Just a Bond

How to Make Badmood

“You are the devil.” Mas Farhan smashed my hand quite rough. “Terden, deh. Whether to sleep or not. Attention, lots of protests. Turn of meweek-girl.”

These lips can only be mangap, without a word being said. No longer know what kind of response I should give to respond to Mas Farhan's sentences. What makes me wonder, why is there always a sentence to mention the son of nyelekit from the mouth of my husband? He has a lot of savings words like that?

Duh, my brain also seems to have begun to slide because most are treated to puzzles by Mas Farhan.

Slowly, I exhale to relax myself. Massages of the temples that suddenly feel dizzy. I don't know how long I'll stick with Mas Farhan's attitude.

These eyes could only stare at the pitch-high body of a tall, strapping man who got up from the bed, then stepped out of the room, going nowhere. It feels heartbreaking, very heartbreaking.

O Allah, forbid the servant to face your one being.

Getting sentences like that seems to turn off the spirit. Make yourself lazy to do nothing. Even to move from where I was standing, it felt reluctant. Farhan is very good at making me badmood.

However, this cannot be allowed. Forget for a moment about Mas Farhan's change of attitude this time. Anyway, come to think of it I am still sleepy and tired too. The dizziness from thinking about his unexpected behavior was even more torturous. It's not wrong Mas Farhan told me to sleep. Just yesterday when welcoming Mas Gibran and Mbak Diva I was already kliyengan. Especially before that, when I had just arrived, I had presented the drama crying in Mas Reza's arms earlier, crying beside Dad with all the theatrics of Mas Farhan who was back in front of my family, he said, to end crying in the bathroom.

It all turned out to be draining, and I needed a break.

What sucks is the performance of the brain as if contrary to the actions I do. Just a step up, the mind seems to prevent to realize it. I stopped walking again and stared where I stood.

Once again I took a heavy breath, trying to think of positive things so that this self was calm.

Long enough I was silent with a tired feeling that continued to sneak into me, until I finally decided to go back. Ignoring the thought of always asking where Mas Farhan had gone, I quickly changed clothes. While there is no him here, so I can freely move, ‘kan? Not to mention I was afraid that later Mas Farhan was even angry again if he knew I was still not moving from the original position.

After cleaning the mukena and fully dressed—like at our home—because still hesitant between wanting to open the veil or not, slowly I lay on my skinny back. I stared fixedly at the ceiling of the room that I deliberately met with a colorful star-shaped sticker that was quite a lot. These two hands move fumbling cheeks that feel more and more thin.

Ah, speaking of the physical, let alone someone else who would say I'm getting thinner. I myself actually feel that my body weight is getting lighter every day. Maybe even if there was a big wind, I would easily be blown away by it, like dust, so thin.

It is not easy to care about the physical condition. Because the sicker is my psychic. He needs more handling. It's free for me to do physical exercise and other health programs, if my mind is still in trouble. Yes, I am well aware of that. I was actually aware, too burdening the mind and forcing the brain to accept all information, both positive and negative without the slightest filter, is not good for myself.

However, how? I was the type of thinker before, and it was hard to control it. When I try to instill positive things so that the brain is not too burdened, negative things without being asked to participate affect. It is like a must, when there is an intention to do positive, negative things come as a challenge.

Suppose you say, “Basically you are the only one who does not want to try to fight the negative thoughts.” Then I will ask you back, “At the time when you are having problems, are in a state of turmoil, can you control the various information that enters your brain?”

Some may be able to. But that's just a few, I think, yes. I can too, if it's in a good mood. Everyone, whoever it is, I'm sure there must be an effort to not get too late in the negative things. But back to each personal.

Ah, what was that vault? It even spreads everywhere. Ignore it!

Back to the activity of staring at the ceiling of the room.

Being in this house that I lived in for twenty-three years, it felt so reassuring. Although there was so much raging behind the chest and demanding to be ventured—especially negative emotions— I tried my best to control it. Definitely for my family.

Two months of living with Mas Farhan with all kinds of strange affairs that always managed to drain the energy and mind, it was like two years in prison. So, when I was able to get out of the pit of grief that was created and I think there, it felt so good. Happiness continued to grow in my chest as I could feel the love of my loved ones, my family.

Apart from my husband's attitude that has not been able to give me happiness, because his attitude is too cold, even impressed like an enemy, I am happy with all my activities. Why do I use the word can not give happiness? Because in the deepest heart, there is a belief that someday I can conquer it. Pray, pray that I will be strong in this struggle, and I can reap the results of the struggle that suits my dreams.

Slowly, these gazes of eyes circulated, obscuring everything that was in this room. The nuances of the room that I created in my own accord, are still the same. Not changed one bit. The walls are sky blue with household appliances such as cabinets, ornate tables, and finally, all white.

Along with the continued circulation of views, all the memories I had created in this house with my parents and brothers, slowly filled the memory room. I let my brain wander back, circling the memories created in the past.

“Mother, Rifka time continues to be told? There's Najwa Ma'am, there's Weny.” As usual, my nosy first sister would definitely protest when Mom asked her to do something. Mother told me to buy sugar to the store next to the house, she had already washed her lips with the phrase prostheses earlier, even though she was just a beautiful lying on the mattress, while I folded the dry laundry clothes on the floor.

“Mbak Najwa again I'm messing around too, son. You don't know?”

Still holding onto the clothes I was about to fold, I stared at Mom for a moment. The soft and slow voice seemed to be a characteristic of Mother. Rifka is so annoying in my eyes. However, you can still keep your voice down.

How patient my mother is, my God.

After staring at Mom for a long time, I turned to look at Rifka. My first brother snorted quite loudly. I'm sure he's known about my activities since. He is the only one who does not want to help.

Still rubbing her face, Rifka got up from the bed, then looked at Mother with a gaze that clearly implied annoyance. My head moved slowly—m drowned—not out of thought with my sister's behavior.

“Mother, Rifka tired. Why not just Weny?”

Hadheh. My sister, my God. He's tired of why try? It was just sleeping in the bed. Yes, make me tired?

“Rifka, if you don't already exist, there will be no more rumbling you.”

Instantly I awakened from the shadow of the past as it twisted the memory of Mother's speech. I rubbed rough all sides of the face that turned out to be sweating. Remembering about Mom, the shadow when the last seconds I saw her in this world also visited the brain.

A single tear also flashed. I still remember the sentence you said earlier spoken exactly one week before he died. And that's what caused the great feeling in Rifka's heart. When Mom died, she cried the most. Yes because of that. Ah, rewinding the memory of the past is inseparable from the name of sadness.

I'm a miss Mother.

“From yesterday you didn't sleep?”

...***...

Don't forget to leave a trace.

Sweet greetings from me, the sweet-blooded author of the original Madura. Hehe.

Sumenep, Madura, East Java

Wednesday, 21 July 2021