Longsuffering

Answers

this story has no edge

look at every corner of the soul

in silence from night until morning

wrap up the body and the roar of the breath of taste

until you look at me enough

that's all!

- Vishnu

Jakarta, Vishnu-Wita

7 Years ago

This week is really messed up. Still remembered my behavior that really made me ashamed for the rest of my life, wanted to happen yesterday I just buried it with worms on the ground. Pretty disturbing my sane mind. My above average intelligence was made not struggling to understand the events in the pharmacy with him.

This time it was the third lecturer who had reprimanded my carelessness. The results of my research on the concept of classical design that carries the principle of asymmetric design really shows my concentration is not good.

By dusk, my work on the financial reports of the Om Danu company showed a lot of negligence. Fix, I gotta get home! I flushed my mumbling head in my bedroom and even myself on the bed. It seems like the way my brain works is starting to get out of balance. I need some time to reflect this impropriety.

Yesterday was a day completely outside my scenario. How can a Vishnu make a decision that is beyond the plan. Like my expertise in making the design of a building, my life has been arranged neatly since the first. Having a clear concept, careful planning, clarity of relationship between one decision and another, uphold the principle of proportionality, have a consistent rhythm, and, demonstrate a clear composition and scale in determining an action.

But what happened yesterday?, even I made me die a flea. The woman who was still in the white ash uniform only replied with a crisp laugh. He made a wish about his ashes book that was still in my trunk. Requesting the return of the item to the owner and waltzing home through the green angkot. Then, what about my heart?, can the part of my body that is always beating so be his too?, heart!. Hey lady, don't you guys know it takes a lot of guts to get out the most expensive word I just said?.

Morning with a cold breeze accompanied my seat which became unusual. In the hours that are still on the rhythm, I hold all the resigned and bitter feelings. Damn, why did the bus majoring Bandung-Jakarta never arrive, until the voice that I began to recognize pulled over to the corner of my ear. Calling my name, huh? Was she? Calling my name?.

“morning with Wisnu”.

Then she smiled slightly looking at me. Ah. please Wita!, don't smile that way. I set the rhythm of my breath in a matter of one step as in the beat of the drumband rhythm that I had learned during Junior High. Do I also have to take off my friendly semyum?, I am known to be so friendly and warm according to some people. Does being warm have to be a consideration for someone named Wita?.

I had not yet returned his smile, he repeated a sentence so intoxicating as a mouthful of honey filled the joints of my heart. Until that time the sentence that my mother often uttered, or my antique teteh also often said into a sentence that was very analytical and so expensive. “Be careful on the road ya mas, Wita first, angkot Wita has come”. He stood up and stepped and paused his steps circling his body to look at me back who was behind his back. “ah. Duhai heart, please do not get trapped here, oh come on I must remain a sane Vishnu. My mouth kept locked, while my eyes faithfully scanned the angkot with a gray white girl with a red ribbon until the body of the steel vehicle drove and disappeared from my sight.

Isya prayers accompanied by the noisy rhythm of horn and roar of night vehicles in Jakarta became very different today. I held my hands together, bent down and stuck my forehead with the support of both hands in a long manner after the second greeting in my prayer was over. Still on my mother's prayer rug, I insisted on complaining about all my feelings of alienation.

I looked at the fan that kept spinning on the roof of the boarding room, moving around the thick theme that hung itself. A moment of rotation of my fan that has been with me for three years became the object of my insanity. The heart rate is starting to not be good since the “apotek and ointment” episode scenes in Bandung. I reached for the phone lying on the bed right next to my ear. I decided to send a message that I thought would be the antidote to my abnormal symptoms.

“assalamu’alaikum, Wita. have slept”.

One minute. two minutes. five minutes..

I decided to close my eyes, with the glove still covering half my body. Till..

Ting..

“wa’alaikum greetings, yes Vishnu. Wita's not asleep. Can anyone help?”

Want to be my girlfriend? - Delete-

What are you? - Delete-

I have not answered your thanks. - Delete-

Fyuuuh. why it is suddenly difficult to get the right sentence. I even very easily create various titles in journals or articles for my college assignments.

“I have not got an answer from my question, yesterday”. -send-

finally the words I sent to the woman.

“mas Vishnu seriously?”

The answer is completely unexpected. I thought I would be rejected outright, just trying to vote fate turned out to get a little gap though dim.

“certain” answered.

“I can't. Sorry!”, the statement I was waiting for but disliked by his presence, a reassurance that is crazy for my heart.

“good night in Wisnu”.

“what's got a girlfriend?” ask me not to accept. It's good that he closed my conversation without permission.

“hahahah. Wita does not have a boyfriend”.

“last?”.

My question hangs without an answer. Crazyhead!. I open the phone in my hand every almost 5 minutes.if I count it maybe fifty times I open it. Why does it feel like this chest wants to explode. Please Vishnu, you are no longer the son of ABG who is lulled with the love of monkeys right?.

I set foot to meet someone who always accompanies my days. Who always followed me wherever I went, who now faithfully placed the room side by side even though our lecture was different, he still enjoyed his status as an S1 student, S1, and I was far away from leaving it to immediately complete a post-graduate thesis at the same campus. Rich kids are free to do anything. It's not like I have to fight with dreams and reality. Effort and effort.

He is my best friend who always accompanies my loneliness. Who claimed to be faithful in joy and sorrow, until sometimes I was nauseous to hear it. BURHAN!, suddenly I miss being alone with him. DAMN…