Nararion

What isn’t said still echoes.

[nararion]

Ah sudah lama sekali tidak posting. Apakah hidup baik-baik saja? Tentu tidak, rasanya aku mau gila. Saat rasa berat hidup tiba, istri justru memberi beban rasa. Benci sekali aku dengan caranya menanggapi sesuatu secara ekstrim. Tak bisakah ia bersikap lebih santai dan fleksibel tanpa membuat suasana semakin sesak?

[nararion]

Jancuk! Jadi laki kapan bahagianya???

[nararion]

Ya Allah, karuniakanlah hamba seorang istri yang penyabar, berlapang dada, yang bertakwa kepada-Mu, yang tidak mempermainkan hamba, dan tidak menjauhkan dari apa yang Engkau cintai, dan tidak mendekatkan hamba kepada apa yang Engkau benci. Jauhkanlah hamba dari sifatnya yang pemarah, pendendam, sombong, dan materialistis. Berikanlah hamba kesabaran dan kebijaksanaan dalam menjalani pernikahan hamba, dalam menjaga keimanan dan keislaman hamba. Kuatkanlah hamba setiap kali keinginan untuk mati muncul, gantikanlah ia dengan semangat untuk hidup berbibadah kepadamu.

[nararion]

The day I killed my torto. Feeling sad, guilty, devastated, and disappointed of myself. A punishment for my irresponsible habit.

[nararion]

Menuruti ke-BM-an istri = skip sholat magrib

[nararion]

So tired… I just want to die.

[nararion]

Tentang Bapak

Tadi subuh, setelah sholat berjamaah, Bapak menungguku di depan masjid. Menunggu untuk berjalan pulang bersama. Langkahnya pelan, terseok-seok. Wajahnya pucat, napasnya berat, seperti hidungnya tersumbat. Aku rangkul lengannya, pelan bertanya, “Bapak sakit, ya?”

Tak kuduga—Bapak justru menangis.

Bukan pertama kalinya aku melihat air mata Bapak, tapi terakhir kali adalah saat pernikahanku. Dan kali ini, berbeda.

Sesampainya di rumah, aku ajak ia duduk. Kutanya pelan tentang perasaannya—dan tangisnya pecah lebih dalam.

Katanya, ia merasa nelangsa. Sedih, karena sebentar lagi anak bungsunya akan merantau jauh ke Jambi. Sedih, karena rumah yang dulu riuh, akan kembali sunyi. Sedih, karena anak-anaknya kini tumbuh dan pergi, tak bisa menemaninya melewati hari tua.

Bapak lalu bercerita tentang keluh kesahnya. Sakit di perut yang tak kunjung reda—yang mungkin harus dioperasi. Keinginannya tetap menggarap sawah, agar bisa menabung, berharap suatu hari Allah membukakan jalan ke Baitullah. Dan harapan terbesarnya: bisa umroh bersamaku.

Dadaku sesak. Aku berusaha tegar, tapi hatiku remuk. Air mata ini tak sempat jatuh, karena aku menahannya. Aku juga punya banyak rencana besar untuk Bapak. Keinginan kuat untuk membahagiakannya—di sisa usianya.

Maafkan aku, Pak…

Maaf karena belum sepenuhnya bisa berbakti. Maaf karena terlalu sibuk mengejar hal-hal di luar rumah, hingga sering lupa menengok hatimu. Maaf karena belum cukup hadir, dan belum cukup sigap menjaga kesehatanmu. Maaf karena terlalu sibuk menikmati kebahagiaanku, hingga menunda rencana besar yang dulu kita rajut bersama.

Sehat-sehat terus ya, Pak… Aku masih ingin jalan bareng Bapak, dari masjid ke rumah—dan insya Allah, dari rumah ke Tanah Suci.

[nararion]

Akhir Juli

Bahkan sampai di titik ini,

aku masih dihantui ketakutan.

Takut dicintai.

Takut tak mampu mencintai dengan cukup.

Takut jika cinta yang kuberikan tak sebanding dengan yang kuterima.

Aku takut tak bisa jadi diriku sendiri—

karena merasa harus selalu tampil sebagai versi terbaikku.

Takut suatu hari aku lelah terus mengalah.

Takut menjadi jenuh.

Takut cinta ini memudar pelan-pelan.

Takut kehilangan orang yang mencintaiku sedalam itu.

Lalu aku bertanya pada diriku sendiri:

bagaimana mungkin aku bisa mencintainya sepenuh hati

jika bayang-bayang ketakutan itu terus mengekangku?

[nararion]

Ternyata dipaksa romantis tiap hari itu mengerikan

[nararion]

Again. About the Woman I Chose.

The hardest part about marriage isn’t money.

It’s not routine.

It’s learning how to live with the stubbornness of someone you deeply love.

Sometimes I wonder—

has this relationship become too ordinary,

that even something as small as forgetting a goodbye handshake

can turn the whole day upside down?

Why do small things turn into drama?

There are moments when I feel like

my emotions are only given space

to feel guilty.

She gets upset—I apologize.

She feels disappointed—I feel like I failed.

She says she hates it when I turn my back on her in bed,

yet that’s exactly what she does when she doesn’t get her way.

It’s frustrating.

But she’s the woman I chose.

I’ve tried bringing it up.

But logic, compromise, flexibility—

those aren’t always the answers she’s looking for.

What she wants is to be understood,

even if, at times, I feel completely unseen.

I’ll admit, I get tired.

I get annoyed.

But something always keeps me from walking away.

Maybe it’s because,

despite how unpredictable her emotions can be,

she’s always willing to open up and talk.

And after every bit of drama,

there’s always a way back:

a hug, a long talk, or laughter that slowly returns.

That’s why I’m still here.

That’s why I’m still patient.

And maybe—

that’s why I still like her,

even when sometimes I want to disappear just for a little while.

I just hope my love always outweighs the moments of frustration.

[nararion]

When doubt creeps in, it clouds the air. Negative energy spreads—even when the anger isn’t directed at me, I still feel its weight.

Sometimes I wonder—is being overly sensitive and emotionally intense just part of being a woman? Or is it a stereotype used to justify the struggle to regulate emotions?

I often ask myself, why does her mood shift so quickly? Why does the sweetness vanish, just like that? Did I do something wrong? Am I not enough? What should I do in those moments?

It’s terrifying, living with the constant worry that anything I say or do might accidentally hurt her feelings. One wrong move—and suddenly, the atmosphere shifts.

I want to help. I want to offer solutions. But I’ve learned that women don’t always want answers—sometimes, they just need to be held, to hear that their feelings are seen and heard.

And yet, even in those moments, I find myself second-guessing my own comfort. What if the way I hold her feels wrong? What if I’m trying too hard and not enough all at once?

At times, I don’t feel like myself. I try to become someone she’d be more comfortable with. And though I don’t regret the effort, sometimes… the fear outweighs the love.

I wish I had a superpower—to read her heart and mind, to know exactly how to respond without stumbling in the dark every time.

But maybe this is the price of choosing someone. I enjoy every second by her side, while quietly carrying the fear of unintentionally hurting the one I care about most.

[nararion]

At that moment I started to realize that I had been a fair-weather friend. As long as she was happy and nice, I loved back. But if she was unhappy or upset, I would feel blamed and then argue or distance myself.

[nararion]

Pagi Setelah “Sore”

Setelah menonton Sore: Istri dari Masa Depan. Bukan film yang sempurna. Bahkan istriku yang begitu semangat ingin menontonnya, malah tertidur di pertengah film. Bukan film dengan alur yang rapi, tapi ada rasa yang ditinggalkannya—diam-diam, halus, dan membekas.

My weird take: Ada upaya film ini menangkap sesuatu yang jarang bisa dijelaskan: perasaan mengenal seseorang bahkan sebelum sempat benar-benar mengenalnya. Rasa akrab yang datang entah dari mana. Seolah ada jiwa yang sudah lama menunggu, dan baru diberi waktu untuk saling menyapa. Bukan tentang masa depan, tapi tentang kedalaman koneksi. Tentang bagaimana kadang hati bisa lebih dulu memahami sebelum kepala sempat bertanya.

Dan aku jadi berpikir pagi ini bahwa rasa sayang itu tak selalu butuh alasan yang panjang.

Kadang cukup menyadari: “Orang ini, entah bagaimana… memang sudah seharusnya di sini.”

[nararion]

🌒 it’s rarely as bad as it seemed at 2am

it’s wild how much softer reality becomes once you understand it clearly.

you breathe slower. the fear shrinks. what felt like the end of the world was actually just

a misunderstanding,

a lack of sleep,

a story you told yourself

with missing pieces.

interpret it right— and suddenly, you’re not drowning.

you were just holding your breath

in shallow water.

[fromhersoul]

[nararion]

Friday, July 11, 2025

Bukit Pergasingan, Sembalun

The moon is setting.

The sun is rising.

I sit beneath a Casuarina tree at the peak of Bukit Pergasingan,

my gaze stretched wide across the beauty laid out in every direction.

Words scatter restlessly in my mind—unformed, tangled.

My legs still tremble.

My thoughts are noisy.

My heart, uneasy.

Slowly, the morning light brushes the crown of Mount Rinjani before me.

To my right, thick clouds crawl across the sky like a tide.

To my left, mist settles gently over the patchwork of villages and vegetable fields in the valley.

From below, the echoes of Qur’anic verses rise to greet this blessed Friday,

intertwining with the chirping birds around me,

as if all creation is beginning the day with a quiet kind of reverence.

I sit in silence, remembering what it felt like to summit a mountain.

The last time was almost five years ago—

at Arches and Rocky Mt, chasing the sunrise and sunset with my best friend.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

That familiar feeling returns:

a mix of wonder, gratitude, exhaustion, awe—

and something nostalgic, like meeting an old part of myself.

This time, I hiked alone.

I crossed paths with other climbers, but the journey was mine to bear.

And it was hard. Much harder than I imagined.

I almost gave up at the very start.

The trail was longer, my body weaker.

Maybe from lack of sleep.

Maybe from poor preparation.

Maybe from a heart too heavy with things I haven’t named.

But I kept going.

At least to the first campsite.

Because this hike, for me, was a quiet vow:

That I will not give up on the battles I’m facing now,

no matter how steep, no matter how long.

That I will keep chasing the heights of my dreams,

even when I now walk alongside a wife who fears high places.

That I will keep exploring the wild,

even when she prefers the comfort of stillness.

That I will keep moving forward,

even when she tells me to slow down.

And maybe that’s love, too.

Not stopping who I am—

but learning to bring her with me,

in my thoughts, in my prayers,

even when I walk alone.

[julaibib]

[nararion]

Ya Allah,

Fix what is broken inside me.

Stitch what I’ve torn with my own hands.

Replace restlessness with stillness,

and heaviness with light.

Make my heart soft again—

soft enough to feel You,

strong enough to carry what You’ve written.