talk about those things we know about. Talk about the new Black Panther movie that you love so much. Talk about everything you know about Christopher Nolan and Wes Anderson. Talk about The Dark Knight. Tell me everything you know about method acting. Tell me about The Grand Budapest Hotel. Tell me about the way Wes Anderson’s movie scenes were shot. Tell me about Sicario. Tell me about I Kill Giants. Explain to me the incorporation of culture and women empowerment in movies. Explain how Hollywood is changing. Explain how post-racialism is nonsense, and discuss with me how Django: Unchained proved it. Show me your passion for movies and joy for acting. Show me the fire and excitement that keep you alive inside. I will listen.

Talk about nothings because nothings keep us present. Don’t mention my anger or your indifference. Don’t mention other people because they are not here. Don’t mention her because you love her and don’t mention him because it shames me. Talk instead about the road and the night and the striking full moon and how they are all ours. We connect in our disconnection to the world, and so it is safe for me to visit that night again and again and again for a temporary zen.

Today, when they ask me to imagine a safe place, my thoughts will run to you, your motorbike, and the road with which we have become too familiar.


There is only one me and there is only one you. There is only one us and there is only one this. Oh, how I wish this will last!

I am the leaves in autumn, falling on the bed of grass and deserted roads with a trust equaled by none when it comes to you.

The angels, and the angels alone, will be my witness when I swear to God how grateful I am for us, even when tomorrow belongs to the unknown.

Good afternoon, my treasured friend. On an afternoon we began, and on an afternoon I remembered you. That day is forever with us, and trust is forever different when it isn’t in you.

If tomorrow all change, none will be forgotten.

For now, I am counting the days until we see each other again.