“Being submissive to mother is a key to be succeed”

“Studying in the school is important. However, being submissive to your mother is the most important thing,” my grandmother always reminds me when I come home to my hometown, Surabaya. Eyang - I love to call her with that name - was born on August 30^th, 1943 when it was Japan’s occupation of Indonesia. Her name, like others who lived at that time, is only one word: Tusilah. She has a unique habit; she always reminds me by telling about her childhood. She likes to compare about teenager’s life at that time and at the present. Eyang says that to be a successful person is very easy, you only have to be submissive to your mother. It is proven; Eyang was only graduated in junior high school but she can have job in Taxation Office and even she could go to Hajj to Makkah. It reminds me about a quote, “A heaven is under your mother’s feet”.

Eyang was born on a precarious life, during a war between Japan’s occupation of Indonesia. It was the age when women is being minority in the society. Her parents are one of Indonesian fighters. Life was so hard at that time; she rarely met her parents at home because they had to defend their residence. She has four brothers and she is the only daughter in her family; she is the second of five brothers. However, she seemed to be a first kid because her oldest brother was very indifferent to his all younger brothers. She also seemed to be their parents at home because their parents were rarely going home.

“You have to always do whatever your parents’ directive. All of your parents’ words is a pray to you. So, make your parents always praying good things to yourself,” it was one of Eyang’s mother words that always remembered. Although her parents rarely went home, but her mother often instructed her that she had to be independent girl.

Mayat Hidup

Selamat pagi, Embun. Cukup lama aku tak menyapamu, mungkin memang lama. Aku sedang sakit dan mungkin memang sedang kritis, aku terancam kehilangan beberapa organ tubuh vitalku; pandanganku mulai kabur dan tak lagi tajam, dokter bilang aku harus mencabut salah satu mataku atau kanker menjalar ke otak lalu aku menjadi mayat hidup; dokter bilang aku sedikit mati rasa, tak bisa lagi merasakan kesensitifan yang digadang-gadang oleh zodiakku sendiri bahwa aku adalah perasa ulung, aku harus mencabut satu-satunya hatiku; aku bahkan hampir tak bisa berpikir sempurna dan kehilangan daya abstraksi padahal ini adalah nilai tertinggi di tes IQ, iya, aku punya daya abstraksi yang terlampau tinggi dan itu hampir mati sekarang, dokter bilang aku harus memusnahkan otakku.

#HaiNovember

"Dropped in the rain."

"Ini baru memasuki November. Yakin mau segera pulang? Yakin tak mau duduk lagi dan membicarakan hal penting?"

"Apa harus selalu ada akhir pertemuan? Aku mau kamu duduk di sini. Tolong tekan tombol pause-nya, kita ngobrol semau kita."

"Tak akan pernah ada waktu yang kadaluarsa, kan? Waktu memang penipu ulung. Maka dari itu, hentikan sejenak, pegang pundakku."

"Jalani saja jika masih merasa nyaman. Tak perlu terburu-buru berpindah ke scene yang lain jika memang belum perlu."

Sajak Hujan

"Aku sudah pulang, Hujan.."

Aku pulang, di tanah Surabaya aku merasa telah meninggalkan hiruk pikuk super sibuk keseharian di tanah berjarak 90 kilometer. Sudah sangat gontai, sudah merasa penat teramat dan memang kubutuh rehat. Sudah sangat lemah dihunus kedinginan kota kecil yang bukan adaptasiku sejak lahir, iya, aku butuh panas untuk menetralisir.

Aku sudah pulang, aku sudah di tanah Surabaya. Aku kembali dengan sengaja melepas seluruh tracking bag bahkan aku datang bertelanjang kaki agar benar-benar steril. Dengan balutan secangkir kopi, sekali lagi kucoba memutar perlahan mesin waktu di tengah kota metropolitan mantan calon ibukota pengganti ini. Taman Bungkul, Balai Pemuda Surabaya, Monumen Bambu Runcing, Jembatan Plasa Surabaya, Makam Cina Kembang Kuning, Lokalisasi Dolly, Kebun Binatang Surabaya, Tunjungan Plaza.

Sedang Bermimpi

Lalu muncul album re-arrangement ini

Kamu nyata, kamu datang malam ini. Kamu mendengar aku bicara, kamu melihat aku bercakap, kamu menikmati aku bernyanyi, kamu menadah aku bersandar.

Kamu nyata. Kamu datang malam ini. Kamu mengenalkan aku pada kumpulan langit malam yang jingga, pada rumah berdesain benteng kuno, pada jalanan bernama “Seram”, bahkan pada jalanan parkir yang sering dilanggar pejalan kaki seperti kataku.

Kamu mengenalkanku di jendela, di ujung sebuah lorong. Kamu memanggil kecil dari balik luar pintu ruang 211. Dan ketika kubuka, itu kamu, dan kamu nyata.

(Fahmi Rachman Ibrahim, 2012)