Kadang-kadang aku seperti lupa yang tujuan aku ke Jakarta, sebenar-benarnya, adalah untuk menulis thesis, menyiapkan masters. Aku tak boleh bersembunyi di sebalik hal-hal yang berlaku waktu malam, dari makan malam dengan kawan-kawan dan perbualan-perbualan penuh ideologi dan idealisme. Entah.
Tetapi menulis dalam Bahasa Melayu merupakan hal yang berat bagi aku. So let’s switch, like the budak Sri Puteri dalam debat 4.0 itu, yang menyalahkan gender dalam apa-apa hal. Kata mereka (Abang Jo, Marlin, Beni, Aji), aku ini seorang yang individualis, centrist, egosentrik. Yang aku cuma katakana yang aku cuma seorang yang tak pandai bersyukur terhadap segala apa yang berlaku pada sekeliling. But who cares about these things, really.
There’s a lot of things to write, there’s a lot of things to remember, a lot of things that leave an impression on me, but I never learn anything from them. I am one that consumes but never gives, I am the one that receives, I am the one that gives out nothing but weak words that seem to flay and flake and crack and die in the flames.
I am tired of the world, really, but no one really seems to understand. The way I describe my tiredness can only be uttered that it is boring for me, and the thing I really want to do is just to die. Tears well up but are never spilled, words are gathered but never spoken, scenes are imagined but never acted and this is the way I act my whole life. F says I always want to be seem as cool, such that I never try anything in my life. No, I do not dare to disturb the universe.
Anarchists, feminists, the homeless, the sick, the crippled, the wronged, the stateless people aside, A and I talk about our plans about the future. Him who wants to enter the interpreter world and trading, and I would like to just disappear and start a small furniture or clay or idk what kind of shop. We agree that saving the world is a tall order and all these government talks that seem to revolve around big words but no action and just channelling foreign aid into their own pockets. I am fucking tired of everything. I never ask him about his love life, and he never asks about F.
I have nothing more to say. If there is a way for me to cry and to speak so freely and present myself as I truly am, sans the usual façade or self that I portray myself everyday, I would ever be so grateful.
perkaraperkara 