Sesungguhnya, kamu cukup menjenguk aku sekali-sekali. Menengok dari balik jendela yang terbuka, atau melompat-lompat di sepanjang dock komputer portabelku. Kamu cukup bilang hai satu kali—diikuti tanda titik dua dan kurung tutup, dan aku sudah punya cukup energi untuk bisa tersenyum seharian. Nggak peduli seberat apapun hari yang barusan aku lalui, ketika kamu bertanya how’s-your-day, aku jujur waktu menjawab: it’s wonderful!

Kalaupun kamu sedang sibuk-sibuknya sehingga nggak sempat menjengukku, aku sudah cukup merasa senang, kok, kalau bisa melihat kamu bermain-main di sisi sebelah sana. Mendengarkan kamu bicara dengan orang-orang di sekelilingmu. Melihatmu pergi ke tempat-tempat yang belum pernah aku datangi. Memandangi kamu diam-diam. Menunggui kamu bekerja semalaman. Aku selalu bilang, kebahagiaanku biasanya datang dari hal-hal paling sederhana. Dan kesederhanaan itu nggak pernah meminta apa-apa.

Aku nggak akan gangguin kamu kalau kamu lagi sibuk. Aku nggak akan menarik-narik lengan bajumu dan bilang, dengerin-aku ketika kamu lagi kepingin sendirian. Aku nggak akan melompat-lompat di depanmu setiap saat cuma supaya kamu sadar bahwa aku ada. Aku nggak minta apa-apa. Nggak menuntut apa-apa. Nggak berharap apa-apa.

Kalau saatnya tiba, mungkin kita akan bertemu lagi—atau berpisah lagi. Bagaimanapun, hidup terus berjalan. Aku percaya, kita akan menemukan kebahagiaan yang sempurna di ujung sana. Bisa jadi kita bahagia berdua, bisa jadi kita akan bahagia sendiri-sendiri. Dua-duanya nggak masalah. Karena kita sama-sama tahu, hidup ini selalu penuh kejutan di setiap kelokannya.

Jadi, aku cuma mau bilang, sebetulnya aku ada di sini kalau kamu butuh. Nggak ada terms atau conditions. Sampai berapa lama… aku sendiri juga nggak bisa menjanjikan. Mungkin suatu hari kamu datang dan aku sudah keburu pergi; bisa juga sebaliknya. Tapi kalau dilihat-lihat, sepertinya aku masih akan cukup lama berada di sini. Aku masih cukup senang duduk-duduk santai dengan segelas minuman dingin di tangan, membaca Murakami sambil mengayun-ayunkan kaki, memandangi kamu sambil mendengarkan lagu-lagu dari iPod-ku.

So, take your time.

Terus, kalau kamu tanya kamu harus ngapain, aku akan bilang: nggak usah ngapa-ngapain. Menulis tentang kamu aja, seperti sekarang ini, sudah cukup bikin aku senang selama beberapa jam ke depan.

hanny
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I still remember how difficult it was for me growing up. My Dad is from Chinese origin. My Mom is Javanese. Dad’s family are mostly Christians and Catholics, Mom’s family are mostly Moslems. Being a Chinese-Javanese and also a Moslem in the 80s-90s was complicated and could be overwhelming at times, especially for a kid.

I realized how I felt so different during my early childhood. I couldn’t get close to my cousins from my Dad’s side because I didn’t go the Sunday school like everyone else, I didn’t know the titles of those Chinese movies they talked about, I didn’t know how to call my aunty or my uncle properly in Chinese, I didn’t celebrate Chinese New Year, and so on and so forth. I couldn’t get close to my cousins from my Mom’s side either, because physically, I look Chinese, I didn’t join their Quran lessons every Friday, and… I went to a Catholic school.

It made all the difference.

I didn’t know why it seemed like I had to choose between being Chinese, or being Javanese. Why couldn’t I simply be an Indonesian?

Thus, during childhood, I preferred spending my time alone in the confinement of my bedroom, reading books, or just hanging around with my Mom or my Dad. Here, at least, I wasn’t being judged. I was free. This was the place where people didn’t care about me being Chinese or Javanese or both.

Some family members from my Mom’s side bitched around because I was sent to a Catholic school—where I (despite like around 12 other subject lessons) learned about Jesus and liturgy. I didn’t get it. It was indeed a Catholic school, but it welcomed students from any religion. I didn’t know why it mattered so much, why they were so pissed off. I got good grade for my Catholic religion lesson: 9 out of 10. To me, I was simply studying history.

One day, in 5th grade, I walked to the school’s pretty chapel with a Catholic friend of mine. We went there to pray, so that we’d be doing great in our national exam.

I remembered myself asking my friend, “Can I come in? I mean, I’m not Catholic.”

And my friend replied, “Why not? We’re praying to God, and God’s everywhere. So we can pray everywhere. And a chapel is a place to pray.”

I wished I could bring her to the mosque and said the same thing. Came to think about it now, children, naturally, do have beautiful minds.

I spent my school days in the same Catholic school until I graduated from high school.

During Ramadhan, a Moslem teacher led our afternoon prayers. There was a clean room next to the school’s health unit, where we could do our prayers. While we were reciting Al-Fatihah at heart, we could hear faintly the choir team serenading Ave Maria from the room upstairs. Sometimes, when the choir team were lacking of people and needed some extras, I would be joining them singing songs from the hymn book for the masses. At times, we hanged pretty Ketupat made of Japanese ribbon in our class’ Christmas tree. I got a chest full of greeting cards from my Catholic friends during Idul Fitri and I saved some money to buy them Christmas cards.

Those were the times when I learned about tolerance. Growing up, I realized how important it was for children to meet other children from different backgrounds, social classes, races and religions; to understand from such a small age that it’s definitely okay to make friends with those who are different from us. I do believe that the world would be a better place if adults would stop corrupting the minds of young children—telling them all the nonsense there is in the world, scared them out carelessly by simply saying that if they don’t listen, they’ll end up burning in hell.

hanny
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Screen Shot 2015-12-20 at 11.14.11 PMWhen I wrote down his name in my journal entry, I knew that he would always be that special someone. Someone who marked yet another important chapter of my life.

I knew how the other names (temporarily) ended: missing boyfriend I’ve never heard of again, a friend I used to have a silent crush upon, ex-boyfriend I’ve never talk to any longer, ex-boyfriends I still talk to, ex-boyfriend I still secretly think about, someone I continue to admire from faraway, old crush that I come to detest, heartbreakers who fade away in time, boyfriend material turns best friend…

But each one, each names, represented who I was, who I used to be. Their treats and personalities and the way they barged in represented the things I was looking for at a particular stage of my life. They represented passing years; they represented my biggest fears, my faintest hopes, my shattered dreams, my glorious days, my difficult times, my tacit disappointments, my wishful thinking… myself.

As the years passed and forgotten, their names were still left intact, names way back from 1998, my handwriting carefully outlining each letters (other times carelessly), leaving footprints into my present, my life, my heart.

When I wrote down his name in my journal entry that night, it marked the day when I started to see things from a different perspective, the day when I stopped guessing, or having too high of an expectation, the day when I was no longer holding on to mementos. It marked the day when I was free and liberated, the day when I could say all the things I want to say, do the things I want to do, the day when there was no holding back, the day when there was no regret.

He represents the possibilities there are in the world: new experiences, new encounters, new opportunities, and all the hidden places underneath the sun, awaiting to be found.

In my dream that night, we were seeing each other again after quite a long time, knowing that nothing had changed, nothing had evolved, nothing had dissolved. It just happened to be, that one day, he lost something; and I left something, but none of us was really searching. We simply coped up.

So, in the dream, he closed his eyes and I closed my eyes, and off we went our separate ways, hummed along to the indistinct sounds of summer.

hanny
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Hanny illustrator
Hi. I'm HANNY
I am an Indonesian writer/artist/illustrator and stationery web shop owner (Cafe Analog) based in Amsterdam, the Netherlands. I love facilitating writing/creative workshops and retreats, especially when they are tied to self-exploration and self-expression. In Indonesian, 'beradadisini' means being here. So, here I am, documenting life—one word at a time.

hanny

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