All these stories, are just a bunch of words and interpretations.
You name the stars, the scars, the bars you put up high to hide to reach to confine to define to find….
You and me in different cell but the same prison.
Freudian dreams, Jungian Myths, Lacanian Imagination and Kafkaesque absurdity…
Don’t you think reality is just another story?
With you I am rock and roll; that sleepless drunk poet looking for the devil, pretending to pay a debt with something he no longer have: his soul.
Without you, my mood is jazz and blues, ups and downs with sax and brass an ex with grass then sex and breast.
I never have anywhere to go, so I follow every ho who says land ho! I guess they always want to settle in an island but the wave give ride to the night and right, I have no right to stay for the devil hath take my soul and the full moon tide is my mood.
Aku berpikir tentang orang-orang yang kusayang, yang bahkan tanpa himbauan isolasi diri, telah ku isolasi dari diriku sendiri. Dan sampai saat ini, beberapa di antara mereka tak juga ku hubungi. Banyak ketakutan bahwa hubungan akan membawa ke hal-hal yang diinginkan untuk tidak diinginkan. Seperti paradoks ekspresi cinta hari ini yang harus disampaikan dengan jarak.
Tentu saja, aku memilih bicara pada kertas atau layar komputer, daripada pada manusia. Pikiranku lebih dari cukup untuk membuat kompleksitas individual yang berkembang sendiri di alam metafisik, mengambil langkah yang berbeda dengan mereka yang nyata di kenyataan. Maka jika sahabat baik, saudara, atau cinta ku yang kubuat di dalam kepalaku ini keluar, mereka bukanlah orang yang ada di kenyataan semirip apapun itu. Karena indra ku, perasaanku, dan interpretasi ku terhadap mereka terjebak membeku dalam waktu, lalu mencair dan mengalir di syaraf-syaraf otakku yang bagai roller coaster manik depresi.
Tapi pilihanku tak banyak. Tidak ada yang produktif dari usaha memperbaiki sesuatu yang sudah rusak permanen dan sudah menjadi entitas baru, yang identitasnya tidak lagi kukenal. Mungkin lebih aman bicara pada hantu-hantu di dalam kepala, daripada orang hidup yang bisa ku sakiti atau menyakitiku. Lagipula, jalan telah bercabang dan masing-masing telah memilih. Walau bumi bulat, kota tidak pernah bersahabat buat pecinta yang patah arang. Bahkan di ruangan yang sama, kita bisa jadi orang asing, apalagi dengan social distancing.
Berjarak fisik, berjarak sosial. Lengkap sudah kerinduan takkan terobati. Maka aku cuma akan tertawa sambil menulis buat dibaca terapis ku, tentang hantu-hantu yang mengganggu kesadaranku. Hantu dari mereka yang sudah mati, dan mereka yang masih hidup tapi kuanggap mati.
Those who know me probably know that 2018 might be one of the heaviest year of my life. In January, I lost my father. I gain some old and new friends. Lost them. Gain some love, lost them. Gain some weight and mental illnesses—Oh, shit they won’t go away. Probably my closest friends now.
I honestly lost the will to tell you my stories, for they are dull, cliches and most of you who knows me already know. People have disappointed me and I have disappointed people. I woke up tonight crying for the words I have said repeatedly to them; words like “I love you”, “please understand”, “I’m Sorry”, “Don’t leave”, and “Why?”
And their words are echoing in my mind, “I refuse your love”, “Don’t make your illness as an excuse”, “You’re the one who left”, “Up to you, whatever”, “Don’t need to apologize if you don’t feel guilty about it.”
You know that phrase YOLO, or do things you want to do before you regret it, whatever. Well, I did what I wanted to do and said what I needed to say and I still regret them. It’s like everything is a mistake (that is depression). So here I am wordless and worthless. For the world around me is working against me. For the people I love either left me, or can’t be with one another therefore can’t be with me, or keep making shits that made me have to do shits for them, or keep saying they love me and expect just too goddamn much by expressing their pain and need to be with me, or expect me to be something that I am not. I keep give a fuck where I shouldn’t have and I don’t know why.
I honestly, from the bottom of my heart, HATE this year because it’s full of love. Because from those love rise jealousy, and hatred, and mental illness, and all sort of problems with no end or solution on sight. The things that love precedes this year are existential terrors. Culture and institutions have made loving to be so fucking demanding, by creating this “either-or” principles in people’s mind, and terrorizing us with the fear of loving or losing love. So fucking complicated. I hate this year for taking so much of my mind and soul.
This is the year of desperation.
And the scariest part of this year, is the tiny hope it gave me, lurking behind those depressions and unrequited love. The hope that we all can find a balance to be with one another, and loving each other without all the commotion of heartbroken drama and social contracts that goes with it. The hope that life is worth living, because deep inside, we are all missing each other.
If love is a verb, it is a painful one. Since in that action I have to be still and accept the fact that stillness is what most people I love wanted from me. The stillness corrodes me, for expressing my love will do nothing but harm. Love is a tyrant that binds me out of you all, lock me inside of my mind.
But if that is what it takes to live this year and the next, shall be it. For I love you, and nothing can stop that. I’m gonna die a masochist.
There is no outside world just this room spacey, controllable environment and I am free, inside
I escape reality reject responsibility my body and mind lack capability to move, strive, struggle, no agility
But I am not running, no how can I run if I can’t even stand, nor speak, nor think straight or see the light that bestowed upon me
But I do believe in love, that surpasses all I do believe that if we love each other, all of these sickness does not matter, love does not make it better or worse, it will put fidelity in the gutter
What it surpass is our understanding to one another and to ourselves
That there is no bad intentions in loving one another but dire consequences lies in unfulfilled desire
Despair is the sickness everyone must endure unto death
I love you and nothing can stop that
But we can stop hurting each other by stopping those that entails love.
Nosa Normanda
Esei Nosa 