In good time the day ends
and tucks into deep night
my soul tires, my eyes burdened
and I see you, remembered
At times I tremble fearing
our fragile loving hearts
tugging each other’s string
cracking bits and pieces
Good bye, good night
may we touch each other when
the dawn breaks and
good night, good bye
Today, the sky was grey. It has been pouring since the morn, and it seems that it will last forever. It was cold and miserable, and people were sad. I was waiting for the bus to come, a ride for home. A black man came passing by, in a jolly gait in the middle of the rain, and said “Smile, Jesus loves you” to us, a few waiting people. Am I sad? Why am I not smiling? Can this person who doesn’t smile love? I could see a small…a tiny smile blooming from the people around me. It was a little bit more cheery than it was before.
And then he continued, “Somebody didn’t wake up this morning, but we did, didn’t we?”
August, 5 2005 and it is still raining.
I was parched…with the great Sun beating above my miniscule being, and fiery wave of heat burning my skin. Between the cracked earth under my feet and the glaring skies above, there was no comfort. I wander aimlessly, unknowing my reason of life, barely living. On the edge of sanity, my mind crumbles, pushed into ignorance and imprudence. Forgetting my Source of Salvation.
Neglecting my Source of Grace
Between Pride and Greed, between Envy and Lust, between Sloth, Gluttony and Wrath.
I gaze to the skies, and found emptiness within. I gaze within and found…?!??
Dreary, I took my next step, as unknowing, as uncertain as I was…until a tiny speck of snow I glimpse high above me. Falling
Falling
…
.
Falling down, twirling my way. It fell gently on my dry lips, healing the pain, mending the wound, melting, infusing with my being. The mind became clear as I remember who I am, as I remember my direction. It was upwards, yes, it was upwards. I am alive now.
Alive!
Fall winds flickered
The spirit of heart
Winter chill froze
The thought of Love
Your Passion
Guards my flame and
Thaws my broken soul
Love, teach me
To love unbidden
I see the World in shades of gray
Missing much, forgotten
My heart bleeds coloring it red
Hurts such, sadden
I close my eyes and all’s black
Feeling none, gladden
October 2, 2005-Austin
Sojourn your gaze on me
As it will blind you
Halt your ardor for me
And your heart will cherish
How can I stop looking my love?
For you are where my sight is always at
How can not love you?
For you are where my heart lies
In the iciest of winter
I will share my warmth with you
In the longest journey
I will lay my life for you
Can I win your heart?
You have, as without you, I feel cold
An icy dread upon my being
Without your presence,
My life is void…and my death forgotten
Long and sorrowful journey lay ahead of us
And with you I prevail
Joyful and Merry trials of tomorrow
And sharing it with you is my only thought
There are those nights when I saw myself in the middle of a desert, a barren wasteland of nothingness, a great expanse of sands, burning my skin, bleeding my soul. The air was chilly, without warmth yet everything was burned in me. I could not sense any life in this dread, not a soul whispered to my ears, not a soul seen to my orbs. I was just there, and nowhere. The sky was dark, a deep black indigo, with grey swirls making a surreal pattern. What makes that? I wondered and found no answer. Those patterns kept changing, every second of its existence; it never stopped changing, never considering me, or the rest of the sands. There was no wind, yet it kept changing and changing, never stopped. I could fell the chill of that night, yet not a molecule of air moved around me. Shouldn’t I start loosing body heat by now? Yet I did not, although cold, my body never went to hypothermia.
The silence…the silence, it was dreadful; I could sense the fatality of this moment. It was dark, cold, and silent. I could handle the first two, but the latter, it was just the void. Can you consider void as something? Doesn’t void mean “nothing”? Then how can you tell that there this void since it is “nothing”? Not a single damned sound in this desert. I was going out of my mind, as the silence started to get unbearable. It felt like knocking on the gates of hell.
Then there were the sands. I could see my skin started to bleed. The tiny grain of rocks has scratched so many micro scars on my epidermis. I could see my red blood trickling from my hands out of me, falling to the sands and gone. The sands absorbed all of it. Not a trace of hemoglobin was left. My foot was the worst, they were all bleeding, yet I did not feel any pain at that time. It was just so strange, all the bleeding, and no pain. Didn’t God create that complex neural system so that human could feel pain? That he would not bleed to death and die in peace. Pain has always been in me, but that night in the desert, I felt none. I started moving; the sands didn’t sift even a millimeter. They didn’t move to the force from my feet. All I saw was blood, fresh blood, and the sands.
I was at the brink of my sanity, is it living? I could feel my heart pounding, pumping blood through all my aortas, I could feel my brain trying to figure this all out and I could feel my hands sensing the blood trickling out of it, but why do not I feel more alive than these sands beneath me? The concept of hell seemed better than this nothingness. Human civilization has erred. If there exist a hell, then I would not be hot, fiery and all the ghosts and devils torturing souls to their delight, instead, hell should be this nothingness, cold and dark; which brings me to a point….how do I see all this? I started looking for a light source somewhere, but found nothing. How can I see these sands beneath me if there are no light reflected from it and entered my eyes? The grey swirls are still there, moving, but what made them grey?
Suddenly, I heard a sound…no, a voice. My soul rejoiced. There is life after all in this void. I started trying to pinpoint where it came from. I ran as fast as I could. The voice…no, now there are voices, so many of them, are getting louder and louder. I could hear them from all around me. The kept getting louder, I was fine with them. In this void, anything that exists besides me was all fine. I sat down, and tried to listen to them. I could not. There were too many of them, overlapping each other, making super-positions, amplifying each other, diminishing each other. I tried so hard to comprehend any one of them, but failed miserably. I sat there for hours, before it got frustrating. I just could not understand them. What the hell are they saying? I could hear a man’s voice, then a groan of a cat, the voice of a girl, so soft with a hint of despair. If she was here, she would be lovely, a girl at her prime, eight-teen years old perhaps, then she was overlapped by a primal voice of something that I did not recognize. These voices were actually getting louder and louder gradually, but so slow that my hearing sensitivity could not notice the difference, then it got painful. I could feel my ear drums ripped, blood coming out from my ears and falling to the sands. Then there was the silence again, looked like I was deaf.
Isn’t there anything worth living for in the desert? Can I say living and existing are two different damned things? Do I exist? I started to shout to the voices that I heard before hoping that they could hear me. How do I know that they could hear me? I was already deaf, and I could not hear anything. My shouts were useless. Is my life also?
I do not know how many hours have passed after I quit my shouting and got the conclusion that they could not hear me, even though if they could hear me, what good is it? Since now I could not hear them. Why I haven’t be dead yet? All of my blood should be out of my system by now, drunk by these sands. I lay down…or it this death? Then where are all the people equally dead as myself? I just lie down and wait, until something appears in the sky. I could see the grey swirls moved outward out of something, then this blinding light. Great, I was deaf and now I am going to be blind. Something moved inside the light. I could make a shape of a….bird? Angel? As it approached closer, I confirmed that she was an Angel. Wait a minute, she? Are Angels supposed to have genders? Or is it because I’m a male, then this Angel is a she? She was donned in robes, as white as ivory and glowing. She was beautiful. Alas, I am not alone; this lovely lady will stay besides me. She approached me in golden wings, three pairs of them, all majestic. I could see her face, full with compassion and love, looking to me to the eyes. I was ashamed, considering the state I am in, all bleeding and deaf. I could see her lips moved, I guess she was saying something, a pity I could not hear her, her voice must be beautiful.
She was right in front of me now, and held me in a warm embrace. Not that I felt cold before, but there was this warmth I felt at that time. Her six wings covered me and her arms kept me close to her. I could feel her breath, oh what joy, she was real. Her skin was soft and white as alabaster, I could feel the life in it. I just stayed there, enjoying the bliss. Tears started to roll from my eyes.
Then there was nothing. Nothing, not a sound, not any Angel.
Here I am…
In the lonely corner of the world
Thinking of words
To thaw the cold
Here I am…
On the side of the lines
Waiting…remembering…
of my blind
Hear my step…
In fear and dread
Trembling…cringing…
Lost in your tread
Here I am…
At your side
And everything became right
Austin, 14 Februari 2005
Valentine’s Day–
A breeze of cold shivers the bone, the windy chill sweeps the empty land as it pass. The golden orb of light slumbers, hiding behind the distinct horizon of sky and earth. Clouds race each other and with the flock of black birds. Darkness comes…and takes over the world. A raven dives from heaven, land on the branch of an oak tree, strong and old, looks at the human under it, staring with its dark black eyes. It can only see darkness, as black as its feather. Grief, a feeling, a beast, a predator that lurks in all heart, was all around that Homo sapiens. Another breeze sweeps the land and the raven is off and soars back on its wings.
The human was still there, under the ancient oak tree as if seeking sanctuary under its all-embracing foliage, a comfort for a broken heart. He was sitting, resting on the lush green grass cold and damp. It was the cold, it was the pain and it was the solitude…all tearing his mind into oblivion, to the edge of sanity and consciousness. Grief’s hold is strong on someone’s heart and it will stay there for decades until the human is ash and dirt.
Warmth, the human seeks warmth and it is nowhere in the darkness, not in this painful cold.
The wind stopped, as if time froze and decided to rest. His lone mind wanders into another place, a place where warmth is plenty and grief is non-existent. There, light was all over the place and none of the dark would enter. None of the dark would enter, not grief, not sadness, not him. The place was far from his reaches, only his sight that permits him to see the warmth, far away.
As sudden as the snap of a bark from an oak tree, he was not under the oak tree anymore. He was flying with the birds, ravens and owls, between the clouds. Even the cloud was dark, as if he was flying between filth. A flight he should not have taken, a flight to death, where no living should go. Something burns his throat, creeps into his lungs and goes with all his blood. Cold creeps into him and takes over him. The body is separated from the mind.
There comes a maiden, her footsteps as light as the feather of a dove. She is shining, her skin as golden as the orb. A sun in the darkness, panic stricken, fear driven, runs trough the cold towards the old oak tree. Was she too late? Was the sun ever late? And the birds race with her.
There she comes
The giant oak tree could only wait; it can not move its giant gnarling roots and help the fair maiden reach her destination. Time was slowing….minutes turn to hours and days to weeks. The maiden arrives, and it was too late for the night has take over the day, and the sun only comes after the night.
By Barbara Jane Reyes
you dream in the language of dodging bullets and artillery fire.
new, sexy diagnoses have been added to the lexicon on your behalf
(“charlie don’t surf,” has also been added to the lexicon on your behalf).
in this home that is not our home, we have mutually exiled each
other. i walk down your street in the rain, and i do not call you. i
walk in the opposite direction of where i know to find you. that we
do not speak is louder than bombs.
there are times that missing you is a matter of procedure. now is
not one of those times. there are times when missing you hurts. so
it comes to this, vying for geography. there is a prayer stuck in my
throat. douse me in gasoline, my love, and strike a match. let’s see
this prayer ignite to high heaven.
Barbara Jane Reyes, “Dear Love, p. 92″ from Poeta en San Francisco . Copyright © 2005 by Barbara Jane Reyes. Reprinted by permission of Tinfish Press.
Read more here: http://bit.ly/jlXwDp
Saya tidak pernah diajarkan cara menulis selama 13 tahun saya mengenyam pendidikan di Indonesia. Hal ini menambahkan keheranan dan juga kekaguman saya bagi orang-orang Indonesia yang bisa fasih menulis untuk berbagai majalah ataupun surat kabar, darimanakah mereka belajar untuk menulis? Sebagai seorang keturunan Cina, saya juga dididik untuk mengutamakan perkembangan ilmu menghitung atau sains saya. Saya hanya akan punya masa depan jika saya masuk kelas IPA ketika SMU. Belajar sains di Indonesia, saya tidak menulis. Saya menghitung, menghapal rumus, atau menjawab beratus-ratus pertanyaan pilihan ganda, tetapi tidak pernah saya diminta untuk berargumen, menjelaskan jalan pikiran saya, dalam bentuk tulisan. Pada tahun 2002, saya meninggalkan Indonesia untuk berkuliah di Amerika Serikat; saya tidak dapat menulis dalam bahasa Indonesia.
Selama berkuliah di Amerika Serikat, ada beberapa hal tentang menulis yang saya pelajari. Hal pertama adalah bahwa kemampuan menulis dipengaruhi oleh kebiasaan membaca. Bagaimana mau menulis kalau membaca saja jarang? Di sekolah, kegiatan utamanya adalah mencatat. Guru akan menghabiskan waktu pelajaran menuliskan catatan di papan tulis kapur (kebiasaan ini berubah sedikit ketika SMP, guru akan menunjuk salah satu siswa untuk menuliskan di papan, sementara guru melakukan hal lain seperti menilai hasil ulangan… atau tertidur), sementara kami semua menyalin tulisan di papan ke buku catatan kami masing-masing. Catatan pun biasanya bukan berupa kalimat yang lengkap, tetapi sekedar kata-kata, atau terkadang kalimat singkat, yang seharusnya membantu kami siswa-siswi untuk “memahami” pelajaran tersebut. Untuk pelajaran sains, kami beruntung bila bisa mendapatkan catatan lebih dari sekedar rumus-rumus.
Bila kita mulai melihat ke statistika, tidak jelas bahwa siswa-siswa Indonesia memiliki kemampuan menulis atau tidak. Berdasar data dari UNICEF, 99 persen anak-anak di Indonesia dapat membaca dan menulis, juga data dari depdiknas melaporkan bahwa 60 persen sekolah menengah pertama di Indonesia memiliki sarana perpustakaan. Saya pribadi, sebagai siswa hasil pendidikan Indonesia, merasakan langsung bahwa kurikulum pendidikan Indonesia memiliki komponen menulis yang sangat minim. Saya percaya bahwa pengalaman ini juga dirasakan oleh sebagian besar mantan siswa Indonesia lainnya (S.Pd, 2008).
Semasa saya SMA, terjadi suatu fenomena yang menarik. Sekolah saya yang terdiri dari campuran siswa-siswa dari berbagai ras, keturunan dan agama dapat menunjukan persatuan diantara siswa-siswanya – tidak terjadi kesenjangan ataupun konflik yang disebabkan oleh agama ataupun ras. Siswa-siswa lebih merasakan identitas bersama sebagai anggota dari sekolah yang sama ketimbang menonjolkan perbedaan warna kulit atau kesenjangan ekonomi. Persaudaraan terjadi diantara kami, siswa-siswa keturunan cina dan pribumi, kaya dan miskin, dan kami menjadi “Men for and with others”. Persatuan diantara siswa-siswa SMU saya hanya dapat terjadi karena kami memiliki identitas sebagai siswa dari satu sekolah yang sama. Apakah warga-warga Indonesia memiliki identitas yang sama sebagai manusia sebangsa dan setanah air, seperti apa yang kita setiap kali kumandangkan pada upacara bendera?
Berdasar The New Oxford American Dictionary, definisi sebuah bangsa adalah sekelompok orang yang memiliki sejarah, budaya, bahasa, etnis bersama dan bisa diperdebatkan bahwa satu-satunya hal yang dimiliki bersama oleh rakyat Indonesia adalah bahasa. Budaya, etnis, dan bahkan sejarah antara golongan etnis di Indonesia masih terisolir antara satu dengan yang lainnya sampai hari ini. Situasi geographis Indonesia yang berupa pulau-pulau menyebabkan sulitnya untuk terjadi percampuran budaya dan etnis. Pengalaman sejarah pun tidak dirasakan bersama antar kelompok etnis, karena situasi geografis. Rakyat Jawa tidak merasakan keterbelakgan infrastruktur di Irian Jaya atau rakyat Batam tidak menghadapi bahaya dari pemberontakan GAM yang diderita rakyat Aceh. Bahasa Indonesia, yang dipakai oleh seluruh rakyat Indonesia, bisa menjadi kendaraan dalam pembentukan identitas bersama bangsa Indonesia. Melalui berita, seluruh rakyat Indonesia dapat merasakan derita ataupun pencapaian dari kelompok tertentu sebagai derita atau pencapaian yang patut ditanggung atau dirayakan oleh seluruh rakyat Indonesia. (Anderson, 1991)
Sejarah yang juga menjadi komponen pembentukan identitas bangsa Indonesia pun masih tersamar, terutama karena andil pemerintahan Orde Baru. Sejak Reformasi Indonesia, mulai bermunculan beberapa buku-buku yang mencoba untuk menjabarkan sejarah Indonesia dari sudut pandang lain, tetapi masih belum ada satu versi yang dianggap kebenaran dan tetaplah yang diajarkan di sekolah-sekolah masih mengikuti apa yang dituliskan oleh Orde Baru. Dapat dikatakan bahwa versi “formal” dari suatu sejarah adalah apa yang tertuliskan, meskipun terkadang apa yang masih lisan adalah yang lebih benar. Melalui tulisan, rakyat di Sumatra dapat tahu fakta yang sama yang diketahui oleh rakyat Jawa, rakyat Papua dapat percaya akan sejarah yang sama dengan yang dipercayai oleh rakyat Sulawesi, dan seterusnya. Apabila kebenaran hanya tetap dalam bentuk lisan, maka sulit untuk seluruh rakyat Indonesia yang dipisahkan oleh jarak geografis ataupun rakyat Indonesia antar generasi yang dipisahkan waktu untuk dapat percaya akan kebenaran dan fakta yang sama. Media tertulis, lain dengan media lisan seperti radio, dapat melampaui jurang waktu. Generasi muda Indonesia tidak dapat mendengarkan berita radio seperti yang didengar oleh angkatan pejuang ’45, tetapi dapat membaca surat deklarasi kemerdekaan yang dikumandangkan Soekarno.
Tulisan, terutama tulisan sejarah, adalah media yang penting untuk pembentukan identitas bangsa. Masalah yang dihadapi bangsa Indonesia adalah tulisan sejarah yang saat ini ada bukanlah sejarah Indonesia yang lengkap atau sebenarnya, tetapi hasil rekayasa dan manipulasi pemerintahan Orde Baru. Untuk membentuk dan mengembalikan identitas bangsa Indonesia dari sisi sejarah, dibutuhkan kerja sama diantara sejarahwan, aktifis politik, peneliti budaya, dll untuk menuliskan sejarah lengkap Indonesia namun hal ini sangat sulit apabila siswa tidak diperkenalkan dan dibiasakan menulis, ataupun dihargai bila menyukai ilmu sosial (yang dianggap lebih tidak berharga ketimbang ilmu sains atau bisnis).
Melalui Internet atau teknologi komunikasi tulisan masal lainnya, persebaran tulisan yang berisi berita, fakta dan pengetahuan dapat menjangkau rakyat Indonesia secara lebih menyeluruh. Trend user-driven content, atau yang sering dinamai Web 2.0, memberikan setiap individu dengan akses Internet untuk memberikan kontribusi dalam propagasi informasi di Internet. Ensiklopedia bebas seperti Wikipedia menyebarkan pengetahuan secara luas, dan karena bebas biaya, satu-satunya syarat untuk mendapatkan informasi tersebut adalah hanya akses Internet.
Pada hari ini, 31 Juli 2009, portal budaya di Wikipedia Indonesia berisi “Halloween” sebagai artikel pilihan dan “Melville Jean Herskovits” sebagai budayawan pilihan. Kedua artikel tersebut berada di halaman depan sejak ditulisnya portal budaya pada tahun 2007. Tidakkah ironis bahwa artikel halaman depan portal budaya Wikipedia Indonesia tidak pernah artikel yang bersangkutan dengan Indonesia? Tidakkah Indonesia memiliki budaya dan budayawan sendiri yang pantas menempati halaman depan portal budaya Wikipedia Indonesia? Di subkategori “Budaya Indonesia” terdapat 55 artikel, tetapi sebagian besar adalah artikel yang sangat singkat, yang tidak serinci artikel “Halloween” yang berupa terjemahan dari artikel dalam bahasa Inggris di Wikipedia Inggris. Kelompok “Sastra Indonesia” di Facebook memiliki 153 pengikut pada saat ini dan ini menunjukkan bahwa paling tidak ada 153 orang Indonesia yang memiliki akses Internet dan juga tertarik akan sastra Indonesia. Dengan kerja sama, tentu kelompok ini bisa mengembangkan artikel-artikel sastra Indonesia di Wikipedia Indonesia. Tentunya terdapat kelompok-kelompok lain dengan minat lain di dunia Internet yang juga dapat menuliskan tentang minatnya di Wikipedia Indonesia, namun lemahnya budaya tulisan di Indonesia menjadi penghambat terjadinya formalisasi dan propagasi masal pengetahuan, fakta dan berita melalui media tulisan.
Apakah membaca dan menulis dapat menjadi komponen yang signifikan dalam kurikulum pendidikan di Indonesia? Kurikulum pendidikan di Indonesia sukar untuk dikembangkan karena kurikulum ini harus dapat diterapkan oleh sekolah-sekolah baik yang miskin maupun yang berkecukupan. Penyediaan buku atau bahan bacaan lainnya dapat menjadi tantangan bagi sekolah-sekolah yang melayani siswa di kalangan masyarakat miskin. Untuk daerah-daerah miskin, penyediaan perpustakaan publik atau swasta menjadi lebih penting karena ketidakmampuan masyarakat sekitarnya untuk memiliki buku-buku atau akses Internet. Disinilah salah satu kesempatan masyarakat kalangan atas Indonesia untuk dapat berpartisipasi dalam pengembangan bangsa, meskipun penyediaan pustaka, komputer dan akses Internet tidak menghasilkan keuntungan langsung bagi bisnis-bisnis di Indonesia. Kemampuan membaca dan menulis adalah fondasi dari pembentukan identitas bangsa. Masyarakat yang beridentitas akan menghasilkan atmosfir yang damai, menunjang pertumbuhan ekonomi bangsa, mengundang investasi asing, dan pada akhirnya akan menguntungkan pengusaha Indonesia; jika saja pengusaha-pengusaha Indonesia dapat memulai memikirkan investasi yang tidak mendatangkan laba instan – uang cepat dan mudah.
Anderson, B. (1991). Imagined communities : reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism. London: Verso.
Janopoulos, M. (1986). The Relationship of Pleasure Reading and Second Language Writing Proficiency. TESOL Quarterly, Vol. 20, No. 4 , 763-768.
MEMBUDAYAKAN MENULIS DI KALANGAN SISWA. (2008, September 23). Dipetik 08 18, 2009, dari Blog Pak Saadi: http://paksaadi.blogspot.com/2008/09/membudayakan-menulis-di-kalangan-siswa.html
Publikasi Internasional Ilmuwan Indonesia Sangat Rendah. (2008, November 26). Dipetik Agustus 2009, dari Departemen Pendidikan Nasional: http://dikti.go.id/index2.php?option=com_content&do_pdf=1&id=233