Fun, um, fact. I guess.

My brain stops working when the clock hits 8. No matter how important the task is, how crucial my need of knowledge is, when it’s 8 p.m. My brain closes the thinking section.

Just because I feel like posting it. Just because.
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You got the widest paper in your head

I hate biology. Or anything that consist of soooo many things to remember.

I can’t do this. I have to write it.

Can’t. Too little space.

Need more. A paper I can use to write everything, from the basic until the very detail.

Everything. There so many much to remember. Just reading won’t give me much.

Paper! No space. I can’t write it there. No detail.

Wait. I have one. The biggest one, so wide I can write everything there, so clean I don’t have to use my eraser, so light I can bring it everywhere.

My brain.

I clasped my hands. God, may I remember all things I read, may I never forget what I wrote in my brain, sincerely, your perfect creature.

I may get my ass kicked out the class if I failed this one.

1 Girl, 1 Public Transport, A Whole Nation

The public transport took a stop, and a passenger hop in and I scooted aside. She sat beside me. I frowned right away, not to be rude, but she stinks.

Well, it’s not like I have a right to complain, I thought, covering my nose with my jacket sleeve, pretending to be asleep, this is a public transport overall. 

You think I was in a city bus? Or else, subway? Think again…and no, I wasn’t in a taxi. I was in a public transport called ‘Angkot’. ‘Ang’ as we say ‘Ong’, not the avatar main character named ‘Aang’, no. You say ‘Kot’ as in ‘Cod’ fish. Try it yourself, you’ll get the closest pronounce for ‘Angkot’. Anyway, this ‘Angkot’ is just a name from ‘Angkutan Umum’. That’s how Indonesian say Public Transport. We like to make things easier to do and say. We have a test, we cheat; we don’t like to reveal the truth, we lies easily, that just human. We have a public transportation with long name, so we make abbreviations, sometimes we don’t understand what our abbreviations mean.

This public transport is a small car, in my town it was painted blue with a combination of alphabet shown in the outside, so people will know the route of the public transport. Roughly speaking, we have 20 or so combination, wrong combination and direction you got in, be ready to be lost. Despite its name, this public transport theoretically can only hold for almost 12 person in one go, but in fact, I can be crushed in there others, 14 people or so.

So today, as my usual Friday, I was on my way home from my religion lecture, and this (not to be rude) woman whose smell not really good got in, and sat next to me. I pretended to be asleep until some boys from Catholic Junior High get in the car. I took a peek from under my eyelid and saw one of them brought a guitar with a broken string. Not that I care.

They started to talking. They’re loud, and I hate to be in a cramped place with loud people and my mood swing. Now I hid my face in my palms, pretend not to be there for a moment. After awhile, I noticed that these boys don’t speak Indonesian. Maybe they’re some immigration from the South East Island, since that wasn’t my first time hearing the language.  They have their own accent I can’t translated them into English. It was indeed loud, but not entirely disturbing, in fact I found my self enjoy listening to their junior-high-level conversation. The bad sweat smelled woman next to be aside.

I still have a half route to go until I reach my home when a group of woman from a nearby cigarette factory joined us. I never liked the reek of tobacco that always wrap around them wherever they go, and in this small place with only two small windows, it got worse. But today I found my self take a glad, small sniffs at them. At least it smelled better than sweat.

The journey continue.

Thanks to my sensitive ear, I thought this factory women were as talkative as the junior high boys. The difference was they speak in another language, they gossiping about their family, children, and neighbor and stuffs in Javanese. I noticed this once right away because I use this language everyday. You must be surprise if I tell you how much my country has traditional language, some discovered, the rest untouched by knowledge, only used by the people who hold the tradition it self.

Indonesian say that the closer you live with the Center Java Province, the softer your accent will be, and vice versa. That explain a lot why the junior high boys who talk a little but can filled the whole car with only their loudness, and on the other side, the Javanese women can shake the wheels by their talkativeness. If you by chance come to Indonesia, make sure you visit Java, any province will do since Java is like the center point of Indonesia. People come to Java to gamble with their lives, some succeed, some just not. Make sure you listen to their accent, you’ll notice the differences.

Only a little more and I can got off this sweat smelled (yes, the woman still sat beside me), cramped, loud car. I just decided to take a small nap when some university girls hop in. See? The drivers violated the maximum passenger rule again! I didn’t dare to count how many the person in the car that time. I kind of have a claustrophobia and I was scared that I would suffocate if I know how cramped the car was.

Just kidding.

Friday always gives me surprises, this day I found that there’s so many people from different side of Indonesia, who speaks in a whole different language with one another, crushed in a same place: This collage girls speak in Maduranese! [I’m not sure if it’s the right term, the red underline keep shown whenever I try to make it right]

FYI, Madura people is like Talkative Javanese, Loud South East Island Boys, bland to be one. They’re loud, they’re talkative, and you can’t understand their language at all. For a moment I was dumbstruck with the speed of their talk. They talk so damn fast! And is it just me or the other passengers just don’t care? They kept talking with each other just like usual, left me the one who didn’t talk at all dumbfounded.

Who say differences will break us, it prefect each other just fine. And differences make us Indonesians.

Maybe you’ve heard this some where, one of Indonesia slogan is “Bhineka Tunggal Eka” which means, “Though we are different, but we are one.”

I just found my small piece of my Indonesia in a small and cramped Angkot. Still, it reeks of tobacco and sweat to boot. Not that I’m complaining. I don’t have the right to do that, I was in a public transport overall.

-Saved in Friday Journal Section-

In The Meanwhile #2

Somehow I always have this not-so-ordinary thing in my life when it’s Friday. Maybe not ‘always’, but it happens quite often.

Maybe it’s because that every Friday, I have to move out (temporarily) from my comfort zone for at least 2 hours or so. And I realized that this not-so-ordinary something rarely comes to me when I was in my comfort zone.

Let me tell you why: my school doesn’t have a teacher to lecture us about our religion, so we have to go to another school to attend this lecture. (some of us think that the lecture’s important for our afterlife knowledge, the rest think that it’s important for the tiny little number on our report card.)

So when my lecture finished this noon, I text my uncle to fetch me. Since my uncle has been staying at my house for a couple days until one day I can’t say, my mother trust her car to him because she trusts him more than the other public transportation’s drivers. I think she doesn’t realize that he drives the same way as them, if not worse. I couldn’t sleep in the car with the constant sound of the horn and in the high speed he drives. I sent the message. 30 seconds later my phone buzzed. I saw a single, capital K on the monitor.

This post isn’t really about this little brother of my mom, but yeah, he’s the not-so-ordinary something someone for this Friday.

Usually I always go home with the public transportation, but it takes a-not-so-lot money, and time, and energy (because I have to switch transportation for two times), so instead of getting bored in the uncomfortable public car with this heavy bag of mine, I think to be fetched by my uncle was a really good choice.

I thought so, at least until I had to stand for about an hour.

My uncle doesn’t wait for people, if he doesn’t find the person he made appointment with, he’ll call him/her for a hundred times, and texts them for thousands. But sometimes (or many times) he makes people wait for him. One or two time, he sure tests someone’s patience.

I waited for him in front of the school gate, my friends already gone before me so i pretty much standing there alone, without someone i knew, outside my comfort zone.

What a fun time.

For the first 10 minutes, I killed the time with a book (Life of Pi). This isn’t my first time to be like this, so I’d make sure that I always bring a book or a headset. I stand reading, I don’t want to sit inside the school that I knew no one in it. And if I do, everybody eyes will attracted to me, since I wore the different uniform. I don’t want to be a circus animal, but if I become one, I want to be the best one. Not because I’m only from the different “territory”.

For the 20 minutes later, I still read the book. My legs start to hurt, so does my whole body, thanks to the exercise we did yesterday for P.E. My muscles kill me and my damn heavy bag felt like a 20 kilograms potato sack.

You think I called my uncle that time? No, too much a hassle, I don’t like talking on the phone. Or you think I got mad and puffed my cheek? I felt the security gaze on my back, I don’t want more any of that because the strange mimic, thank you. So instead doing them, I just sent him a text.

Me: where are you?

Him: 5 minutes

Me: kay

I wan’t entirely surprised when the fact was  I had wait for another 30. I forgot in my uncle’s world, a minutes equals to 124 seconds. No worries, happens all the time.

The clock strikes three when he arrives and I hop in. I wasn’t mad at him. I think it’s stupid when you have to ignore someone when they pick you up a little late (if you think an hour as ‘a little late’, so be it). And I think it’s unfair to get mad because of it when in reality I do the same to other people, sometimes. I just greet him with a simple ‘hi’.

My phone buzzed.

You know what? Our movie wins the second place in the movie festival!! 😀

I blinked, smiling. We’ve been working on that one for the last two months. My crew are rock. It’s okay if we didn’t make it to the first, although this is our last chance. Next year we’re senior and only meddling with exam and stuffs. This is enough.

It buzzed again, I scroll for the next message.

And YOU know what? YOU get the second place for THE BEST DIRECTOR! You’re ROCK!!!

I blinked, two times. Maybe I was grinning like an idiot so my uncle asked me if I was okay.

See? It’s like getting a present for the patience.

I was grinning all the way home, until now.

[Please do tell me if I make some grammar mistakes or typos. I know some people out there is good with it. I’m not mocking you; it’s quite the contrary actually. Since I’m suck at it, I respect people who mastering this important section of literature. English is not my first language. Heck, it’s not even my second.]

Quote

I love you, so….

I love you, so…
I won’t bind you to your phone, by sending you “P.S I love you” message every 5 minutes, or call you every hour.
I won’t bind your mind, so you can enjoy your activity without thinking about me every time, everywhere.
I won’t bind your soul, so nobody can’t steal you from me (which is tempting).
Because, I know, when you say that you love me, you already bound your heart to mine

-someone to somebody, somewhere

P.S: I’m in the mood for something cheesy~ XO

P.S.P.S :Nah, forgive me for the sappy line -.- XOXO

P.S.P.S.P.S: I thought about this when I was in the middle of English exam, stuck with the grammar and some strict English stuffs :p XOXOXO

How Dense One Can Be?

Aku tidak kaget ketika tiba-tiba teman sebangkuku berkata kepadaku, “Kau benar-benar tidak peka.”

Aku mengerjap. Tapi tidak membalas. Ini bukan pertama kalinya aku dikatai seperti itu, dan aku tidak bisa menyalahkannya karena berkata seperti itu padaku.

Melihat kebisuanku (persetujuanku akan kalimatnya), teman sebangkuku ini melanjutkan, “Kau tidak mengerti siapa yang dari tadi aku bicarakan, kan?”

Oke, yang mana? Karena selama 45 menit terakhir aku yakin kau sudah membicarakan 8 orang yang berbeda.

Aku menggeleng. Melihat ke depan melalui sudut mataku. Aku melihat guru bahasa Inggrisku sedang duduk di belakang mejanya, mata terpejam, kepala ditumpu di kedua tangan. Katanya meditasi. Menurut kami, itu tidur. Yang jadi pertanyaanku adalah bagaimana caranya beliau bisa bangun tepat sebelum bel pergantian pelajaran berbunyi.

Di sebelahku, teman sebangkuku masih saja berceloteh dengan seseorang yang duduk di depannya. Yang kusadari adalah perubahan topiknya; aku.

Bagaimana bisa sesi gosip berbagi informasi dengan cepatnya berubah menjadi sesi khusus 5 menit mengolok-olok ketidakpekaan-ku? Itu, juga bukan pertama kalinya. Jadi aku hanya diam dan mendengarkan.

Ketidakpekaan, itu kata mereka. Kataku, ketidakpedulian. Itu cukup jadi rahasiaku. Aku tidak perlu buka suara dan menjadikannya sebagai pembelaan. Bukan berarti alasan seperti itu bisa ‘mengembalikan’ harga diriku, mungkin lebih ke sebaliknya.

Aku baru saja selesai menerjemahkan sebuah kalimat, ketika partner-in-crime-nya teman sebangkuku tiba-tiba berkata, “Mungkin, suatu hari kau bahkan tidak akan sadar jika seseorang menyukaimu. Kau bicara dengannya setiap hari, melewati bangkunya setiap pergantian pelajaran, tapi mungkin kau tidak akan menyadari tatapan mata yang hanya ditujukannya padamu.”

Aku diam selama 5 detik penuh, sebelum tertawa terbahak-bahak. Seseorang sampai harus melempariku dengan potongan penghapus untuk menghentikanku.

“Oke,” kataku pada akhirnya, mengakhiri tawaku dengan sebuah batuk, “Itu tidak mungkin.”

“Oh, ayolah,” teman sebangkuku mendesah, berlebihan. “Itu hal yang paling mungkin terjadi padamu. Kau hanya melihat bukumu dan para siswa takut padamu, tidak pernah ada gosip tentangmu selama 2 semester ini, yang menurutku membosankan, dan beberapa dari mereka secara terang-terangan menunjukkan kesungkanan mereka.”

Sebelum aku sempat membalas, ia kembali bicara, “Kau juga tidak pernah suka seseorang, kan?”

“Pernah!” Kataku sebelum aku dapat menghentikan diriku sendiri.

“Hoooo, siapa?”

Aku tidak langsung menjawabnya. “….dulu sekali.” Bohongku. Bel istirahat berbunyi, dan guru yang rambutnya mulai menghilang dari permukaannya itu seperti telah direncanakan dari awal, membuka matanya dan berjalan keluar kelas dengan ucapan ‘selamat pagi’ pelan. Tidak ada yang membalas salamnya.

Ketika aku kembali menoleh pada temanku, ia sedang setengah berdiri, “Aku mau ke kantin,” katanya. “Kau ikut?”

Aku menggeleng.

Temanku mengangguk dan berjalan keluar dengan partner-in-crime-nya. Aku mengamati mereka, dan kemudian mataku menangkapnya. Berjalan tepat di luar pintu kelasku. Senyum terkembang di wajah.

Kupikir…aku mengerti kenapa aku seperti ini. Ketidakpedulian yang telah menjado kebiasaan ini dan ketidaktertarikan pada orang lain  yang kurasakan…mungkin sebenarnya aku mengerti penyebabnya.

Aku membiarkan mataku melihatnya dari jauh, tidak lama, sebelum akhirnya mengalihkan pandanganku. Tidak sesulit dulu, pikirku teringat bagaimana keadaanku beberapa bulan sebelumnya. Saat dimana mataku hanya tertuju pada dirinya, dan mungkin masih tertuju padanya.

Mungkin aku menolak untuk berpikir seperti itu.

Aku menghela nafas, terlalu banyak kata mungkin, terlalu banyak ketidakyakinan. Baru saja aku mengangkat pensilku dan hendak mengerjakan soal dihadapanku, ketika sebuah suara memanggilku. Aku menoleh, dan mendapatinya berdiri di pintu kelasku.

O-ow. Aku berjalan ke arah pintu, dan ia tersenyum padaku. O-ow.

“Hei,” katanya.

“Hei.”

Dalam hati aku mengucapkan suatu mantra, satu kalimat: i don’t like you, i don’t like you, i don’t like you…

Ia tersenyum lebih lebar, dan mantra itu berubah bunyi: you’re not mine…and you will never be.

Munkin temanku yang banyak omong itu benar adanya, aku mungkin tidak akan menyadari tatapan mata orang yang menyukaiku (kalaupun ada), karena mataku mungkin tanpa sadar akan mengikutimu, mau ataupun tidak.

Mungkin kau juga tidak pernah menyadarinya.

How dense one can be?