Nothing much to be said, nor remembered. My life has fucked up. I don’t remember having a single moment where I actually pretend to be deaf towards things he has sugar coat about. He speaks those words without hesitancy as if he’s used to licking his lips to lubricate all the lies. If there are lines we both should not have crossed, I swear this is the first time I realize: my life has fucked up and I want to change.
We were on the bus heading our way to attend a Charity Walk event that I seemed not to pay attention most. The queuing part, my grumpy stomach or people around me — I only cared about getting on the bus and going back safely. Nothing really happened. It was already Maghrib when I started listening dearly to Acha Septriasa, her song which had suddenly driven me back to Time. Flashbacks.
I thought about the little things that used to make me happy, regardless how small or unnoticeable they were. I often ponder that I won’t get to be happy anymore. I started looking forward to feeling something bigger which I would always call mine. How insane it was to fall for someone or get infatuated only at first sight. I blamed Love for making me rush into things — for I didn’t want to lose the grip, I felt like wanting this someone as mine no matter how long it would take. I blamed my housemates for being so noisy that I have to sleep with the blanket on my face. I’m such a dumb person, anyway.
But oh, the little things.
Thinking about made me feel less superior
to blame all shits that had happened in my life.
We all have that kind of little thing we treasure the most,
something that makes us happy or gets the butterflies in our stomach,
if it rains or not.
Like how stupid we actually feel about it
when someone compliments “your idea is brilliant”
that he wouldn’t know how long we took planning it in one night
after eating two packets of Megi Kari.
Or getting the right answer for the Maths questions we have solved,
that even the person we dislike asked us to teach her,
yeah, gimme that bitchy look again.
Or staring right into the beautiful eyes of beloved ones,
no matter small or big the eyes they have,
we then wonder how can tears be so much painful?
Or when our siblings talk shit about our new haircut,
then argue how much it cost to make so.
We all burst into laughter the whole month,
Realising that we should have told the barber
to make the haircut even funnier.
I wish I can keep all these little things close, so that when life has seemed to fuck up, or when I lose someone that meant so much, or when I wake up late for classes, I’ll remember, this isn’t going to be a bad life. Yeah, it’s just a bad day.