anneyiplease do not repost my writing without credits. i edit my writing from time to time.
📂 table of contents
november musings
ii. centerbury bells
funeral speech
mimpi
anomaly
idk
idk 2
idk 3
idk 4
november grays, dimly lit rooms, the storm that knocks on my door daily like a friend. we are nearing the passing of another year; it’s just another day.today is father’s day. i’d write a letter but i decided to just sit and think of him as it doesn’t make much difference, he wouldn’t read it anyway. if i miss the way he talked then i’d just have to speak out loud and if i miss his face i’d just look in the mirror.days feel like minutes lately. i haven’t got enough time but it has enough of me. the clock on my phone said 15.22; and it glared the same as the pile of books on my desk, the unfinished essay, and my mother; “you’re running out of time”, but i need more.i’m doing too good of a job distancing myself from social media and high school friends. i don’t feel like i’m behind on anything and i don’t feel left out but in exchange, i’m alone in this sphere and i have no one to compare myself with. i don’t know if i’ve grown at all, and if i have i don’t know whether it’s a significant or minor detail. i don’t know if i want to know.the muffled thunder overhead tells me it’s nearing december, but my mind is still somewhere in spring, unwrapping birthday gifts from my friends. now another spring is approaching and i have to find new friends if i want to unwrap some birthday presents.forgive the glum, i’m not exactly a sunny person but i’m not edgy either. i suppose it’s the november air, how the dark sky hangs like a prolonging night, days slipping away but it feels like they were never there.i’ve got to go. i have to catch up with time.
12 November 2022
semantics.carrd.co
ii. canterbury bellsthroughout his journey, he stops by waterfall, lake, or beach and cleans himself up to then go on for a week at most without bathing or showering.it’s the third day. the air is humid as he nears a beach, the salty air tingles his sweaty face. it’s quiet here. no sign of anyone but him, he takes off his cloak as he walks the pathways of a grassy cliff leading to the whites and blues.then come patches of pinks and whites in his periphery, what at first glance look like drooping flowers but they’re very blushy, very much lively and well. after looking at them a bit longer, they look like they’re bowing, or teacups drying, hanging upside down from the rack.it’s quiet here. what grows here only have each other—or themselves to tend. he notes how vibrant these teacups flowers are, in lieu of its mellow and untended surroundings, both in color and their mannerism.
semantics.carrd.co
I have picked my poison. There is a potion for deliberate death, assisted suicide. Brew it in full moon and it will be red as wine and sweet as rum. Drink it before bed and tomorrow, you’ll be just a name. If I choose this, I could see my Evelyn once more. But there is another poison, grief. Stay behind with the other grieving and watch yourself go old. Wait until it’s my turn to die and then I will reunite with my sister. I’m taking this poison. There is already enough grief in seeing Evelyn go.
semantics.carrd.co
beberapa purnama lalu, aku pernah bermimpi. mimpi yang aneh, mimpi yang tidak pernah mengunjungiku lagi, namun sangat berkesan bagiku.aku sering bermimpi aneh. mimpi terbang, mimpi bertemu orang yang sudah meninggal, mimpi orang-orang kesayanganku meninggalkan ku selama-lamanya, entah atas kemauan sendiri atau di luar kendali mereka.tapi tidak pernah ada yang membekas dan membayangiku selain mimpi ini.di mimpi itu, emas senja menerangi ruangan yang berwarna kuning pastel. ada banyak orang di ruangan itu. beberapa orang bercengkrama, aku tidak tahu pasti mereka— kami —sedang berkumpul untuk apa tapi perasaanku menyimpulkan kami sedang bersiap-siap. untuk apa? aku juga tidak tahu.ada sebuah kaca tinggi, besar, dan lebar di tengah ruangan tersebut. kaca itu dibingkai dengan pahatan yang cantik. aku berjalan menunju kaca itu, untuk “bersiap-siap”.lalu aku merasakan rasa yang tidak ada tandingannya. aku merasa utuh, kokoh, dan tidak dapat dihancurkan ketika menatap sesosok bayangan di kaca, dan sosok itu menatapku. manik kami beradu satu sama lain, aku membuka mulutku sedikit, dan perempuan itu pun juga.siapa dia? perempuan ini anggun, badannya tegap, rambutnya tertata rapi, ada polesan rapi lipstick yang cantik di bibirnya, senyumnya seperti ia selalu menang dan tidak tahu apa itu rasa rendah diri. pipinya penuh, berseri dan terangkat, terpahat sempurna seolah dia patung yang diciptakan untuk menjadi cantik.dia cantik, seperti yang orang-orang sering katakan dulu kepadaku, untukku.secepat bayangannya datang, ia pun pergi jauh dibawa tidurku. terbangun, aku duduk termangu di kasurku. aku kenal mata itu di manapun, aku kenal pipi penuh itu, aku kenal dahi dan helaian rambut yang melingkar tepat di atas alis itu, aku kenal lekukan bibir itu seperti…seperti aku mengenal bibirku sendiri.tetapi, lekuk wajahnya yang dewasa dan tatapan matanya yang mengatakan, aku tahu siapa diriku, orang yang paling aku percaya di dunia ini adalah diriku, dan aku adalah orang paling berharga di hidupku, seolah meyakinkanku, perempuan itu adalah orang lain. perempuan itu mengagumkan. dia tidak mengatakan sepatah kata pun padaku, namun itu tidak perlu. aku tahu apa yang dia mau. aku mempunyai firasat bahwa orang-orang di sekitarnya pun merasa begitu. dia wanita yang tahu pasti apa yang dia mau.mimpi itu datang sekian purnama lalu. namun aku tidak pernah lelah mencari sosok perempuan itu, berharap suatu saat nanti aku akan menemukannya di kaca kamarku, tersenyum padaku.sekarang umurku sembilan belas tahun. teruntuk bayangan cantik di mimpiku, aku tahu kau bisa mendengarku. aku di sini, aku selalu menunggu kedatanganmu.semantics.carrd.co
for every flower in my perfume / there’s smoke that lingers / like the sugar in my tea and coffee / like the milk in my chocolate / like the discolored part in my undereye / just above the blushing pink of my lips / like the rage of my mother / that she soothes with her unending sympathy / like the sudden departure of my father / but his name is always present at the end of mine / there is fire in my sun / for the water in my moonp.s if u see this from literarybase, yes the caption is a typo :)how i love being a woman?i love my womanhood the most when i realized my steps were once my mother’s.when she would come to me, seeking understanding. when she has rough days and knows i will be there for her. because we are the women of the house and we should stick with each other.she grew up with five siblings, it was easy to be overshadowed and her parents’ attention was divided. but, i’m her only daughter. i only got my eyes on her.ma, forgive me for once blaming you, albeit not out loud. i used to curse you under my breath and wished i was never born. people who wished for things to be undone, they’re hopeless without a purpose. now, i can’t imagine not being born, and leaving you without me in this world.i know you will never need me as much i need you. but, i think the best you can do to someone who loves you is to stay. and i may not know a lot of things, but i know this, that no one will love me as much as you do. that you are the one great love of my life, that i could move to different city (i did) or different country, continents, seas, the corners of the earth, i can go for a year or doubled, or multiplied by thousands to search for that divine love, and i would never find anyone that could love me as much as you.i love being a woman… when i realized i’m your daughter. our face is the same, i chose the same field of study as you, our temper is the same, i even got the same (short-lived) illness as you did. i laughed writing this. why are we so alike?maybe you think me as someone who is inconsiderate about things like this. we argue a lot, don’t we? i sound annoyed sometimes. but when i’m up alone at night or when i’m sick or when bad days beat me up, i think of you. then i cry. these words i wrote, i could never say to you out loud. wouldn’t they open wounds and bring back too many hurt, for both of us?ma, i used to wonder what the hell am i doing in this damned world. nothing i did seemed right. i blamed you for putting this all on me. now, i think the answer is simple. i’m here to be your daughter.semantics.carrd.co
“if you were to be born in another life, what would you wish to be?”i don’t know. the wind? a fruit? a flower? dirt? water? the entity that is sometimes forgotten, but has everything on this world in its mercy with just the gust of it; a simple sweet thing that lives shortly, a fuel to anything it’s buried in; something delicate with undetermined lifespan, fragile and unsuspecting; the source of most anything, a place to live but often forgotten, worthlessness or liveliness depends on the beholder; a strong force that goes through your fingers, can’t be held but will push and trample you around within its own body…anything that doesn't feel rage and ambitions. sometimes when i feel too much and i want to let it out, i’m dawned with the realization that people trivialized my anger and i am only a mad woman in their eyes. so, do i really want to let it all out? do i want for them to perceive me and feel even more enraged that they misunderstood, that they are, once again, wrong?
sometimes i wish i don’t feel such things and don’t have the strong urges to set fire on everything i deem wrong. i wish i wasn’t bestowed—burdened with my mother’s ambitions and my own will to live, to witness the birth of the best version of myself, the apprehensiveness of leaving it all behind and never get to see my own reflection or hear my mother’s laugh or see the last days of my grandmother or be among my friends… or to feel angry—ever again.
but this is the one life i get. so i guess i will consume this rage, or let it consume me.
anneyi
mariana,
do you sometimes think about the lost times? the times that got away from us, the times that could’ve been ours? like that time we ran away with my cousins and your cousins, just us girls, too far away from your aunt’s house or my grandmother’s. you ignited the curiosity, teased me of what the neighbourhood near ours looks like.like that time we stole a pomegranate from that old lady’s tree. and a passionfruit. and a mango. and a starfruit. god, we were such naughty girls, weren’t we? we hid it in our pockets as we saw your aunt approached us, we insisted that we were absolutely not up to no good.like that time you made me cry and we didn’t speak for two months and you spent your afternoon in the playground, playing with everyone else, except me? i would just watch tv after school and act like i never wanted to be outside. it’s curious how i was never an outside person, after our friendship is no longer…and that time, after two months, i decided i miss you. so i wrote you a letter of how sorry i am, how i wish we can be friends and play again. i gave it to your aunt, told her to give it to you. you called my name on my grandmother’s porch the same afternoon, then we played like we never had a fight and you didn’t shut me out and i didn’t shut you out, ever.how did it go from being sandwiched in between your aunt and you in her motorcycle as we tried to fight the blowing and intruding wind from disrupting our conversations—because there was never a moment of silence when we sat together, to only a moment of silence between us? granted, i can’t recall when was the last time we sat together. how much would you bet if we do, there would never be a moment of silence, just like all those times?i still talk to your aunt, you know. i can’t recall when was the last time i saw you coming out of her house. i can’t recall what her house looks like, really. we got away from that loving but very watchful neighborhood, didn’t we? it was just too small for our antics, right? what are you up to, mariana? up to no good, as per usual? if i just write you a letter now and tell her to give it to you… will we be friends again? after all these years? after all these 11 years?
they would wish you’re still here
would try to satisfy the unsatisfied with “what could’ve been”
but let me tell you now, i would rather have it all
i want the good, the bad, the now
i would rather endure than be left wondering
of what could’ve been
ieris
