#*interioritas

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A Face Like Glass by Frances Hardinge

Nobody’s mind ever remains a blank page, however carefully they are locked away from the world. In the case of Neverfell, she had made her mind into a scrapbook, busy filling it with the fragments, stories, rumours and reports she could scavenge from talking to the delivery boys who came to pick up cheeses or drop off milk and supplies, and failing that the wild scribblings of her own imagination.

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Jubah Laut karya Nayrouz Qarmout (diterjemahkan oleh Sasti Gotama), dari kumpulan cerpen The Sea Cloak.

Di antara wewangian aroma nostalgia dan samudra, kenangan-ingatan bertumbukan di benak kala ombak bergulung-gulung ke arahnya. Ia rasakan sengatan-gigitan pasir di kulitnya yang lembut. Betapa ingin ia terbebaskan dari gamis hitam yang memeluk erat tubuhnya. Ia benamkan jemari kakinya ke pasir basah, dan jejak kakinya, seringan kupu-kupu, segera lenyap tanpa bekas. Ia melangkah ke depan, takut-takut akan apa yang bakal terjadi. Kakinya terperosok dalam ceruk, terlalu dalam untuk melepaskan diri. Tetapi, ia terus melangkah, senang karena telah terjerumus. Tungkai gading itu telah sepenuhnya basah dan butiran pasir keemasan, berkilauan di sekelilingnya. Ia berenang lebih jauh. Air mersap ke bawah pakaian hingga menggelembung di sekitarnya. Ia rasakan gelenyar mendebarkan yang hampir tak tertahankan. Gairah itu bertumbuh begitu ia melanjutkan langkahnya, tanpa menyadari kulit kerang melukai telapak kakinya, menjadikan momen itu terlengkapi oleh beberapa tetes darah wanita. Rasa sakit dan gairah mencengkeram tubuhnya. Buih laut mengelilinginya bagaikan gelang madu yang berpilin-pilin dengan aroma arum manis, tepiannya berkilauan dengan cahaya keemasan tatkala buih itu menyerap nektar dari matahari yang melayang di awang-awang.

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Trauma Stewardship: An Everyday Guide to Caring for Self While Caring for Others by Connie Burk and Laura van Dernoot Lipsky

Not everyone stands on top of cliffs wondering how many people have jumped. Not everyone feels like crying when they see a room full of people with plastic lids on their to-go coffee containers. Not everyone is doing background checks on people they date, and pity is not everyone’s first response when they receive a wedding invitation.

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As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner.

He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn’t need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear ... Let Anse use it, if he wants to ... I would be I; I would let him be the shape and echo of his word.