Puty's Journal

When I was a child, I and most kids, drew mountains a lot. Mountains were, maybe, the simplest object we could imagine. And then I (and several else children) grew up and got into these geology things.

I never thought a mountain could be so complicated inside.

Every mountain has its own tale; its own history. It might be born under the sea or the continental sky. It might be hard outside but weak inside. It might be very hot once then it calmed down. Mountains never writes autobiographies, so we have to ask. We have to ask to them in very special way because each mountain is special. It is special because, just like rain, a mountain is not literally alive but it gives lives; to the people who struggle, the trees and the wild.

It takes special people to ask, and we are learning to be that special.
***

When I was a child, I and most kids, fight each other a lot. Friendship was not that simple; like little things mattered. And then we grew up and we knew each other and we continued growing up.

I never thought friendship could be just simple and very simplifying.

After 30 days in Karangsambung I also learned more about friendship. We hiked and got tired. We were up and down. I got bored and I thought, “maybe I’m not special enough to ask to the mountains.” But when I looked at my friends, there they were: very special. Then, when we talked and we laughed, I knew, that we are THAT special.

And we deserve to ask to the mountains.

—————————————————————————-

Thank you all a lot for those days in Karangsambung; Pak Bambang Priadi and all lecturers and staff and the whole team (we were 87 although I wished we were 89) and also very special thanks for Brenda Ariesty, Hermala Yuniaji, Shabiati Hafizah, and Jesika Chandra for even just being there.

I’m back to the city for a while :)

While people are doing great things for holiday (like going to Turkey or holding a youths-meet-up to change the world), I am, spending a half of my holiday in a country where rock beds are not so shy to tell their tales. Here, in Karangsambung, they tell their stories and I’m learning how to read them: rocks and outcrops, hills and rivers; judging and labeling them. They don’t mind though. They have many secrets kept inside; buried and hidden. Beautiful.

Each day, I get closer to nature, at heart. When I sit by the river, walking along the little paths of rice fields, or hiking the hills, I feel like living honesty. A honest and fair life. Unlike a big city, the mountain treats everyone the same. They don’t care whether you have limo; even if you have money to buy the whole area, you still have to hike. The river flows with constant velocity; it will not give any damn about how small, or how big you think you are. The snakes and caterpillars will be snakes and caterpillars: they won’t pretend to be your best friends.

Life is very fair here. Unlike a big city, where people treat others differently. They treat people with private jet plane differently. Girls with beautiful faces or liars with smart lies. The president and the other (they-think-they-are) important people may go on the street with high speed causing the other stuck up in a jam.

The big city just treats people differently.

And the ’snakes’ and ‘caterpillar’ may pretend to be your best friends (and ‘kill’ you later).
*

So what life do we call ‘unfair’? The life with millions beautiful lamps polluting the sky causing the stars to hide.
***

Last night was the opening of Festival April 2010 including the exhibition I’m taking part in. I had mentioned about this once, and sorry for being too excited about it that I would mention it again. O-ho.

I was too excited that I skipped classes (which is pretty unhabitual) for two days so I could attend it. I know it wasn’t THAT big, but I couldn’t resist the tempt to peek at the different dimension other than X, Y, or Z: non-commercial-art-and-cultural-thingy. Where the people are great, much bigger than their heads. They live based on their eagerness of living, and I can’t really guess whether money really matters or not.

I met them, and they amazed me. They have the charm: the real artists are the real indie people, and they drink a lot (which I don’t). I have strong admiration on them; because they do what they are eager to, while I plan to make holes on Earth, seeking for oil and gas of million dollars. Eventually, none of us is wrong.

What an interesting life.

After all, I feel like collecting a database of people. Database of strangers, and I befriended some. Database which can be sorted by anything: hobby & interest, job, personality, age, music they listen, or how they treat me. Geeky, artsy, ordinary guy, wannabe (my least favorite). Student, once-a-student, journalist-also-photographer, seven-to-five worker, freelancer. Jerk, rich, famous, rich and famous, jerks and rich and also famous. Who underestimates me, who overrates me, who doesn’t give even the slightest damn.

I’m still not good at meeting new people. I still worry a lot about being overacting, overreacting, or annoying. But as my database grows, I start to learn that people are the same: they are different. As my database grows wider and longer, I grow wiser.
—

—

Pernah
Di timeline twitter saya, saya beberapa kali pernah membaca nama Omar’s Coffee. Sebuah kedai kopi yang muncul di antara rimbun pasar penikmat kopi. “Namanya lucu juga,” pikir saya. Sampai suatu hari, waktu sedang keluar bersama Ais, di perjalanan saya melihat kedai tersebut. “Oh, itu Omar’s Coffee.”

Kapan-kapan
Omar’s Coffee berada di bilangan Radio Dalam. Dari luar, tempatnya tidak besar, dan tidak terlalu mencolok. Entah kenapa bisa menarik perhatian saya. Saya sendiri belum pernah masuk dan mencicip, ”tapi sepertinya kalau kapan-kapan kesana boleh juga,” demikian saya setengah berencana.

Kemarin
Sampai, kemarin atau dua hari yang lalu, di timeline twitter saya ada kabar bahwa Omar, sang pemilik Omar’s Coffee, meninggal karena kecelakaan. ”Sayang sekali ya,” pikir saya lagi. I didn’t ever bother to think how would then a coffee shop continue if the owner passed away.

Siang ini
Saya berjalan-jalan bersama ibu saya siang ini. Di tengah obrolan, ibu saya bercanda, ”Nak, jadi orang jangan terlalu baik. Nanti cepet mati kaya temen ayah, si Omar.” It didn’t ring the bell. Omar who? Ibu saya memang suka bercanda sembarangan.

Malam ini
Di meja makan malam ini akhirnya muncul lagi kelakar sejenis. “Jangan terlalu baik, nanti cepet mati kaya si Omar.” The bell rang eventually. Saya tanya, ”eh, Omar itu yang punya Omar’s Coffee, Bun?” ”Iya, memang dia punya kafe. Iya betul, Omar’s Coffee. Dia temen ayah, Nak. Meninggal kemarin.”
—

Begitulah pertemuan saya dengan Alm.Omar dan kedai kopinya. Ternyata dia sekantor dengan Ayah, dan mereka sering mengobrol. Kata ayah saya, dia sangat suka kopi. Dia memilih kopinya sendiri, dan tidak pernah menggunakan sistem stok, karena kopi akan kehilangan kenikmatannya ketika terlalu lama dibiarkan menunggu. Kata Ayah, Omar masih muda, dan punya 3 anak. Omar membeli motor, karena mobilnya tidak cukup cepat membawanya pulang ke rumah dari kantor dan berangkat kembali ke kedainya. Dia butuh lebih banyak waktu untuk bertemu anak-anaknya. Begitulah; dia meninggal karena kecelakaan motor kemarin.

Kata Ayah, Omar sangat baik. Sebelum meninggal, dia berbagi kata-kata tentang kematian. Ayah saya tidak pandai mengutip, tapi menurut beberapa temannya, boleh jadi itu tanda.
—

Rasanya sempit sekali, dimensi pertemuan, dan durasi hingga kematian. Hingga suatu hari saya akan ke Omar’s Coffee.
—

Ada yang mau mencoba? Mungkin ini, ini, ini, dan ini berguna sebagai referensi.
—

Additional fact: ternyata Omar adalah alumni SMA 68 juga. Angkatan ‘90.