ini prosa kali ya? monolog? also in english

Kalo lo bisa nebak prosa/monolog/rambling ini tentang apa, next time we meet, I’m gonna kiss your face. Suwer.

Alma, matters

You were always just there
On endless papers, alive on pretty abc’s,
Out of my mind
    (and maybe theirs)
I was inside of you (they probably never were)
For quite awhile and I
Was quite keen to get out
    Was I wrong, Alma?
I wasn’t wrong,
Look what I did to
You for a while
And I’m sorry,
    I really am, for
You’re always just there,
As you should be (for as long as I will always be),
Waiting,
Knowing—patiently that
You
And I?
We matter
We do
    Together

    First of all, she wasn’t my anything. She poised just like a newly formed mole around your mouth that popped out of nowhere after you stayed in one particular place with its particular weather for quite some time. Say, four and a half years. Because you made a bad decision, got lost, and it took a while to get back on track again. And suddenly, she’s there, on the left corner of your top lip. But that’s not the point. Or maybe it is? Because now that you think about it, those extra, unnecessary days had worn you out you were way too keen to leave her behind. Remember those bleak hours when you got stuck in your head, when voices were screaming at you to book the first flight the next morning back to where you began. Was it hatred you felt towards her? Hate is a strong word. I can never hate her, I know that for sure. She’s lovely, Alma. Different.

    ***

    My cousin introduced us. She was older than me, and so was Alma. When I said she’s different, Alma, that is, I meant it. Alma was already well-known among others for her humble beauty and superior brain and in spite of her rich background, she possessed an ability to blend in with the crowd and she never was conceited about it, unlike me, who was young and confused because everything was so new and although not quite overwhelming, like everyone had assumed, but it was close to make me lose track like I told you before.

    Alma was always just there. I never paid her attention, to be completely honest. I was probably only one among her other million admirers. Hell. I didn’t even admire her. I just had the opportunity. And they say you’re gonna miss her when she’s gone, only the irony is that she’s not going anywhere, it was me who left her, remember?

   

    ***

    So, I left.

    Can’t blame the revulsion I felt for her back then. It already happened, I can’t change anything. I didn’t hate her, but I’ve had enough of her. Of her kindness and vast knowledge. Of her blinding sight and how she made me feel alone. Of her hot and cold and her—my—our friends. I’ve had enough, and it was time for me to leave anyway.

   

    ***

   

    “Alma? Wow, okay,” they often say when I admit I was with her. “Okay, wow.”

    It takes me a couple of their, my new acquaintances who have never met you, awed exclamations to realize that you’re the only one, Alma, you will always be the only one with me because they never got the opportunity. You matter, Alma, please forgive me. It was never your fault, Alma, it was mine, you’re always you with your humble beauty and your superior brain and maybe I was only bitter because why couldn’t I be myself without you? If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be me, I get it now, Alma, I’m so sorry. Look at me now. I love you, I do.

THE END

cerpen english (mungkin romance mungkin bukan)

(dan mungkin, sedikit nyata baaahahahahhaha.)



Innocent Fire
(Not) a love story

    Have you ever been really, really into someone you actually think you’re on the verge of hating them?
    I did. I do. I don’t know.
    She’s pretty, I have to admit, the kind of girl who will always make you blink in wonder whether she’s bundled up in cardigans or surrounded by daisies and roses on her summer dresses. The thing is, she wasn’t in my radar at all. I doubt that I was even in her radar as well, not with the fact that we’re coming from different departments and she’s not staying at the dorm because she’s always riding her cute, brick-colored bicycle with a basket attached on the soft-angled handles to and fro her house, which is only fifteen minutes tops on sunny days.
    Me? I’m staying at the dorm, five minutes walk to and fro my building. And I don’t like to hang out after my classes, I’m unfamiliar with the green grass decorating our university’s main park, I don’t know what books the stone statues trio on the fountain are reading forever.
    I met her in the library.
    Her name is Krisan.

***

    I’m an only child. My cousins are all younger than I and they live too far off from here. They’re alright, just like how I find any other younger kids who will grin at me when I ruffle their heads in passing. This certain aspect of my life shaped me up to be a gentle boy; I’m always careful with the power I possess in my big hands and they, the younger kids and especially my mom, also say that I have a gentle smile. They like my smile. According to a little girl about six, some years ago, she felt safe when I smile.
    Maybe that was why Krisan smiled at me first.
    “Thank you so much,” she said as I handed over the text book she was reaching out. I couldn’t remember what the book was about. Everything, now, is a blur but her pretty smile. What was I doing in the library that day? Why did I go near the management section? Yet, somehow, I could remember that her lips were stained peach-like, similar with the apples of her cheeks. And her coffee-colored irises were reflecting the lamps above us. She was only about my shoulders, her black hair curling around her collarbones. She wore a cute peplum top and skinny jeans. She smelled like orange.
    Yeah, I mumbled, and still smiling that pretty smile, she continued,
    “It’s really you. I thought to myself, ‘I swear I’ve seen him somewhere before!’ Tell me, how was the little boy? Did his parents finally find him?”
    What?
    “The little boy you helped last week! At the mall, remember? You were so gentle with him he didn’t want you to leave him with the security guards. Did his parents finally find him?”
    Oh. Right. Enggar. His twin brothers found him not long after.
    “That’s a great relief!”
    Yeah.
    “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She giggled and her eyes disappeared. Kind of. “I’m Krisan.”
    We shook hands and I told her my name.
    “Emil? Like, from the children book?” she put a strand of hair behind one cute ear. Her fingernails were painted in turquoise.
    I was surprised she knew the origin of my name. Emil was a character from my mom’s favorite childhood books. I’ve read some. He was a naughty boy with a clever mind and good intentions.
    “You don’t seem to be a troublemaker like Emil,” she giggled again, “I should go. My next class is about to start.”
    Oh, okay, I said. I wasn’t even disappointed at that time.
    “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Emil. I couldn’t shake off the picture of you holding hands with that little boy. You stood out just like that among the crowds!” she touched my left forearm. “Have a great day!” and I wasn’t even attracted to her back then.

***

    It’s not funny that Krisan was the name of a Japanese comic character’s favorite flower to be buried together with in her funeral. She got her wish fulfilled. Her krisan was all yellow, I remember it now. Krisan? She’s never just yellow. She always glowed.

***

    I fell head over heels for her when I really stared at the slope of her cute nose and the way her bony elbows moved as she tied up her hair in a neat ponytail. I asked her phone number and she always texted back within a heartbeat. Her laugh? I found a perfect song to describe her laugh and she laughed when I told her to listen to the song. I liked her. I was really into her. And then I saw her with one particular guy multiple times around my dorm, and I realized that the guy lived in the same floor with me and I remember I didn’t understand a thing.
    So I asked.
    “Ahmad? No one.”
    No?
    “No, Emil. We’re just friends, like you and I.”
    Hm.
    “Weren’t we going to eat? I’ve got something for you.”
    She’s a great cook. I forgot my awkward attempt at jealousy as she presented a hearty feast of broccoli frittata with smoked beef and cheese, her homemade tomato chutney, and lemon-cream mini donuts.
    Do you also cook for Ahmad?
    Krisan paused and she pouted like I broke her heart, not the other way around.
    “Aw, Emil, don’t be difficult.”
    It’s just a question.
    “Well, stop asking,” she whined, frowning. She added as an afterthought, but it’s effective anyway, “Please.”
   
***
   
    Girls tend to adore my towering height, followed by my hipster glasses and lastly, maybe they like my face; I’m not really sure.
    Did Krisan ever have a feeling for me? I didn’t know, so I asked. And her eyes were so lovely, all wide and confused and that was it, I was so sure that was the end, I was so ready for it to end, but of course I was wrong.
    “I’m so sorry,” she said, sincerely, but somehow I doubted it. She, at least, was aware of my act of paying for our apparently-not-dates and lending my favorite jacket for her when she had flu last week. I would never lend my favorite jacket just for any girl who swooned over my height and my glasses and maybe my face—no. She must have known. I was pretty obvious about it.
    But then again, not only I was Emil but I’m also stupid.
    Don’t be, it’s okay, you have Ahmad.
    “What are you talking about?” Krisan snapped, thoroughly insulted.
    You know what I’m talking about.
    “Why are you like this?” she frowned. I remember I never liked it when she did that. “What do you want from me?”
    Yeah, what was it again? You didn’t even know what you wanted back then, right, Emil? You liked her, that was the truth, but then, what? You broke up with your last ex because you thought what you did with her was useless, and you had really, really liked her, remember? Was it the thrill of the chase? If so, why did you ask, you goddamned haywire shithead, you got her answer, yeah? And what was it that you planned to do after hearing her exasperation? After realizing that she’s not into you? Have you ever been really, really into someone you actually think you’re on the verge of hating them?
    I did.
    I did.

THE END