Hujan dan Kertas

Tell me; can a jester be sad? I feel somehow the jesters are punished to wear the smiling mask and entitled to entertain people everyday. It’s either punishment or just the cruel way to say, “it’s your destiny”. I can’t help but to feel lost on the way to understand the meaning, the metaphor, and especially the irony of being a jester. We are all have our jesters inside each of us, every single one of us. Or at least, I do have it.

Have you ever wondered what’s it like to be a jester consciously? The sole purpose of to entertain, to trick minds, or just to annoy people, to hid feelings deep behind that mask is just scary. Yet, we are all somehow living that life, one way or another. We strive in live for the sole purpose of recognition from others. A good jester is someone who can get applauses after he/she has done the tricks. And so we are.

But do we really know if the jester is smiling too, behind the smiling mask? or it’s just a fake smile to hid the sad face behind? Admit it, we don’t want to see sad faces around us; we’ve got our own problems to feel sad. We need comedians to make us laugh without even knowing if they’re enjoying it, making us laugh. Do they laugh too?

Life is an irony. We see what we want to see, and not what we need to see. Somehow, it’s kind of pathetic. Yes it is. We’re pathetic human beings without knowledge of others’ feelings.

19 July 2011

12.49 AM

Hope is like a balloon which floats away and you are the apple on the top of the tree. That balloon will slowly try to reach the apple – which is you – from the ground to the highest leaf. But only for a moment; it will float away so high while the apple remains the same. Eventually, the balloon will be a small explosion in the sky and there will be nothing left except the lasting tastes of sentiments.

One thing to be questioned is what happened when the balloon was as high as the apple? The answer is nothing happened, only a brief moment of joy; the apple finally found something willingly flew to be the same high and the balloon – which was hope – stupidly thought it got hold of the apple when the truth was it couldn’t stop as it wishes.

This is a tragicomedy. A story which some of us experienced in some way, perhaps more than just being an apple or a balloon. But it is life, when things always don’t turn up as we please.

18 July 2011

1.52 AM

We were two strangers waiting on the bench quietly hoping for something to break the silence.

We were two strangers curiously wanting to know about each other’s name and phone number but too shy to ask anyway.

We were two strangers having the most awkward moment when we shake our hands and pretend we’re ‘okay’.

We were two strangers finally greeted each other and eagerly tell stories about each of us

We were two friends sharing our dreams and hopes and all the plans we have for life.

We were two friends fighting over something silly and afterward laughing about it.

We were two friends and there’s a gap between us without anyone ever realizing about it.

We were two friends having dispute over someone’s stupid actions and seemed to not settle the arguments.

We were two friends strolling the timeline without knowing the cracks were widening.

We were two friends whose arguments started to make us standing in silence.

We were two friends who didn’t speak to each other in a long time.

We were two friends who became loosely related to each other anymore, strangely stared into blank space.

We are two strangers having known for some times then suddenly all of it gone, erased from memory.

We were two strangers waiting on the bench quietly hoping for nothing would be the same.

(Inspired from Wongfu’s “Strangers, Again” and a little bit of reality)

17 July 2011

22.10

if only I could be on top of the mountain

I would scream my hope to the skies and the valleys

to incinerate all the vague thoughts and uncertainties

to widen my shoulders and deepen my breath

because I need those shoulders so I can be relied on

because I want to breath deeper and longer

since every breath I take

is you.

if only I could tell all the stories; of miseries and hopes

I would write the best tragic comedy of love

to dispel all the misty mind and blurry thoughts

to make myself braver, brave enough to speak the truth

because I fear the worst thing to happen

because I fear what may come after

since what I fear the most

is losing you.

 Ajie

15 July 2011

1.19 AM