Things Happened When You're Twenty Something (Part I)

Kejadiannya pas gue lagi belanja jins bareng si mamah. Berhubung dibayarin, jadilah gue seneng2 aja nemenin doi keliling2 beli jins baru. Sampai tibalah saatnya gue memilih jins yang gue inginkan…

Mas2 yang jaga toko: Size-nya apa, mbak?

Gue: Hmmm… S kayanya mas. Atau nomer yang paling kecil aja deh. Biasanya saya pake ukuran yang paling kecil soalnya.

Mas2 yang jaga toko: *menatap dengan pandangan gak yakin* S, mbak?

Gue: *sensi dengan tatapan si mas2 yang gak yakin sambil ngambilin jins dengan size permintaan gue* Iya, saya biasa pake yang S.

Mas2 yang jaga toko: *ngasih jins dengan nggak rela* Ini, mbak. Mau nyobain yang M sekalian?

Gue: *sensi, senewen dan mulai melirik dengan sebel* Hmph, ya udah deh sini, sekalian.

Jadilah, gue masuk ke kamar pas dengan membawa dua potong jins warna washout black yang emang gue pengenin sejak lama itu, ukuran S dan M. Si jins ukuran M tentu aja gue lirik dengan lirikan seperti yang bisa diberikan oleh seorang ibu tiri pada keponakan jauh anak tirinya, sambil menggantungnya di gantungan baju dengan cukup jumawa. Lalu mulailah gue nyobain si jins ukuran S. Gerakan doyong-doyong ke kiri dan ke kanan ketika memasukkan ujung kaki ke celana gue anggap sebagai hal yang normal, alah.. ini mah emang biasa atuh.. jins jaman sekarang emang potongannya bikin doyong-doyong kalo mau dipake saking cucutnya ujungnya. Mulai agak naik ke atas, doyong2an gue makin seru, tapi gue teteup semangat dan percaya kalo ini emang cuma efek potongan jins dan emang harus begitulah adanya. Barulah ketika doyong2an gue itu sudah menjadi lompat2an agak heboh ketika sudah sampai ke bagian paha nyaris pinggul, gue mulai tertegun. ‘Ada sesuatu yang salah di sini. Sumpah. Saya tidak tau apa, tapi rasanya benar2 ada sesuatu yang salah!’ Lalu karena gue nggak suka melakukan sesuatu yang terasa salah (serem, takut dosa), maka dengan lunglai gue membuka kembali jins ukuran S yang nggak sukses nyampe bagian paha nyaris pinggul itu.

Samar-samar, gue seperti ngedenger suara cekikikan dari arah si jins ukuran M yang gue gantung . ‘Oh faaaaaiiinnnn... sini lo kampret, gue pake!’ dan akhirnya gue putuskan untuk nyobain si jins ukuran M itu juga. Pas gue cobain, gerakan doyong2 masih terjadi (bener kan, itu mah efek potongan jins jaman sekarang!), sampe bagian paha, mulai terasa sempit, namun dimana ada kemauan di situ ada jalan, maka dengan sedikit gerakan2 memaksa, berhasil lah jins itu memeluk pinggul gue dengan sempurna. ‘Ah! There you are! Sial, ukuran gue M ternyata!’ tapi itu sebelum gue mencoba mengancingkan jins itu.... dan.. dan.. dan gak muaaaaaaaaaaattttttttt!!!!

*sakit hati*

*berlinang air mata*

Hari itu, gue tetep membeli jins berukuran M itu, karena ukuran gue bukan L. Sumpah bukan L, gue cuma perlu beberapa minggu lari pagi.

huhuhuuuu...

“Iteman, si?”

“Wow! You got your tan!”

“Deeeuuu yang baru liburaaaan...”

Balik dari Bali dengan kulit yang gosong sentosa, gue jadi familiar sama komentar2 macem begituan. Emang, main panas2an tiap hari bikin kulit gue jadi item. Tapi kan udah gue bilang, gak peduli juga sih, soalnya sebanding banget sama segala hal2 cihuy under the sun yang gue lakuin di sana. Jadi, komentar2 seputar kulit gue yang iteman selalu gue jawab dengan cengiran jumawa. Tapi itu sebelum kejadian sore ini pas gue lagi sok gaya luluran di salon. Si mbak2 kapster yang ramah dan murah senyum itu tiba2 nanya sama gue...

“Cowoknya bule ya, mbak?”*

Kampret! Kok gue sebel yahhhh... jadi maksuth lo apeeee? Gue setipe sama cewek2 cem2annya buleeeeeee???? Huaaa... gue tau si mbak2 itu gak bermaksud nyebelin, orang cuma ngomong cowoknya bule doang, huhuuuu, dan kaga ada hubungannya, temen gue aja banyak yang cowoknya bule dan mereka juga cihuy2 aja kok. Tapi tetep ajaaaa... huhuuuu... gue benci stereotipeeeee...

Hella Bali (Part I)

Oh yeah what the hell. This morning I gave a metal sign to my reflection on the mirror. Screw these utterly atrocious-looking pimples, that went sprouting and blossoming in every available lease on my face like the spring of July. Screw these beautifully mangy complexion, the flawless dirt-colored skin of mine, the hopelessly tousled hair, screw them all, screw them all. How would I, o godhead, ever complained, upon these fantabulous days I had. When I got to lie down at the sandy beach of Kuta in the stark of the night, the first night I arrived here. Looking at the stars and watching them colors swirling and twirling before me. When I got to see bits by bits of sands went elevated, floating like bubbles up to the effervescent sky. Clouds of aurora dancing and musing in slow motion, eating and rolling the twinkling stars in the hay. When I got to sing to every Beatles' song I know with the band of the sea playing the waves melody serenading every tune I made. I felt the utmost kindness overflowing in my blood stream, gushing in every heartbeat. I felt beautiful, I felt unruffled, calm and ecstatic at the same time, so elevated, I felt that there should be a song dedicated to my splendiferous being. “I should live and die by the sea! This is across the universe, floating in the sky like diamond. This is blackbird singing in the dead of night, and if you want me to, I will! I will!” Darn crazy mushroom!

The second night here, I wandered around, I gazed at the loitering crowds of Legian roaming around upon the noisy night, back and forth, back and forth. I took some sips, and the trip then brought me to a square room where everything was black and white. I felt a little bit claustrophobic, but it didn't take me away from noticing them shadows making lazy motions on the wall. It was quiescent, yet exhiliarating. I turned the tv on and meditated upon the dramatic sounds they played in every movie score. The fact that I felt overwhelmed with pulses of enlightment after watching The House of Wax, made me understand why they made the word 'crazy' embedded with the complete phrase.

The next day, off to dreamland I went. After bathed in a little bit of rain of adrenalines in Benoa. A little bit, I said. Not that much. I happened to think that human-made rain of adrenaline couldn't even go as close to the rhapsodic ecstasy offered by the nature-produced substances. Not that I didn't gorge every single drip of adrenaline offered, though. And dreamland was beautiful, the strikingly clear blue sky, the clean white sands, I dipped my feet beneath and felt the coolness of it dampening my sunbaked toes. I waved the sun good sleep as it went setting down.

On the fifth day, I went to Amed. Impressively far, we went through all these beautiful remote villages in Bali. Made a stop at Amlapura for breakfast, the place were stunning with oldschool Dutch architectural buildings adorning the traditional market. It's not until two hours later that we finally reached Eco-Dive, the diving site of our destination. Once again I bode my ignorance upon the beady-eyed sunshine. It was 12 at noon, I couldn't even care less how the lumbering weight of my scuba tank hurt my spine as I dragged myself as close as I can to the sea shore. Sun was warm and the burden on my back got lighter and lighter as I drown myself deeper and deeper. It was miraculous down there, indeed. School of fish in sparkling color were fluttering all around me, I touched the nearest anemones that waved upon me flirtatiously. It was soft and jelly-like. Upon my head the rays were penetrating the sea surface, like the swords of light diffusing everything on their ways. I chased a yellow fish with blue lines on its fins that swam right in front of my nose, but I was too joyous, the burst of air bubbles dazzled my sight out of the flickering little fish. I lost any track of time and space, though I wasn't failed to remind myself to look at my air gauge every once in awhile. It's not until Made, my dive-buddy, softly pulled my left flipper, that I saw his thumb pointed upwards, a sign to greet the surface at last. I took off my goggles, and Made was a bit startled. “You're bleeding.” He said, pointed out at my nose. “Am I?”, I wiped my nose off and saw lines of red smearing the back of my palm. It must be the air pressure down there, I was too happy chasing the fish I rarely equalized. It was nothing serious, though. Nothing that could beat the fun I felt that day.

So how could I complain about all these sunburn pain, the ache in my ear, and the flakes on my head? When I'm writing this while lying lazily under the sun that shines brightly upon the sandy beach of Kuta. How dare I could ever complained? Just bring me more arak attack, and some more bacons, please!