The Love of the Poet
Episode 6
Episode Six
The Love of the Poet
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moody in your face frame
Sadness only makes the wound feel deeper
Let the crying crept silent
Because the taste is so, ripping off hope that is not
correspondingly
Don't.don't you keep tired for too long.
Because time will cut down on what is
Let's have a lover
Look at the rain behind the window
Send greetings with a smile no longer thick
Or you're anchored in my breastplate
Rinai to come down
meaningful
We miss through words
Dreams always leave traces
Come on, don't keep it in the gloomy scope
Black let it be black, and white sauntered perfectly
There will be an unexpected meeting
You and I are full of stories
Until the waiting period is perfect
And love is ringing in the eardrum
Stars/July/2020
Now my feeling is like being watered by the cool mountain water after reading that poem
sent Stars. I don't know why in a situation like this, I started to feel
longing as well as dependence to check the message from him. The day he didn't send a message on messenger Fb, I started to get nervous. I am used to being independent, not dependent on everything
*****- a whimper related to love or something else, this time it should be
give in to that feeling of mine. Is this what we call love? Ah, no! I
can't fall in love. I have a lot to take care of, my responsibilities have to be
I did it with all my might. I can't work with everything
the thing called love. Can't!
About me, well I'll explain who I really am. I'm the eldest of three
brothers. My father was a bohemian painter who was independent with him.
That is, he is free to do anything, especially related to the world
painting art. Dad always said, “My life is mine, not yours.
I'm free with myself, so don't force me to do anything
which I don't like.”
Dad was a very idealistic figure with his career as a painter. Every painting is not
have a special price. Some are worth tens of millions, some are worth hundreds
thousands, even some that he gave for free. If he goes to an exhibition, sometimes
he came home with money for his mother, which he got from the sale of paintings,
sometimes with his funds he said his money had been distributed to
friends whose paintings don't sell. “Poor!” said. A big result
from paintings, mothers usually saved for our educational expenses, as well as meals
day-to-day. But if the money's up, don't force me to look for it.
For him the hunger and all the expenses in the household are
joint responsibility. I'll get angry and slam everything in the house
when mom complains money's up and we don't have rice to eat.
to meet the needs at home. I'll sell ice cream around the village,
or become a grocery porters at the market near home after school.
My creativity in finding money to help mom, I've been doing it ever since
I was in the third grade of Elementary School. Luckily my brain is not stupid, I
struggling to study hard to get a scholarship. My mother also
being a freelancer at an insurance company, so helped with
my small efforts and my learning achievements. My brother is also more
genius from me. He from second grade SD to S2 always got a scholarship. My sister
number three suffers from schizophrenia, he used to be a very genius child. It
once a Balinese dancer and participated in a Balinese dance drama called Dongeng from Dirah, a dance that is closely related to the mystical story of Calonarang. He moved to Paris and several countries
Europe at the age of three SD. Yes, we were still
living in Bali. For some reason, after returning from Paris, he began to behave
often laughs alone and dances without being asked. When my father took him to
psychiatrist, the doctor said my sister was too hyperactive. But really I am
feeling what happened to my sister was an accumulation of fatherly attitudes that I assumed
egotistical. Poverty that hit us more often I felt everything was the result of the act
daddyh. He always demands all home affairs are in order, there is always food and rent
the house you rent monthly must be paid for. My mother and I
the thought of everything. My brother's honor danced around Europe
no longer left.
Dad's rudeness in mom, while my mom's been banging around looking for income to
our family life, actually that's what makes me disappointed
male. People say I'm sweet and attractive. With the intelligence I have, I,
proportional body, thick curly hair, height about 167 cm, make a lot of
the man who is crazy about me. But I brushed off all that attention. Saw
father's attitude and poor life and there is one sister with a disease who
leading up to schizophrenia, made me have to rethink being in love
with any man. There's a veiled elegance that I've created from all
a situation I had from childhood to adulthood. Yes, though poor and have
the artist's parents and mentally ill sister, I don't want to one day
the man I love, insulting the family background. I feel I have
intelligence is above average and it allows me to achieve my dreams for
becoming a journalist. It seems arrogant, but that's me. Live with
the confusion and the dark stigma about my mentally ill sister, will certainly be
making anyone become a nyinyir and staring full of weirdness with my circumstances.
I don't want that to happen. Pulling away from the association, becoming a closed figure
and diverting everything to the path of education, that's what I'm basking in. And when
various scholarships I managed to get, until my ambition to become a journalist can be
achieved, I feel besides God, my hard work is not in vain. That way I
can be independent and become a fundraiser for the life of a younger brother who
that mental pain. For me life is hard, I have to break through it with all
the ability I have.
“Have not daydreamed again, next week you join a meeting with management, prepare
rubrication was rough first. We'll have surgery at the newsroom. Oh yeah, Beib uh
Hamid Utomo will be in attendance. Come on, face it all with a smile, you're a fighter
tough, I bet you can!” Mas Heri suddenly patted me on the shoulder.
“Let's help me yes, Mas.” My speech.
“Of course.”
Although I started to like his poetry posts, but this time the lines of poetry that I hoped to appear, did not exist. Where is the Morning Star? Thought. Apparently, I'm starting to like relationships like
these. Perhaps this could be said to be a platonic relationship, not seem real, he said,
but start to make longing (Connected)
