An Eternal Diary of My Life

((supposed to be) published on Businta Dempo 2018)  Istilah “wee small hours” adalah sebutan bagi waktu setelah tengah malam hingga subuh menjelang dini hari. Dini hari hanya 3 jam, tapi sakral , pukul 03.30 para rahib bangun untuk berdoa. Misa pagi biara mulai pukul 04.00, pada waktu yang sama sahur dilakukan di Bulan Ramadan. Inilah waktu paling produktif para insomnia, ketika gelap yang berhimpun sejak senja akan berakhir, siap menyambut terang datang menjelang. Dini hari telah bersama kita , sebelum dan sesudah cahaya. Justru karena dini hari akan berhenti, dia bagian dari kesementaraan, tak tertebak dan menjadi peringatan akan kekurangan diri kita, hadir antara kini yang rapuh dan kelak yang tak jelas. Tiga tahun hidup dalam wee small hours di Dempo. Kami membuka mata, seperti rahib yang bangun pagi buta, menghirup, menyesap udara pagi yang segar namun dingin. Di sin i , kami menghirup udara kedewasaan untuk pertama kali. Di Dempo, kami enggan tak enggan, tersadar ...

(published on Yauwana Dempo, circa 2017) Guru sejarah mengajarkan kita bahwa tahun 1945, kota Hiroshima dan Nagasaki dijatuhi bom atom oleh Amerika, menyebabkan ribuan nyawa (baik tentara maupun rakyat biasa) melayang. Bagi yang telah membaca buku Assassin’s Creed tentu tahu bahwa pada tahun 1400-an ada Paus korup bernama Paus Alexander ke-6 yang membuat Vatikan yang merupakan pusat dari agama Katolik, menjadi sangat megah seperti saat ini. Ada pula Robin Hood, yang  merampok sang kaya untuk membantu si miskin. Kesamaan apa yang mereka punya? Bagi kita semua yang remaja, mungkin hidup kita baru saja menjadi seperti hidup tokoh Kevin dalam TV series The Wonder Years . Kita mulai menanyakan hal-hal yang sebelumnya tidak pernah kita tanyakan. Dari mana kita berasal, kenapa kita hidup, bagaimana sejarah keluarga kita dan masih banyak lagi. Ada satu yang pasti, bahwa bagi kita, kebenaran nampaknya mulai menjadi abu-abu. Saat kita kecil, kebenaran itu hitam dan putih. Tawa dan tan...

This whole thing about certainty and perfection came out (amazingly) in an another bus trip... Dunno why but bus seems to be the only mean of transportation where I can ponder deeply about stuffs (apart from motorcycle, obviously)... There was nothing more interesting thing to do other than watching the pine forest beside the road as the bus taking me (painstakingly) closer to home... Dusk never fails to captivate my eyes... More than the night does, and certainly more than daylight does... Dawn is nice, yet dusk seems to be warmer and a lot more mysterious... There's one similarity however... My most tranquil part of the day has always got something to do with the position of the sun above my head... Both dawn and dusk.. Dawn and afternoon for me is like the birth and the death of the sun... Genesis and Revelation... The beginning and the end... Dawn marks freshness... It's  when the history, triumphs and defeats, laughs and tears of yesterday are all washed out as the sun...

This thing should've been written and posted yesterday, but well, my mind was completely occupied by matrices, trigonometry and other calamities yesterday. But in that midst of tedious formulas and repetitive numbers, I still got a chance to, well, somehow resolve the conflict I had yesterday... One thing that actually triggered the later discussion is the word 'kost'... Well, it's been uttered almost every time I had a conflict with my dad. Well, this time, the problem is about my being as a extremely introvert person who live in two worlds, always in hide, always in fear of asking and telling truths about things happening inside me. It's a problem as old as me. Hundreds of times discussed, hundreds of times confronted, hundreds of times denied. Hundreds of times troubled. Since I'm a complete hypocrite who hasn't got an ability to score myself, I need a help from someone who's so accustomed to respond to my distress signal. My dad. Things that I lear...

I had been feeling like Kevin in The Wonder Years since last Sunday. Many things come to mind, and though I've had moments like this few times before, these last days shake me in a far greater magnitude. I've been thinking about how cruel I am as a son to my two endlessly loving parents. Before heading on to the next thing I've been thinking about, let just stop for a while on this point. Hard for me to describe, but my capability of loving each other (especially my parents), may sometimes be limited by the invisible barrier I made for myself. Feels a lil bit sinful for me to say, but I can only love them with my thoughts. I mean, I say to myself I love them. When I'm sober, I think about them. On rainy afternoons, while sipping a warm thick Milo (like I've always been trying to do while I could), I think about ways (sometimes crazy fantasies) on how to really make them proud at sometimes. My mind wandered all around the globe, imagining scenes of me taking my dad f...

Let just get things straight. Although this isn't my first blog that I make (the one before was made as a school assignment), this post is officialy my first diary that I write. I never thought I'll ever write a personal diary, but let say, the things I've been thinking through these days change me in such a fundamental way (at least for now)... What am I thinking? Why on earth do I feel like I'm in an urge to write things down (or 'type' things down actually)? Well, before this week, I had an Instagram account... For what reason? Well, let's face it, i'm a teenager, and like most of teens do, I need something to actualize myself, something to share to this small world I live in. But as days of clinging onto emptiness went by, few days ago, by a snap decision, I decided to dump that account. I mean, i like to read. And i read a lot (or so i thought). I'm hoping that I'll be capable of writing when I hit my retirement years. I get amazed (and amus...