monologue on suicide

Suicide is a complicated matter. It is not so much the legal concern that disturbs the society; it is immoral, and unethical to commit--or to assist--such act. Yet, suicide should never be viewed in a binary.

Truthfully, I myself am not sure. There is both good and evil involved in choosing to kill oneself.

It is immoral to kill oneself for suicide is a despicable act similar to fornicating with a family member. It is unethical for the unnaturalness of death that suicide brought upon; it goes against the law of nature, of god. However, I feel that I--we--don't have the right to say that they should live for the sake of the people around them, especially not for the society.

I feel sad thinking about the good times that she have yet to experience, if she chose to keep on living; it does feel regrettable. It is a sad conclusion, but to label her entire life as unhappy and miserable is wrong; and it is unethical to do so.

There were definitely times when she was happy, and I think those feelings weren't a lie. They were genuine happiness emanated from a life cherished by others.

That's why, I think, if she was able to come across feelings strong enough to force her to burn her life away, couldn't you say she had lived a wonderful life?

hidupku adalah desas desus
yang mampir dan berlalu
tanpa ada jeda di antaranya

of thoughts and instinct

It is not so much of the matter regarding the heart that we should be afraid of: its hunger and desire for everything that is impossible to hold. Yet, it is not the heart that we should be truly afraid of, but the rational mind, which we must be aware of its demands, its thirst for recognition, its conscience; the "I" that always pretend.

Heart does not think, for it is the act of thinking that hinders the heart from unleashing its utmost potential: to be unconditional. In a distant forgotten past, where humans were still too human, and nature was the other half of them, reasons were expressed, not spoken. It was this genuine gesture that allowed humans to endure his day without regret.

hal-hal yang lewat

Dalam menjadi dewasa, perlahan-lahan kita mula belajar tentang kewujudan pertanyaan-pertanyaan yang sebaiknya dibiarkan tidak terluah; lebih-lebih lagi apabila pertanyaan itu bersangkutan dengan hal-hal yang telah lewat.

Sudahnya kita tinggalkan saja pertanyaan itu berhujung dengan tanda tanya, tanpa ada noktah yang menuntaskannya. Kadang-kadang, ianya merupakan jalan terbaik. Noktah selalunya tidak terus mematikan pertanyaan, bahkan melahirkan pertanyaan-pertanyaan baru yang melelahkan.

Namun pertanyaan yang dibiarkan akan terus tinggal sebagai pertanyaan--bergentayangan di siling asbestos ini, jika tidakpun, ikut sama berpusing mengikut kipas. Sayangnya, kipas tidaklah punya upaya untuk menghalau pertanyaan itu. Tidak seperti angin yang melarikan daun-daun tua yang luruh.

Di siang harinya, pertanyaan-pertanyaan yang terpendam itu mungkin saja dikambus kebingitan seharian; dihambat tugasmu selaku seorang warga yang harus berdepan dengan masyarakatnya. Ia melelahkan, tetapi jika tidak ada persinggungan, manakan pula makanan hendak terhidang di atas meja.

Tibanya malam, ketika kamu bersendirian di dalam rumah kosong ini, pertanyaan-pertanyaan yang awalnya tertimbus itu meronta-ronta keluar.

Ia mengheret bersamanya sebuah ketakutan; menghalang kamu untuk menyoal pertanyaan itu walaupun secara diam-diam di dalam benakmu. Bimbang kalau-kalau waktu terleka nanti ia terlepas dari bibirmu. Dan kadang-kadang, pertanyaan itu tanpa persetujuan terpacul sendiri dari raut wajahmu.

"Ada kesepian yang terpancar dari wajah perempuan itu. Tidakkah kau nampak?"

Pernah sekali kawanku membangkitkan pertanyaan itu. Kami berpandangan sesama sendiri dan cepat-cepat menoleh ke arah lain. Pengakuan tanpa rela, lewat kecurangan tubuh, tidak harus diperihalkan dengan kata-kata. Ia perlu dipulangkan kembali dan disimpan rapi oleh empunya badan.

Aku bimbang juga jika kawanku perasan badai yang menghempas pesisir hati ini. Mungkin sepertiku, dia juga buat-buat tak nampak. Mungkin sepertiku, dia juga bimbang jikalau ada yang terlepas dari wajahnya.

Dan mungkin, seperti aku, dia juga diam-diam bertanya: apakah bibirmu masih bergetar ketika namaku mencuit cuping telingamu?

the order of chaos

I've read somewhere, it's related to the fine arts tradition: there was a movement, perhaps by the postmodernists, that retaliated against the orderly formalist tradition with patchy, eclectic forms. From the formalist's' point of view, such works were nothing more than a chaos--without any proper form, nor do it fulfilled basic requirements for an artwork. And the formalist was disgusted by the fact that these so called artists who have the gall to call their works as arts.

Then there was a critic, half-accepting half-cynical, saying that in this new form of--what we could consider--'arts', such chaotic and disordered style, with frequent repetition and slowly establishing itself as a form of arts, was not much different from the older tradition--one that it retaliated so valiantly so.

If you carefully observe, there is order within the chaos. For chaos that repeatedly emerges on the canvas requires a certain rule and direction for the canvas to be recognised as an artwork. It is order that gave a form to the chaotic strokes of brush.