The Hands


Cold outside. It’s always cold when I’m sad. Even in the long drought when the rain is reluctant to shower the dusty road. Even in the middle of the day when Mister Sun spread his shiny ray.

The world is mocking me. For I’ve been too happy lately. Doesn’t she know that I was happy because I solicit myself to be? Yes I do ask this little girl in me to be a lady. Embracing the bitterness, and blessing it as it gilds my naive soul.

Oh it is so cold even inside. I wish I had a pair of hands keeping me warm. The hands I’ve been missing since when – I can’t remember. These are the hands that are invisible and stay invisible so I can’t trace them nor pull them closer wrapping my body, and warmer wrapping my soul.

I vomit. The painkillers are bitter. The pills that should’ve murdered the beloved pain in my chest. They do not. It was all hallucination to keep me smiling – that is my only duty anyway, to simply smile to this funnily bitter – bitterly funny path of life. Screw you.

Those hands. The silly ignorant lazy big hands. Leaving me with smirk all over their faces. Don’t they know I’m afraid of being left behind? They do know, yet they do it anyway. They do know, yet… they are leaving anyway…

Jakarta, 21 September 2011

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