Lonely Birthday

It’s vanilla. If a cake is white on the outside, the inside is most possibly going to be vanilla flavored. I sit on the floor. So does the cake. I somehow wish there would be a huge earthquake and one of the thick wooden beams falls on my head. My dead face would be embedded in cake. “Poor girl, dies on her birthday.” a reporter would be saying nearby.

See, I’m imagining things again. Horrible things. I wish you were here to hold me. Protect me from my craziness.

What the hell, I thought, might as well enjoy the cake. Suddenly, my phone shudders and comes to life. It’s you. Calling.

Crying Child

Every Sunday, Mia, Thalia and I would go on a picnic. Mia likes to ride the Transjakarta bus. Lately, she and Thalia would be given the ‘special seats’. Today, when I asked Mia where she wanted to go, without hesitating she said “Ragunan”. The last place we went with Thalia. Which was fun.

We were walking beneath the big trees. Not far, a couple of monkeys were snacking off another monkey’s head. Yet nothing seemed to amuse my 5 year old.

“Yes, Honey?”
“If I let go of this balloon. Where will it end up?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“If it ends up in Heaven, will Thalia know it’s from me?”

Dream House

It was originally the cardboard box our tape deck came in with. Mom hadn’t the heart to throw the box out, so she turned it into a playhouse, complete with doors and windows which I could lock from the inside with a rubber-band thingy she ever so cleverly designed. Every weekend, I would ‘camp-out’ in my playhouse and tune into easy-listening music on the radio. The cool DJs were my late night friends….

Well, THAT’S just about how I’ve ended up here. Enough about me, tell me how you got your jobs! I’ll be waiting for your call at YOU-ROCK! That’s 968-7625! Next up, Michael Jackson’s “One Day in Your Life”, enjoy!

Broken Violin

“Maya.” buru-buru kupindahkan bow ke tangan kiri, bersatu dengan biolaku agar bisa bersalaman dengannya. Wajahnya bersih sekali. Meski tidak putih, urat-urat halus di pipinya jelas terlihat. Wangi parfumnya menyenangkan, seperti denting piano Debussy. Pula hangat senyumnya yang seakan-akan terinspirasi senja. “Dia pemain timpani kita yang baru.” Chacha menjelaskan. Timpani? Sungguh, kurasa ia lebih pantas bermain oboe atau clarinet. “Ganteng yah?” Chacha menambahkan sambil menyenggolku dengan sikutnya. “Chacha.. Please..” bisikku memerah. Jengah.

“STOOOP!!” bentak Mas Adie, “First violin! Berapa kali harus kukatakan?! KON-SEN-TRA-SI!!!” aku menunduk dalam-dalam. Berharap bisa menciut seperti tikus lalu bersembunyi selamanya di koper biolaku. Di sampingku, Chacha menoleh sejenak ke belakang, ke pemain timpani baru kita yang ternyata tunangannya.