Petrichoras

A pistanthrophobic who falls for words, and occasionally babbles here.

[hanadiningsih]

The truth is I've been angry for seven years.

It's been adding massive fuel to my drive to achieve the things I've dreamed of.

But I can't help but feeling like I'm yearning to move from one big thing to another, from one major checkpoint to the next one...

Until suddenly I realize, I am now living my answered prayer, at least most of it.

And I honestly don't know where to go anymore. All I have is calculated room for growth, and slow paced marathon in my calendar.

It's like having to go through a long, windy, and disruptive journey. And ironically, once I arrived, I have lost my capacity to feel the joy of finally arriving where I'm destined at.

-

I can't hate myself for who I've become, because all I've been was everything I needed to be to survive.

I can't appreciate myself for what I'm capable of, because it often felt more like an autopilot response than a conscious decision to live.

But I can't even love this part of myself who made it here, because I also grieve for the person I could've been if I weren't so wounded by the things out of my control.

-

It's been so comfortable to play the blame game, and to be honest I have all the right and audacity in the world to do it.

-

But, I guess this is where the anger stops.

And they said, anger is an anesthesia for whatever is hiding under the surface:

It's my grief of losing my old self. For losing a version of life that I once assumed with simplicity and naivety. For losing the sense of faith of the world. For losing the perspective I used to hold so dear. For losing the chance to feel normal again. For losing the consideration and admiration I thought I deserve that was abruptly taken away from me.

-

"You're doing so great now."

The thing is, without going through that trauma, I could have been so much better

-

I really miss having a perspective and a hopeful soul.

But, instead, I did whatever it took to survive and I'm a survivor now.

It's who I am now, but apparently I am someone who I didn't exactly expect to turn out to be.

-

And it's the kind of loss that no one else gets to see but me.

[inkskinned]

you're not quite an emergency, is the thing. you're just having a bad spell. so what if you can't ever really catch your breath. can't ever really feel at ease. a buzzing, terrible feeling.

but emergencies are loud, and passionate, and hit the floor. you are not a lion or a hurricane, you just live in a pretty okay apartment and your back hurts. you wake up and drag yourself out of bed and banish what if i was dead thoughts like cobwebs. you pick out your clothes and try to stay active. you apply for jobs on the internet.

the anxiety is a wave, and the depression is a spiral. the other stuff keeps things "colorful." you mitigate your symptoms and take your meds when you have them and you try to hang out with friends. you go home and your head is full of riverwater. no matter how much you sleep, you still stay tired. you journal and practice gratitude and build from the bottom upwards. and still, the haunting.

you're not a 911 call or a shriek. you're just staring up at the ceiling and feeling the house settle into your bones. you feel you are playacting as a wolf when you're only a sheep. not quite dry and not quite drowning.

over and over, you slog through the creek.

[nona-laras]

Before the coffee gets cold

I met my younger self for coffee.

We both showed up 30 minutes early, as usual.

She held the door for me, wearing the old blue cardigan I still stubbornly keep in Jakarta weather. The city that she once swore she would never live in.

She ordered an iced chocolate. "Sorry I could not drink coffee, i get dizzy and palpitation from caffeine." She smiled apologizingly.

I ordered an iced latte. No sugar. Just like my daily orders for the past three years.

She told me about the series of questionable men she'd been dating. How each of them just left different scars on her. I told her that later in life she'll learn that there's a kind of love that doesn't clip her wings down. A kind of love that goes to the battle with her, instead of against her.

She anxiously told me all of her worries. All the what-ifs. The A-Z back up plans plotted in algorithm style. I smiled, knowing that as much as sailing an uncharted sea was never her forte, she's going to take the leap of faith and learn to fly as she falls.

She asked, "Will things get better?"

I hugged her. "Like flowers blooming through the concrete, you've always been, and always will be, a survivor."

She looked puzzled and confused. I lingered a little longer than her, wishing that I could thank her enough in a way that truly matches all the growing pain she'll go through.

I hope one day we could meet again for coffee.

[nona-laras]

On gratitude

There is this comforting silent, of learning how to put an end to this ongoing war of battling myself. To try to make peace and halt on these bombards of doubts I’ve been directing on me. 

He taught me, in a humbling way, but none in the way of belittling me, of how he wholeheartedly believes that the universe put the pieces of puzzle quite well in place. 

As someone who plays multiple possible scenarios in alternate universes in my head to put myself to sleep, it feels soothing to learn that dwelling in could’ve been; should’ve been would bring us nothing good. To understand that riddling yourself on the scrutinizing details of the mismatch between your expectations and reality might make you forget that your blessings—are indeed uncountable. It might also steal the happiness you could’ve just felt—if only you focus on the here and now, and see the bigger picture.

To be able to accept the fact that the past may grant you no closure, and the future may not give you any certainty, but being able to live, breathe, try, and fail, love, and being loved, at this very moment, is God’s greatest gift itself. 

It has been a long journey, not that it seems to go that far yet. Nevertheless, clearly still a blessing to know where to go in mind, and I am currently on my way.

[yasmijn]

How do you know when it's time to walk away and say 'I deserve better'?

Honestly, there's no definite answer. It also depends largely on how much you love yourself. And how much you want to compromise.

But I think one good measure in deciding whether or not you deserve being treated the way you're being treated, you can try to switch the roles in your mind and ask yourself: Will I treat him the same? If I were him and he were me; would I do these things he did to me? (sorry I assume you're a female and your partner is a male but feel free to adjust).

Don't settle for less. Don't let the other person makes you feel small. Because you are not.

#1 rule: you are always, always your first priority

[nona-laras]

To be vulnerably honest,

Amidst all these jumbled sleep schedules, the laugh from superficial banter, these burn-outs, the deep-talk that felt paradoxically suffocating as it is relieving, those accidental tears on the backseat of one midnight Grab ride, another job application rejection letter. The unexpected helping hands when I was in need, the sharp pang of occasionally missing home, the prayers we chanted as we stepped to--as meticulously as we’d like to plan, still--an uncertain future, 

The joy and excitement entailed by sheer self-disappointment following other friends’ acceptance announcements, the irony of looking back to myself 5 years ago and feeling unsure that the old me would be proud of who I am today, the fleeting conversations with friends who turned into moms, wives, or busy residents. The clash in-between gaps of dreams, reality, and confusion of wanting to feel grateful vs fearing I might have sunk too deep in another comfort zone,

As my steps seemed to be going nowhere, and as much as I blamed myself for not taking any further,

I found out that it is a pure blessing to have someone who’d take my hands between his palms and (despite none of us were that religious) quoted his favorite verse :

Neither does it lie in the sun's power to overtake the moon, nor can the night outstrip the day. All glide along, each in its own orbit.

“At your own pace, in your own peace. They shine when it’s their time, and so will you.”

[nona-laras]

I still remembered how waking up felt like unravelling my ribcages— heavy with fear, bruised apricot heart in my fists and blood tinting my fingers red.

Yet now you stood here, a cup of boiling tea in your hands. Honey trickling down your open palms and soft little smile. My vein drowned in nectar, of flower petals blooming upon your jaws.

Tonight I wake up again, lips parted, tongue rolled in with words underneath— of which you completed most of my sentences :

“It is safe to love now,” you whispered.

And once again the thought echoes,

How lucky I am, how lucky I am.

—Nothing ever felt easier to say

[nona-laras]

2020

Started New Year Eve’s with Jakarta’s annual flood. Evacuated 28 patients in a day.

Went from 30 shifts a month to a more relaxed timetable yet fully wrapped in PPE.

Ignoring the pain in my body for months, finding out the cause in February, trying out to rearrange my messed-up sleep schedule and eat better, and thankfully went free from it in June.

Missing birthdays and Eid, staying away from home for the longest time in my entire life. 

Got isolated twice in March and September, came back tested positive for COVID-19 once.

Spending days of isolation contemplating and making decisions that I’ve been postponing for years. 

Learning then unlearning, being blessed enough to be able to reframe how love should work with another person, all over again. 

Finally had the courage to choose myself over an overstretched, sinking relationship,

yet still trying to look in the mirror and fight the urge to self-criticize.

Wasn’t an easy year after all, but still I am utterly grateful for whatever I lost and gained in 2020. 

Wishing for a brighter 2021 and more to come.

[inkskinned]

on a scale of one to ten how sad are you.

you almost say seven but the answer floats in your lungs like rising mud. you shift your shoulders. some part of you is already forming an excuse. that it’s not that bad sometimes. one, two, three on a day that the clouds are out. you’re just complaining about stuff. yesterday you laughed past a brick of a four, does that make the brick come down to a two-point-five.  the solid seven panic attack of last tuesday feels somehow like a little thorn, just a regular day full of a gentle three-point-nine earthquake rocking after yesterday’s close-to-an-eight. see but if tomorrow you have a real bad day, it will make today look simple.

and what if. what if tomorrow it’s a big old red eight-point-nine. like one of those days where sirens are going off in every part of you but you’re stuck behind a glass window watching it all burn down. like one of those days that your skin against the air feels foreign. like too much of everything. like sitting-in-the-shower, like can’t-eat, like the tide isn’t just coming in, it came while you were sleeping and now you’ve gotta learn how to swim. like bounce me against a bullet hole kind of day.

you keep numbers like nine and ten way out of reach. those are for the people who really are suffering. you’ve got no excuse. nine and ten are funeral numbers, for real problems, not yours, no. and sometimes you’re fine. and you’re kind of used to it. and it’s not sad, it’s just numb like a television caught on static. numb like i can’t remember if i care about this. numb like nothing works but i can’t be bothered to fix it. that’s not sad that’s every day stuff. everybody feels like this, right? feels like they’ve been shut off. right.  

maybe five. right in the middle. like not gonna shoot myself but i’m not wasting your time. a nonanswer. like could be worse could be better. like i need help but i don’t want you to worry even though i need someone to worry about me because i can’t worry about myself. maybe five. but what if five is too small. what if five is too big. what if -

“on a scale of one to ten,” he repeats into your silence, and then pauses. “and please be honest about this.”

[srtlrst]

Aku merasa cantik hari ini

Kadang mengalahkan perempuan ibukota

Lebih penting daripada menaklukkan dunia

Katanya, sih begitu

Aku merasa kesepian hari ini

Tapi sepi adalah properti milik publik

Bagi penguasa, hidupku hanya statistik

Baru tahu?

Aku merasa senewen hari ini

Kenapa orang pandir bertambah banyak

Siapa bilang hidup di Jakarta itu enak

Padahal sudah diberitahu

Tidak ada waktu yang baik untuk hal-hal yang tidak baik terjadi

Di kota ini, di kota kita

Keputusan buruk adalah lauk sarapan

Ekspektasi adalah teman makan siang

Dan kemelut salah sasaran lebih gemerlap dibanding bulan

Di kota ini, kota kita

Tanda tanya terus ditekuk dan aku dipaksa menelan

Makan apa hari ini?

Sudah bayar tagihan kredit?

Sampai kapan kekasih sakit?

Kapan sempat belanja bulanan?

Kapan sempat bertemu kawan?

Minggu depan? Tahun depan?

Bisa ke kantor lebih pagi hari ini?

Bisa lembur lebih malam lagi hari ini?

Laporan keuangan sudah siap?

Bahan meeting sudah siap?

Kopi bos sudah siap?

Ingat, kau ini kacung.

Minggu ini bisa pulang ke Bandung?

Gojek? atau grab?

Saya di shelter, pakai baju apa Mbak?

Mau sekalian isi gopaynya Mbak?

Mbak, bangun, sudah dekat.

Ajal? Bukan, muslihat.

Kesalahan apa lagi yang kau buat?

Alasan untuk tidak betah apa lagi yang kau buat-buat?

Di kota ini, di kota kita, aku mau jadi cantik,

Jadi sepi

Jadi senewen

Asal kudapat jawaban untuk 1 pertanyaan:

Apa jadinya Jakarta tanpa seseorang,

untuk dijatuhcintakan?

[nona-laras]

(Five months in, and this couldn’t be more accurate.)

[iosonorockmaballoiltango]

Between what is said and not meant, 

and what is meant and not said, 

most of love is lost.

Khalil Gibran

[wallflowerbloom]

[bookmania]

Poetry is life ☘

[nona-laras]

--------

God must’ve made poetry out of us,

dear, 

even our names rhymed.

-

Amsterdam, 17 Oktober 2017

[srtlrst]

Lupa/Luka

–––

Biar kuceritakan, perkara apa yang sudah tahunan kupelajari namun tidak juga aku kuasai.

Melupakan.

Padahal menurut kawanku, lupa adalah kekhilafan yang paling manusiawi sehingga seharusnya terhitung mudah untuk dimaklumi. Selain itu, melupakan juga merupakan satu dari sedikit hal yang dapat memerdekakan diri. Kenapa sesulit ini?

Dalam proses memaafkan, melupakan bukanlah sebuah faktor sebab-akibat.  Proses memaafkan tidak selalu harus diikuti dengan proses melupakan. Karena satu dan lain hal, demi kemaslahatan diri, memaafkan itu keharusan sedangkan melupakan adalah opsional. Tergantung kadar kemauan dan kemampuan.

Untuk kasusku, yang pertama.

Aku suka membuat hal-hal trivial menjadi sekekal mungkin dan memastikan tidak ada yang terlewat. Beberapa ingatan dapat berguna untuk berkontemplasi, atau bahkan menjadi bahan benchmarking di masa depan. Dari entri diari, bon belanjaan, tiket bioskop, boarding pass, bekas sundut rokok, hingga perasaan jungkir balik dalam perut. 

Dalam memaafkan, tidak melupakan kulakukan sebagai usaha mendekorasi luka. Tidak selalu berhasil, memang, tapi setidaknya bekas luka menyatakan bahwa aku pernah di sini, pernah melalui ini, dengan lebih lantang dari suaraku bercerita padamu sekarang. Jadi, ketika dalam proses memaafkan aku mengalami kesulitan, lukaku mengingatkanku, bahwa ada terlalu banyak hal yang tidak aku tahu. Sementara ketika dalam proses memaafkan aku merasa termanipulasi, biarkan lukaku yang menengahi.

Mau bagaimana pun, memaafkan dan melupakan merupakan gerbang utama menuju kedamaian diri. Memang tidak seharusnya mudah. Namun kawanku yang lain pernah berkata bahwa waktu terbaik untuk memaafkan adalah setiap hari, sehingga memaafkan tidak lagi menjadi tujuan akhir namun sebuah kebiasaan. Dan luka dalam wujud ingatan kubiarkan menjadi teman.

Riskan? Ya. Namun bila aku tiba-tiba teringat kembali pada lukaku, aku tinggal memaafkannya lagi dan lagi dan lagi. Hingga aku lupa dan lupa dan lupa lagi.

Jakarta, Oktober 2017

Srt.

[nona-laras]

How do I explain the dirt under my nails?

When I’ve told everybody I’ve stopped living in the past.

The ground is still soft where you buried us,

I still couldn’t let go of what was bad for me

even if it let go first.

Dear, I don’t know if that makes me good

or bad at love

Lately, it just made me a liar.

-

Jakarta, 28 Agustus 2017

[nona-laras]

Things I Should've Learned Before

Do not mistake hands and eyes for hearts. 

Do not sell your heart out of loneliness. 

Broken people are not homes. Or projects. Or a way to get rid of your past guilt. 

Their deep emotional baggage and their dented heart are never your responsibility. No one is ever really yours to begin with. 

. 

You can not fix people. You can not melt and mold people into your fairy tale kind of love. People are flawed by nature and everyone deserves to be loved for the way they are. 

 You can't change a failure from your past by trying to save a person from becoming one. 

Some people are made of sharp shattered pieces and you can not hug the love out of them without bleeding yourself down.

.

Do yourself some good and find the one who also knows how to love in full and not halves. 

 Who would appreciate your wholeness, who would understand that you don't love in sprinkles, that you love in storms. Who would understand that you don't catch feelings, you get swallowed by them. 

Who would feel lucky instead of suffocated by the size of your growing heart. and sometimes love isn't ready to meet you halfway on the bridge. 

Sometimes some bridges are made to burn. 

Please remember that people will only love you as deep as their insecurities let them, and you should stop blaming yourself for it. 

.

Seven billion people on earth. You will meet a lot of foreigners, with love as strange as languages with no alphabets. Find you one who would learn to speak yours. He would start with wrong vocabularies, grammatical errors and he would certainly make mistakes that it feels like whole new words. 

But he would still learn. 

Hell, he would learn anything just to keep you. As you have done for him too.

[1980vibes]