SHADOW

as the shadow lit the colors around, as it revealed the form of a picture.

We watched the sun went down together. Suddenly became paralysed by its warmth. He said nothing, me neither. Sank in deep thoughts and tough, drowned into a heaped of past and lasts.

…and I started to count, very softly through my breath, as the light slowly went down, showing the shape of the island which was hiding beneath.

1, 2, 3 ….

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Corona Del Mar, California

 

“Tak ada satu hal pun tanpa bayang-bayang, kecuali terang itu sendiri.”
— Pramoedya Ananta Toer, Child of All Nations.

Some say dark is the most beautiful thing, some also fear to be left by the light. Frightened, insecurity, sorrow—they live in the darkness, with the shadow shrouds their back, haunts them like the Angel of Death.

It is sad, for some people. But there is always a good thing.

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THE SWEET ONES

In this week photo’s challenge, show us tiny. Capture something at a smaller scale.

I, normally, am not a huge fan of sweets. But those little ones always remind me of my little sister. She said that the sweet one would boost her mood, to be much happier and full of excitement.

I bought it only for decoration on our fall-alike dining table—even though a “big bear” always steals it at the end. But it is nice to have it there, with those colors mix up with the flowers and candles.

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In response of Daily Post’s Photo Challenge: Tiny

NOSTALGIA

Tiap kali kutilik layar itu, rasanya seperti kehidupan yang lalu, jauh sebelum kuingat lagi kapan terakhir kali kusentuh dengan ujung jemariku sendiri.

Kutundukkan kepala, mendesah beribu kali menandingi sepoi angin yang berlalu-lalang. Seharusnya aku berucap syukur, bukannya mengobar hati dengan segala rindu yang selalu menusuk-nusuk kepalaku.

Dan, salahkan aku karena hingga saat ini aku belum sepenuhnya menolak untuk menoleh ke balik bahuku. Mungkin ia tak ingin ditinggalkan, mungkin ia tak ingin kutinggalkan.

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Sengaja kusembunyikan seluruh jemariku di dalam saku, melindungi kuku-kuku kecilku dari udara musim gugur yang mulai menyatu dengan dingin dari utara. Kereta berikutnya belum juga berada dalam jangkauan, maka kuhabiskan waktuku dengan mengetuk-ngetuk hak sepatu di atas lapisan porselin berkualitas—sementara kubiarkan bangku kosong di belakangku dihuni oleh ibu tua berambut pirang bersama affenpinscher yang masih terbilang muda.

Seolah berada di antara tiang-tiang Patron 3/4, ada semacam koneksi yang menjembataniku dengan Stasiun Jakarta

Tidak, aku tidak sedang berada di Stasiun Jakarta. Tempat ini jauh lebih indah dan tertata dibandingkan dengan hiruk-pikuk di sana. Hanya saja—dan lagi-lagi—bayangan kegilaan di sudut ibukota itu selalu membuatku merenung, betapa kurindukan berbagai bising yang menyatu dengan segala keunikan itu dan memaksaku untuk menyebut nama-nama mereka yang kutinggalkan di sana dalam bisikan.

Masih kuingat senja itu, saat kulewatkan sore berawan bersama seorang gadis yang hanya terpaut beberapa tahun denganku, yang selalu kusebut sebagai teman dan musuhku, yang selalu kusebut sebagai adik tersayangku. Kami beradu tawa, terbahak hingga para insani mendelik tajam, saling merangkul diri seolah ia dan diriku merupakan satu jiwa, bahkan melontarkan seratus makian yang tak pantas didengar balita.

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HE IS COMING

I do not understand why he’d come now. I knew he has been trying to reach me for a long time―just to ask my name.

Again, I felt the same pulse.

It thumped me up, right on my chest, stronger than before, as if a throng of timpanists clashed the drums and create a battle among themselves. I always ignored it until the beat of ordinary turned to be frenetic, perpetual sound. Restless, unease, they shrouded me in anxiety. Something’s missing in me since the dreadful ordeal took them away, both who I loved―mom and dad. Something dark; something hollow; which began to harass inside my head and distracted my consciousness. And I haven’t figured it out. Not yet.

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“Your sins won’t simply be vanished by sipping a cup of coffee.”

The voice was right in front of me. I looked up, raised my chin to find a man with his dark-shiny hair, sat in peace without worrying me to scream at any time―or slap his beautiful face with hot water.

“Your name?” he asked while tilting his head.

We examined each other by looking into our eyes. His were dark, very dark, as if no mercy in it.

The dim light in the corner of the room made his brown skin as black as his thick jacket. I saw Bob was too happy making a cup of coffee in the bar and no one seemed to realize his presence here.

“Your name―or I’m going to storm this place in one second,” he spoke as if he was threatening me.

I shook my head, gave him a glance of a smirk, “Are you trying to be funny?”

“Am I?” The way he looked at me was hideous. His long fingers kept tapping on the table. It only took a few seconds for me to obey. He was impatient and I was alone.

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FOURMILIÈRE

Grey, white, or similar color with dark paint as concrete; perpetual building constructions—high and plush-up to the sky; four-and-two-wheels machines lining up on the road; smokes of pollution and cigar jumbled together to spike each hearts; and no green, no trees.

Yes, sometimes I missed the bustle of humans, waiting for the Trans. Yes, sometimes I missed them to say ‘Selamat Siang’ whenever I entered every shop at the corner. And, yes, sometimes I missed the night which I could not find here. Youth, elder, kids, they besiege the late night food and junks as a throng of bats, attacking their preys. But then it changed: busy and even busier, narrow, stuffy, unpretty, and stressful.

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