untuk duduk pada satu bangku kayu warna coklat yang berada tidak jauh dari
pantai. Menikmati laut dari kejauhan. Melihat Naya yang sibuk sendiri dengan
dunianya. Main air dipinggir pantai sendirian. Menghirup udara dalam dalam
sambil merem sendirian. Lalu membenarkan jilbabnya sesekali yang diterpa angin.
Entah apa yang dilakukan. Lima menit berlalu. Naya berjalan menuju bangku kayu
coklat. Duduk tepat disamping Keni.
“Kak Keni?” Kali
ini Naya yang membuka percakapan. “Pernah terlintas nggak? Beberapa orang di
dunia ini percaya, ada beberapa do’a yang sia-sia karena sepanjang hidup Allah
belum mengabulkan. Jangka waktunya lama sekali. Entah kapan dikabulkan. Sampai
mereka berpikir bahwa ada do’a yang sia-sia.”
nggak ada, Nay. Disuroh Al-Baqoroh Allah jelas berfirman kalau, ‘Berdoalah,
maka akan Aku kabulkan’. Dan Kakak nggak pernah ragu akan hal itu.” Jawab Keni
orang-orang yang suka mengeluh gara-gara do’a mereka tak kunjung dikabulkan?” Naya
membenarkan posisi duduknya. Menggeser lebih dekat. Kemudian mengangkat alis.
“Bisa jadi mereka
yang kurang sabar menunggu, merawat dan menjaga benih kayu jati menjadi papan yang siap dipakai
untuk bangunan-bangunan rumah yang indah, Nay. Maka,
jadilah mereka merasa ada yang sia-sia dalam berdo’a.”
Mereka itu tergesa-gesa tanaman-tanaman kayu jati yang masih di pot polybag
pengen segera menjadi kayu kuat yang siap pakai. Nggak sabar. Padahal pohon
jati itu batangnya akan tetap tumbuh menjadi kayu besar jika kita terus
bersabar. Merawat dan menjaganya dengan baik.” Keni membalas mendekat.
Naya diam, memandang
menuju hamparan lautan sambil mengetuk-ngetuk dagu. Naya tak pernah cepat
menelan kata-kata Keni yang selalu berkonotasi dan bermajas-majas.
selalu mengabulkan do’a-do’a kita jika kita terus bersabar dan tetap konsisten
menjaga do’a itu agar tetap bergaung setiap hari. Nay, seharusnya kita malu
sama Nabi Ibrahim. Kamu tahu Nabi Ibrahim berdo’a apa?”
mengetuk-ngetuk dagu lagi, tak menemukan jawaban, “Apa, Kak?” Naya menerawang
langit seolah meminta jawaban darinya. Tapi jawaban itu tak kunjung turun.
“Ya Allah, nanti
diantara keturunanku penduduk Makkah ini tolong jadikan diantara mereka seorang
Rosul yang akan membacakan untuk mereka ayat-ayatku. Mengajarkan kitab dan
hikmah. Mensucikan mereka.” Keni menengadahkan tangan.
Mendongak keatas. Seolah mempraktikkan
langsung menjadi Nabi Ibrahim yang sedang khusyu’ berdo’a.
Naya memahat pelan-pelan kalimat Keni.
Ibrahim itu nggak jauh-jauh lho, Nay. Cucunya Ismail atau Cicitnya gitu, akan ada
seorang rosul yang akan lahir di Makkah. Kamu tau berapa lama do’a itu dikabulkan
hitungannya Ibnu Abbas, 4200 tahun
kemudian, do’a itu baru dikabulkan. Karena jarak antara Muhammad dengan Isa 600 tahun. Isa ke Musa 1200 tahun. Musa ke Ibrahim
2400 tahun. Jadi jika dikalkulasi akan setara dengan 4200 tahun kemudian. Coba perhatikan, ada
jarak 4200 tahun dari do’a yang dikabulkan dengan pengabulannya. Jadi, tidak
ada yang sia-sia dalam setiap do’a.”
menerawang langit-langit lagi. Ia teringat doa-doa yang selama ini ia panjatkan.
Seakan ia yakin do’a yang menggantung dilangit bersama do’a yang lain akan
segera naik ke langit yang paling atas. Lalu pada satu waktu mereka diturunkan
Allah bersama butiran-butiran air yang yang turun dari langit. Jatuh tepat pada
senyum-senyum kesabarannya. Pada setiap rapal-rapal syukurnya. Pada senyum
“Jadi Allah itu
kalau memberi selalu lebih baik dari apa yang kita minta. Orang yang tidak
pernah kita minta saja diberi. Jadi, kalau kita minta sesuatu, pasti Allah akan memberi lebih dari sekedar apa yang kita
minta. Kamu nggak pernah minta nafas kan, Nay?”
Kak.” Naya geleng-geleng lugu. Lagi.
“Nah kan. Kita
nggak pernah minta nafas. Kecuali kalau sejak beberapa waktu lalu ada orang
yang sakit asma, dan asmanya kumat. Haha. Tapi apa yang mengharukan? Allah
terus dan akan selalu memberi oksigen kepada kita untuk bernafas. Maka pada
sesuatu yang kita minta, pasti Allah memberi. Yang terbaik.”
Naya tertawa. Pipi Naya semakin melembung karena tertawa. Aduh, mata Naya
seperti hilang kalau tertawa begini. Hahaha.
“Coba perhatiin lagi.
Nabi Ibrahim itu cuma mendo’akan Makkah lho. Indonesia tidak pernah dido’akan.
Apalagi Semarang. Apalagi Blora.” Keni tertawa, “Tapi kenyataannya? Allah
mengabulkan seorang Rosul untuk seluruh alam semesta. Nabi Besar Muhammad
Shallallahu ‘alaihi wassalam.” Keni mengangkat bahu. “Ya, kan?”
alaiih!” Naya selalu tak ketinggalan mengucap sholawat atas Rosul kesayangannya
ketika nama Nabi Muhammad disebut. Ada rindu yang bergejolak dalam dirinya. Ada
rindu untuk seseorang yang belum pernah ia temui. Belum pernah ia tatap
“Hehehe. Kak Kak. Naya
jadi keinget sesuatu..”
“Dulu waktu di
Pesantren, kata Abah Yai, nanti waktu dipadang mahsyar ada jelmaan-jelmaan
kebaikan yang kita sendiri tidak tau itu darimana. Terus kita kaget dan tanya kepada
Allah, ‘Ya Allah, itu apa?’, kemudian Allah menjawab, ‘itu do’a kamu yang belum
Aku kabulkan di dunia dulu’. Iya, kan, Kak?”
Nay. Juga kadang Allah sengaja nggak ngabulin do’a yang kita minta karena Allah
ingin mengganti dengan pengampunan dosa-dosa.
Bukankan kita adalah makhluk yang penuh dosa, Nay? Dosa yang
disembunyikan atau terang-terangan. Dosa yang disengaja atau yang tidak
disengaja. Dosa yang kita nggak tau, atau dosa yang amat kita tau.”
lautan biru. Memilih diam dan berpikir. Benar juga kata suaminya itu.
mulai sekarang kita harus buang jauh-jauh kata putus asa dalam berdo’a. Untuk
kita. Untuk anak kita kelak. Dan untuk
keturunan-keturunan kita kelak.”
SEND 😴 TO WAKE UP MY MUSE, WHO DOZED OFF TOO EARLY
Naya entered the ship’s lounge and came upon an unusual sight.
To her surprise, Rem lay stretched out on the couch, his long frame draped on most of it, his hat pulled low on his head. The forgotten datapad lay close to his loose fingers. He must have been reading and had dozed off.
She chuckled quietly to herself. Rem was a bit of a night owl, so him dozing early wasn’t too strange, but this was the first time he’d fallen asleep in the lounge.
She came up to him and sat next to him. With a gentle hand, she pulled up his hat. Rem’s eyes were closed in sleep, his face relaxed. Naya smiled and brushed her lips against his. She felt him smile.
“Hey,” she whispered. “You fell asleep.”
“Must’ve been tired,” he whispered back. “Waitin’ up for you.”
“You didn’t have to.” She kissed him again. “If you’re that tired–”
“Yeah, ready to come to bed?”
She nodded. It was getting late, and she was drowsy. She pulled him to his feet and together, they headed to bed.
So im waiting in line at the coffeeshop to get a chocolate muffin and i’ve decided coffeeshops are Grixis, buffet style places are Naya, sit-down restaurants are Esper, Food Courts are Bant, and Fast-food joints are Jund.
Coffeeshops are Grixis because R/U of coffee and creativity, B full of zombies particularly in the morning and finals week, and overall the setup is very individual-focused, if you order for a group, particularly if you’re getting things other than just drinks, things become more difficult.
Sit-down I decided was Esper because there’s a clear order to how to do things, there’s multiple groups together but everyone is kept from having to interact with other groups. The waitstaff are flesh-robots, changed from humans with aspirations to mechanized customer-service persona’s.
Buffet’s have everything together you are interacting with everyone around you, v communal, PLUS tons of personal choice, not having to wait for your order, and eat as much as you want.
Food Court is similar to Buffet in that everything’s together and communal, but I figured the way the food is seperated by business is more ordered and that you have to pay for more food restricts how much you get. May or may not be more efficient than a buffet? idk. I was back and forth on which was Naya which was Bant but decided Buffets were DEFINITELY red
Fast Food places are Jund because you go in for Fast! Now! Want! Me! Food! and also having been in a McDonalds at 3am I can say that it is everything the Azorius are not.
I smile, because I didn’t think such a simple request would make my heart flutter again. Just the thought that she wanted me there, even though she has a whole troupe behind her already. She didn’t need me there, she wanted me there. She wanted me to come and watch her. Support her. Clap for her. Be there for her. It made my heart soar, because I honestly thought that those days were over. The days that she wanted me.
“You sure you want me there after the whole pool-gate of the last couple of days?” I forcefully chuckle, while I bite my lip. Trying to mask my anxiousness behind my humorless laugh. I hated this. I hated how it affected me: the pictures, the articles, the backlash. Most of all, I hated how I still was concerned with what she thought about it. I hated the gut-wrenching feeling I got when I imagined her being disappointed in me. It still affected me. She still affected me.
“You mean that wasn’t a part of your plan to gain some extra attention for my show tomorrow?” she answers cheekily. And with that retort she instantly relaxes me. My breathing evens and I slump back comfortably in my chair, grinning against my phone. Wondering what it would feel like if she were here.
[would she sit next to me or across from me?]
I’m not a fool, I know what she just did. I know this is her way of telling me to not worry about it. That she isn’t disappointed in me. And that I shouldn’t be disappointed in myself. She knows me. She affects me.
“I’ll be there.”
She still affects me and it kills me.
The smoke slowly fills my lungs and I feel as if I can breathe freely again. It’s been a nerve-wracking couple of days. My phone has been buzzing non-stop for four days now and I’ve contemplated throwing it in the nearest trashcan more than once. And yet it wasn’t the backlash I was getting, that made me lose sleep at night. Nor was it the incessant reprimanding I got from my PR-team, for my salty response on social media. I take a long, shaky drag before puffing out the toxins out of my lungs. Closing my eyes as I urge myself to calm down already.
“It’s a bad habit, you know.”
I turn around and I’m met with her misty blues and her crimson red lipped smirk.
“So are you.” It comes out in a beat. Without any thinking. Without any weighing and shifting of my words in my mind. No contemplating. She looks puzzled for a millisecond, before handing me a tight lipped smile. I smile back before stubbing out my cigarette against the wall beside me. I hold back as I see her watching me, hands fidgeting with her robe. Sensing a certain nervousness in her moves.
“I thought you quit?” she asks me while she takes half of a step forward. Shifting from one foot to the other. Choreographing our own dance. Only, these days, I’m not dancing anymore. I’m not following the steps. Because I don’t think that I remember them anymore. I don’t think I want to remember them any more.
“I thought so too.” The dance I’m in, is one with words. It has always been my strong suit. She was the physical one.
She smiles, ducking her head bashfully. She’s answering my dance of words in her own way as she takes a step back. We aren’t talking about the smoking anymore and we know it damn well. And suddenly I feel bad. Because I’ve shifted the moment. I’ve loaded it with the heavy emotions that have been coursing through my veins for far too long now.
“I would hug you, but I know how much you hate it when I smoke so …” I tease, attempting to ease the tension. To draw her in again in our little limbo of synchronized movements and words. She looks up [misty blues and crimson reds] and smiles broadly.
“It’s okay, save it for after my dance.” She winks playfully, while moving a bit closer.
There she is.
And suddenly it’s not me that’s drawing her in, but it’s her that’s drawing me in. It’s always been that way. With that coy smile and those sneaky eyes. She draws me in and my feet comply as I shuffle closer. It’s hesitant and timid. Uncertain, as if I were to move one beat too fast she’d disappear.
Only she doesn’t. She gazes at me, her head in a half-tilt, waiting for me to leap. Daring me to take the lead. Assuring me, that it’s okay.
There I am.
She’s close now. And I’m suffocating again. The air coming out in small puffs. All of sudden I can’t remember how to breathe. Because she’s there and I’m there. And she wants me to lead, but I can’t lead. Because she affects me. Because eyes shouldn’t be misty blue and lips shouldn’t be crimson red.
I close my eyes, panic slowly taking over my body and then I feel it. Soft, warm fingers reaching out for mine. Sucking out the panic, the hurt, the hesitance out of my body. Waking me up from the hazy state I’m finding myself in. Attempting to lure me back in. In her dance of touches. She tugs at my hand and I open my eyes.
There she is.
“So, I saved you a seat on the front row …” She looks at me shyly, while softly brushing her thumb up and down my fingers. “You know, so I can have a good view of you fangirling over me.”
And there I am. All drawn in and drowning again. Because I’m breathing and smiling and being touched in the faintest of ways. There I am letting me be affected by that smile and those eyes. There I am dancing. There we are dancing together. Synchronized.
“You bet I will.”
There we are.
When she moves, she moves me. Unraveling the knot of heartstrings. Tugging at them gently, like she tugged at my hand earlier today. Slowly cracking up the armor shielding my heart.
And when her misty blues find my sorrowful browns in a split second, my lungs fill with air. As if I’ve been held down under water for far too long and I’ve finally managed to resurface. Gasping for air to survive.
It overwhelms me. Her warmth. Her body still buzzing from the performance. The arms around my neck, drawing me in tightly against her. Her scent (as intoxicating as her dance) engulfs me like a quilt on a cold winter night. My hands shift slowly up her back reaching her shoulders, before my arms lock tightly around them. I bury my face in her neck, lips tickling the skin near her clavicle. A place I loved to adorn once.
For a moment, I’m lost. Drowning again. Ears ringing, body humming, mind blurring. I don’t feel the daggers of heat burning holes on my back. I forget about heartstrings knotting, breath hitching and throats choking. I forget about eyes judging and pressure mounting and being held down the water. Because this drowning is a different kind of drowning. This drowning is her drawing me in.
Coldness hits me as she’s abruptly pulled away from me. The sound of our surroundings’ comes crashing on me again. The haziness leaving my mind, as reality hits me again. Where we are and who we’re circled with. The thought hits me just as hard as her being ripped away from my embrace. Her eyes don’t leave mine, while she’s ushered away to the stage. For the first time today I detect a hint of sadness in them. She mouths a small ‘thank you’ and I slump back dejected in my seat.
Feeling the eyes burn again.
Letting the darkness of the water engulf me as I sink deeper than ever before.
Her eyes are like fireflies.
Lighting up all that is dark. Shining through the gloominess. Dancing around each other teasingly, mystically. Electrifying the atmosphere that surround them.
She had texted me to come and find her backstage in what seems like the only place that wasn’t buzzing with chaos in the whole studio. It brought me back to many years ago where we’d make a competition out of it to find the most secluded place in the most crowded of areas on the set. Sneaking off was our favorite game and the studio was our playground.
“You were amazing.” I rasp out breathlessly. And I feel like I’m selling her short, because I couldn’t possibly make her understand just how amazing she was. Because then I would have to mention the heartstrings and the armor-cracking and the air-gasping. And I can’t do that. I can’t do that anymore, because the choreography of my dance of words is too raw. It’s too intimate, too inhibited.
It’s too late.
She beams at me, before she ducks her head timidly and starts fiddling with her dress.
“You are amazing.” I add softly. She looks up, shining her fireflies on me. Exposing me. Unraveling me. Tugging at me.
I feel my heart loudly thump in my throat as I register her coming closer to me. As if I was drawing her in this time around. The way she moves towards me, graceful but determined. Gaze fixated on my eyes, daring me to let her in.
Challenging me to dance with her.
She’s so close now. Closer than before. But I’m not suffocating. Because fireflies are lighting up my darkness. Because I can see again.
I can see her again.
She moves closer. Languidly. She’s testing the waters. Because it was never about her suddenly disappearing. It was about me not wanting to see her. She was never gone. My eyes lock with hers. Because misty blues should never be neglected. They should never feel abondened.
There she is.
I move closer. Take over as I feel my nose faintly brush against hers. It’s so terribly intimate, that it sends shivers down my spine. Touching her like this, finding my way again. Like following the road map to her soul. Like getting back up on your bike after a bad crash. Hesitantly, unsure, scared to fall and get hurt again. But somewhere deep down, knowing you have to take the plunge. Finding the belief in you that it is for the best. That you have to rise after you fail. That you can’t stay on the ground forever. That you have to get up again, even it means you might fall a second time around. Even if your wounds aren’t fully healed yet. Even if it means they might rip back open if you crash once more.
You have to take that risk, because fireflies don’t fly near the ground. Fireflies can’t swim in deep waters.
You have to get up again.
My lips sloppily crash on the skin right above the corner of her mouth. And I hear her inhale sharpily, her hands hastily clenching at my dress. Heartstrings unknotting. Armors cracking.
There I am.
Our foreheads lean against each other and our noses tease on their own accord. She’s gripping me as we exhale shallowly with trembling lips. Her crimson reds taunting me to follow them. Telling me she can’t tug at my hand anymore. Her clenched fists asking me to stand up. To take a risk with her. To gasp for air with her. To take the lead. Assuring me that it’s not too late. Promising me through her labored breaths, that burning eyes only burn us if we allow them to.
There we are.
Our lips [quivering mess that they are] once so acquainted with each other, connect hurriedly. Urgently, as we hold in our breaths and fight in turn to take the lead. Noses brushing, foreheads pushing, hands gripping. First her hips, then her shoulders, then her face. It’s urgent at first, then languid and then urgent again. It’s synchronized chaos. Harmony within a mess. It’s a storm shaking us out of a deep slumber. It’s riding your bike, head first downhill when you’re not even sure if your brakes are working. When you’re not even sure what the destination is. It’s finding the strength to listen to the music of your heart, no matter how sad it is and dare to dance to it.
“Lama banget, Kak, Naya nggak main ke pantai kayak gini. Udah berapa lama, ya? Kayaknya sejak dua bulan lalu deh. Duh lamaaaa..” Naya menghirup dalam-dalam udara segar pukul tiga sore di pantai itu. Kerudungnya berkibar-kibar. Mukanya sumringah. Terlihat sangat bahagiaaa sekali.
Keni yang sedari tadi juga berdiri disamping Naya hanya menyimpulkan senyum dibibir. Ternyata benar, suatu kebahagiaan bagi seseorang yang mencintai adalah ketika melihat yang dicintai bahagia.
“Kamu tau nggak, Nay?” Keni membuka percakapan.
“Nggak tau, Kak. Hahahaha” Naya terpingkal.
Keni melipat muka. Kemudian memalingkan muka. Membelakangi Naya.
“Hahaha. Gimana gimana sayangku?” Naya masih terpingkal. Baginya, suatu hiburan tersendiri bikin Keni ngambek seperti ini. Bukan, bukan ngambek beneran. Pura-pura ngambek lebih tepatnya.
He glanced at her and smiled. She lay next to him on the grassy hill, a dreamy look in her eyes and a grin on her face. Naya looked so content and peaceful. He envied her in a way. That Jedi thing of peace and harmony seemed to agree with her.
Rem turned his attention back to the blue Alderaanian sky above them. He spotted a winged thranta high above them. It beat its wings powerfully against the clouds and was soon lost from view.
“Good day for flying,” he agreed. “Bright and clear.”
It was her turn to look at him. Her eyes danced with amusement. “Can’t take the pilot out of you, can you?”
“Nope, sweetheart. I’ve been flying ships since I was fifteen years old. It’s in my blood.”
“Fifteen? So it runs in your family.”
“My uncle ran a shipping company on Corellia. My brother–” his voice hitched for just a second, but he hardly noticed anymore, “–and I worked for him. Flew transports, shuttles, anything I could get my hands on.”
Her eyes became sympathetic. “I’m sorry…about your brother.”
Startled, he looked at her again. He hadn’t thought she’d noticed. Most people didn’t. “Thanks.”
They went back to watching the sky. Rem was very aware of how close she lay next to him. Damn it, don’t even think about it. She’s just a friend.Don’t ruin a good thing.
Then he felt her slide her hand over his and give it a little squeeze. He chuckled and glanced down at her again. There was something in her eyes. An invitation, perhaps?
He rolled onto his side, facing her, and raised his other hand to her face. Then he drew her lips to his and kissed her. Gently, at first, then more than gently.
BEFORE MY MUSE DISAPPEARED, THEY GAVE YOURS A SERIES OF ‘OPEN WHEN’ LETTERS. SEND A SYMBOL TO READ THEM.
Just a note for when you feel a little lonely. Imagine me giving you a great big hug and a kiss on the top of your head. Even if I’m not there, I want you to know I’m always with you in spirit. As long as as you keep remembering, I won’t be gone. I’m with you.