Our Playground, My Friend

Source Image : https://assets.entrepreuner.com/


Our playground is invisible. We will go across the virtual path that seems endless. Shaking hands with someone who doesn’t have any eye, or any mouth, or even any hand. But, we do shaking hands.

Night is getting older as we speak. We reluctant to go home, why should we? Living here forever, making out with oblivious mind who goes a long way to never land. Life can’t never be this sweet. As ignorant as we, as blissful we came to be.

Night is getting older, but our playground as bright as a pastel blue, painted beautifully across the sky. The clouds seems bashful, peeking as we speak to each other. She, however, crawls so soft and smoothly. Graceful, her face bright with vague smile. Looking at us, begging to be touched. She, the virgin mother nature.

We can stay here forever. Talking about almost anything. When we lost every word, we can silently walk through the path. Under the bright blue sky, accompanied by the green dewy bushes. Maybe some flowers will follow us, too. Because here, my friend, we are all free. It’s the land without limit or restriction.

No barriers, no constitution. No boundaries, no constriction.

The land belongs to us only. The land we created.  We became the king of everything. Somewhere near the beautiful yet unreal Eden. But, we found it here. Surely, we will find the happiness we so longed for.

We will talk about freedom. Let us free from the big plan game, constructed by the architect of imposture buildings. Silky invisible thread they hold dearly to control every movement we rouse. To create one big silly imagination we then worship. They play God, they play Crown. They make us believe only to crash the meant of being mankind. Those, the engineers of life.

There, we could not hold for the truth. We all live in one pseudo-reality we strongly, desperately wanted to believe. Just to ensure us that we truly alive. Then, we don’t, my friend.

The very least, deep inside of our mind, we knew we don’t. We are just too afraid to believe it. For what else can we believe unless something we possess? We want to believe we possess it. Yet, we didn’t. And we never do. Tell me, my friend? Do you?

Surely you understand that we are the pawn of the big field of chess. There was a black part under us. There was a white one, too. We color-blinded, yet it simplifies us. Yet, we were satisfied. Being the pawn of the game sure is easy, my friend. Being the fragment of the plans never render difficulties. Thus, we were forced to be satisfied.

How, my friend? Are you?

Our playground is invisible. Yet, there are so many colors as possible. We don’t have to choose, we can just absorb to every caress they offer. Destroy the plan and never look back to the game. The architect will never disturb our mind, nor be able decaying our heart and thoughts.

We can choose to be whatever. Never to shiver under the eye of the shadow. From the light used to be our guide. We are the children of whatever. Never to be blind by the darkness we used to fear.

Here, reality couldn’t touch us.


Not So Nice Indonesian’s Cultural Phenomenon : PHP

Source image : Bisnis.com

What’s PHP in English? The giver of false hope. The bastards who gives us the false hope? L.O.L

I’m not sure, maybe someone who knew can leave comment and tell me? What the perfect English term for the giver of false hope?

Well, let me describe a little bit about PHP. It’s Indonesian term of someone who constantly gives you an attention and kind affection that makes you happy and feel special. Usually, Indonesian people use this term refer to romantic relationship, although sometimes PHP can develop into general terms. The employer who gives the employee the baseless news so the employee develop a baseless hope, for example? Like there’s elaborate news about salary rising, but eventually, nothing is actually rising except the sun every morning 😀

I’m gonna limit my opinion to romantic relationship here.

What confuses me that people always blame this PHP, while, to be honest, the one who harbors the feeling of hope is actually, I don’t think it’s wrong, but more like it’s personal problems. The fault is if we’re asking people to take care of our problems. Lately, it becomes more and more difficult to be nice or kind to other people, because it only causes misunderstanding and creates new problems. What was that?

Don’t take a girl home, if you don’t want to be her boyfriend“, I think it’s really shockingly stupid. Sorry about the words. But, it only makes everything in this world becomes more complicated. What kind of kindness we should do, if we don’t want to create those misunderstandings? Why should we limit ourselves -in something good, morally speaking too!-  in order to take care of other people’s feeling? I mean, usually, we stop talking and doing harsh and violent things to avoid people’s suffering. Now, we should limit ourselves to be kind to other people? Really?

Well, that was really absurd to me!

I mean, we gotta start to learn, if there is nothing happened, roughly said, if a guy or girl doesn’t ask you out on a date or honestly tell you that they want to build serious romantic relationship with you, then there’s nothing really happened! So, instead of blaming other people who are being nice of you, thus gives you false hope, you can restrict your expectation, it’s rather different from hope actually, with open up yourself to reality! That there is nothing actually happened just yet! Well, maybe sometime later, there’s nothing wrong with hope, as long as you hang on to the reality, but nothing happened until something’s actually happened!

Reality is the only thing you can hold on, fellas! It may distorted by our perception, but, at least, when it’s empirically proven, we can have a definite argument of our personal assumption. I mean, who care about feelings anymore, when you are already committed to marriage, just to be clear? It’s already an empiric proofs, at the very least! There’s even a written legalized agreement paper about it. Then, I can tell you that it’s no longer “false hope,” right?

So, don’t really hang on to the false baseless expectation. Rather, you should just work on your decision. If you like this girl or this guy intensively, you just come out to them. Tell them your feeling and, of course, prepared to be rejected, too. It might not be a good feeling, but it’s a good experience. If you don’t stand among the uncertainties, leave it! And if you must wait, of course you can, but please, no longer blame anyone for whatever you harbored in your own heart. It’s yours, it will never be his/hers, thus only you, yourself, can manage it. No one can be able to do anything of your own heart, honestly!

Please, let the world be nice and kind once again, without any suspicions and distorted perceptions. The world are already suffering enough. (I put a little bit drama here ROTFL)

Freedom of Expression

Source image : fogcityjournal.com


Lately, there is a massive debate among Indonesian people. I thought it would be over once Ahok was arrested, he was in jail now. Ahok was charged over a Blasphemy in Indonesia, because these sentences :

“Jadi jangan percaya sama orang. Kan bisa saja dalam hati kecil bapak ibu enggak bisa pilih saya. Karena dibohongin pakai surat Al Maidah 51 macem-macem gitu lho. Itu hak bapak ibu, ya.” (So, don’t believe in other people. It can be that in deep in your subconscious you cannot elect me. Because you are fooled with surah Al-Maidah 51 or such things like that). Honestly, you can judge yourself, is it a blasphemy or not. I won’t direct you to one or other ways 😀

So, of course there is pro and cons about this charge. Some people don’t believe that it can be called blasphemy, but some people said it was a blasphemy. So, even though Ahok was already asked for forgiveness, some people won’t forgive him. Let’s say that the people who won’t forgive him is already too offended or resented by his sentence. (Later, he is sentenced guilty, anyway)

And what’s bad about these debates is there is no longer rational restriction. While debate or discussion actually can be helpful to bring new ideas, people just brought it up to win something. Maybe they are very pessimistic on winning something else? I don’t know.

My suggestion is, when you feel like you want to force people onto your ideas, maybe you must think about yourself first. Would you like someone else force onto his/her ideas? I bet you don’t.

After all, there was a really good quote from Noam Chomsky about this.

“If we don’t believe in freedom of expression for people we despise, we don’t believe in it at all.”

Good quotes. I agree. Whoever that is, and however we despised them or their ideas, don’t you think every people have their freedom of expression? I learned a lot actually from those phenomenon happened in my country.


Windows XP Login, Windows NT 4.0, Windows ME, Windows 7 Login.

******************************************************************* whoa. whoa slow down ……? sorry! >< just kidding! hello guys welcome to blue screen of login. no was applications now not responding now heres another windows! windows nt 4.0 then hqdefaultheres another kind of windows, Windows ME no tiny mousk is coolwindows-7-post-login-welcome-56a6f8b65f9b58b7d0e5c101 (1)and heres many kind of …………? why is welcome again! sound:’because windows 7 wants you to login’: ……….? fine 🙂 thanks for reading the blog i know whats good about windows bye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😀hqdefault (1).jpg4unUyf.gifBSOD-windows-7.png


Silhouette of soldier
Source image : expatfinancial.com

It seems the whole world, once again, in the uproar. She can clearly remember as it happened only yesterday, President of United States Bill Clinton attacked the training Camp of Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan due to revenge on his attack towards the World Trade Center Tower in USA.

Many speculations. No proves. Muslims keep being blamed for everything happened. No matter whether they agreed or not on Osama’s famous terrible opinion.

Sabhira shrug into silence. Muslim society in New York make a very great effort lately to introduce Islam as peaceful religion. It falls apart. It may become useless. She can’t help to shed the tear. It’s only one small drop of the glistening crystal, but her heart was burst much more.

ISIS had beheaded one journalist from USA. Just one thing that Muslim society needs in New York, more hates. There are more demonstration by natives, tried to deport every Muslim immigrants, the society they most afraid of.

Who can blame them?

Her cell phone rings. “Did you hear the news?” asked her friend, her colleagues in their society. Yes, of course she heard the news. No one can avoid it, even if they wanted to. It’s all over the country, worse, all over the world.

Sabhira can’t help but whisper even though she’s not sure why, “we better reduce our program for a little while. To give people more time.”

“It’s only make our efforts seem useless.” Her friend got the point, but she is not sure of anything else right now.

“What can we do? Let’s not increase their fear, let’s not encourage their trauma. We need to calm down. Take a little time off. Well, it doesn’t mean we will stop thoroughly.”

It’s a shame. But, what can they do? Pushing their beliefs to people who’s being traumatized only aggravates the hates more. Let’s not. Sabhira doesn’t understand, where did radical Muslims organization, like ISIS, go wrong?

Beheaded innocent people. Declare war onto the people who didn’t do any harm. There’s not any ayah(1) stated it in Holy Koran(2). Of course, there is a statement of Allaah’s wrath in one of Surah(3). But, it’s only because the enemy of Islam break the ceasefire agreement.

Islam never to be the first to declare a war. That’s what Sabhira knows for sure. If anyone does good, Muslims must do good, too. No matter who, no matter what their belief is. In her prayer this dawn, she carefully invokes her intention to her God.

The scary thing is, whatever happened outside, we will only can go on. Grieve can’t stop anything.

So, Sabhira puts on her hijab. Broken white, the purity that’s been stained. That what she wants to wear. Funny. She sighs to her reflection in the mirror. She’s ready to go. To conquer another day. For the last time, she glances at the mirror. Her reflection becomes blurry as she moves.

Her feet feels heavy, but she’s ready to go. To every stares of hates. She feels humiliated by herself for being such a coward. She steps further, faster. This, someday will pass by, become a maybe black memory, but it will pass by. And everyone will live on.

She moves only forward.

New York are busy as always. People are moving to and fro at the pedestrian walk. Some achieving their dreams, some creating a life. Sabhira walks as always. But, it just seems different. He glances to her back. Once. Twice.

And she’s sure now. There’s some guy, a big bearded white guy, follows her step. Maybe it’s only her imagination. There are many people are walking toward the same direction of hers. But, why does it feel so different? A moment later, Sabhira knows why.

“Hey, you terrorist!” yelled the big guy. Not only Sabhira, almost everyone takes a trouble to look at him. Sabhira can see he’s grinning. And she’s sure now. The grinning is for her only.

The guy moves fast toward her. Closer, and closer. Sabhira doesn’t have an opportunity to run away. Not even to think. He gets closer, and closer.

She can see a blaze of beautiful reddish orange color flashes into her face. And everything becomes dark.

Footnote :

(1) Arabic term for verse

(2) Holy book of Islam

(3) Arabic term for chapters



Writer’s note :

Let’s create a world of peace, no matter what belief we hold on to

Just Another Dawn

Source image : thewellnessfountain.com.au

“Hi, granny!”

It’s a beautiful dawn, the sky hasn’t woken up yet. But she’s already there. What am I doing? I always wake up around dawn. For Shalat Shubuh, the duty of every Muslim.

And yes, I’ve done it. And I’m sure, she’s done it, too.

But she’s always managed to do something more. With her wrinkled hands, she will hold the broomstick. Her thin slippers will sweep through the rough concrete path. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wouldn’t wear it at all. I wonder the scratchy path will hurt her feet. I never trouble myself to ask.

Her act, as simple as it is, make the path is easier to come through. No crumbly stones, no slippery wet leaves, no sharp nails that surely will harm the tire of the motorcycle that often passes by. She is one of those kinds of people. Who is willingly to do something for someone else. Doesn’t really care about the reward or the recognition, doesn’t really seek for the payback or attention, too.

And sometimes, I can almost see her figure turned into a translucent color of the dawn.

That’s why I called on to her. There’s a very strange feeling that she would just go and disappear into the unknown dawn. But, she will always wave back, “good morning, Rina. How are you doing? Come and take a sip of tea in my house! I made some cookies, too!”

Now, that’s what I called a tempting invitation. The sky has not broken down yet, but she never minded me going over to her house. What a sweet, gentle granny.

Stepping into the empty little house always gives some sort of weird feeling. You may not care about the emptiness, but the sadness would strike you more. And here the funny house. The empty little house that will never be sad. The emptiness she didn’t mind, and will never be.

“What happened to your family?” I’m surprised of my thoughtlessness, but I can’t hold it any longer. Many years passed by, I never saw one coming into her house. Almost seem like, she was just appear from nowhere land. No past behind her, nor the future awaits. I’m curious. I’m so curious.

She welcomes my rudeness as she welcomes me to her house. She gently smiled, “I have no family. Not anymore.”

Would you be shock, of something so obviously seen?

“Everyone had their time. The beautiful, joy time. Where the sadness was forgotten and the misery seemed so far. I had the time. Now, it’s over.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she claimed, she might see my wrinkles of misery, “I don’t feel sad, but the joyous had gone away, you see. All the glory and glamorous feeling such a blinding happiness. It’s all comfort now. The feeling become so much calm now.”

Everyone had the glamorous time. The passion of running towards the future. Until the future no longer can be seen. Or simply became suddenly blurry. She had a merry house, she told me, once. Where there were little children running around. And the adults chatted every single important things, that made them feel important.

There was no longer a husband beside her, but she was okay, for he left her something amazing. The family she can hold in her heart. And the cold would be pushed away just out of the window. She had the time.

Time, might be fate, destroy them all. The people in weird uniform, few of them are not in the uniform at all, snatch them away. Would one to be so blind of blood? She felt all, once. Without any mercy. Nor tears, nor pray could change the scenery so atrocious in her pain eyes.

They were massacred. In 1965, they were all gone. The blood was almost everywhere. If you didn’t kill your neighbor, then you and your family would be killed. How’s that for another cup of tea? It was the most terrible time, only to banish one ideology for good. It was cold and cruel.

But, the cruelest punishment awaited for her. She had been let to live. To another day without another tenderness beside her. And thus, she lived.

Nor tears, nor pray can change silent scenery of her long life. But thus, she lived.

How can I stop myself crying, I don’t know exactly. Just another day, life struck her again, and thus, she must live. She would sweep the concrete path with the broomstick, another dawn. The melody, so sweet and calm, I will always hear, now and only God knows for how long to be.

Until the time comes when the figure become a real translucent light of dawn.


Writer’s note :

For reference, you might want to read about Indonesian history, the mass killing of 1965 in Indonesia. Sad, but true 😥


After Nine

Gambar diambil dari : https://catracalivre.com.br/


It was past 9. Back and forth, he still struggled to close his eyelid. Yes, the night was still young. The owl of the moon had not floating in the dark sky just yet. That’s not it. It was not the time he feared. It was the clueless night.

Trembling in his death-bed-to-be, he stared at the silent ceiling. Beautiful color translucent from the soft lamp light soared to his entire room. But all he could see just the dark spots, coming nearer, as the death angel welcomed him to His chamber. God, he prayed, but the One he called never answered. And by the name he just whispered, he only felt fear come choking.

Was it really cold the night he entered? Was everything suddenly unbecoming? Disappearing from his old eyes?

He got up. This would never be his death bed. The death angel would not flutter his wing just yet. There must be something better than this. There must be something bigger for him. It was not the night he feared. It was the darkness of the future had strayed before him. Then, after.

The night was surely still young. He saw his grandson stared deeply into the light of the stupidity. Yes, television was all the stupidity could offer. And the plague had spread into the countless brain cells of children, of teenager, of adults, of elderly.

He grunted, “young man, can’t you just play instead of putting stupid information into your poor brain?”

No answer. Kids these days, he thought, maybe lacked of everything. Lacked of manner, lacked of consciousness, lacked of passion. He trapped among them, became someone who would not know anymore what to do in life, except for satisfying his primitive needs. How sad. How infuriating.

But, he never knew what to do. Not anymore. Everything had gone. A long time ago.
Such an old poor man strayed in the entire house. Found each and every bubbles that might have been left. The bubbles of his ideas or creativity. Why did someone have it in certain time, just to be left behind with nothing?

The wrinkled hand of his stretched out. Into what? He didn’t even understand. He didn’t even know, how could he understand? The old man, by his 70’s, grabbed varied foods in front of him and munched them. He munched them, slowly but surely, until he wanted to puke. But not his mouth that felt sour. It was his eyes. Trembling, those blurry eyes started to wet.

He didn’t know what to do. No one would ever give him clue anymore. All of his life, all of the lifetime of his, filled by authorities. Told him exactly what to do. Forced him on how to do. Strangled his ideas because it would never be good enough. Because the change always feared them. So, they kicked away, far far away, every change, every renewal, every innovation.

Then, all of the information in his brain cells lost, entirely. He called them, they would never respond back. They didn’t want to befriend someone who once threw them away. How cruel a world without your true friend. The truest friend, to whom you put all of the trust in it.

He grumbled, but didn’t really know what he said. He just murmured something useless, something even more stupid than few guys dancing around meaninglessly in the television.

These days, these days he lived, he just lived. Instead of every-nothing, he lived another day. Day went by, weeks passed on, he would still be living.

Once again, he dragged his feet. To the nearest place afforded by his remaining strength. The sofa, the place where his grandson stupidly stared at the television from. At least, he could abandon the loneliness for a little while. He stared at people dancing meaninglessly at the screen. For many times he already lost counts, he just sat silently.

Then, it happened. As of sudden, his eyes turned.

His grandson, the son of his once a beloved daughter.

She left him with nothing but a burden, a huge cloud of anxiety would never be disappeared. The old man with the wrinkled face stretched his hand once again. And those slim figures felt something soft, anything of all that was smooth, and they all were warm.

The warm and smooth little guy turned his head toward him. The eyes, big and sparkled, watched him carefully. Attentively cautious and evaluated his intention. How funny, he smiled. It suddenly became bright. Everything was clear again.

No one could ever tell, force, or make him to feel anything like this.


Mudik oh Mudik


Sumber : kompas.com

Selamat merayakan hari raya Idul Fitri 1438 H (maap kalau salah, suka nggak apal tahun hijriyah hehe)

Bahkan, di hari raya ini, semua orang melupakan perseteruan dan kebencian, lalu saling minta maaf dan saling memaafkan (budaya Indonesia banget, kalau ada yang minta maaf, wajib memaafkan 😀 )

Sejenak, timeline FB yang tadinya panas nggak henti-henti itu menjadi sejuk. Cuma satu yang nggak sejuk-sejuk, berita soal mudik. Berapa orang yang meninggal kali ini, untuk menjalankan tradisi yang dipertahankan? Sebenarnya, tradisi yang dipertahankan itu yang baik, yang unik, bukan yang mematikan begitu. Silaturrahmi itu kapan saja, toh. Uang THR-nya bisa ditabung dulu, buat dipakai kapan aja mau pulang… Dan nggak harus berduyun-duyun di satu waktu.

Ah, tradisi…

Kalau boleh jujur, aku suka tradisi. Maksudnya, sesuatu yang membudaya dan jadi karakter khas bangsa itu adalah sesuatu yang menarik, menawan hati. Tapi, bukan berarti logika hilang cuma karena tradisi. Kita bisa memilah tradisi yang menyenangkan, daripada yang mengharu-biru demi memuaskan hasrat si drama, the dark side of us always…

Libur sekolah?

Anak nggak bakalan jadi bodoh libur seminggu aja, dan orang tua bisa bantu mengejar ketertinggalan anak minta les tambahan dari guru, gurunya juga pasti seneng…

Cuti lebaran?

Kalau cuti-cuti lain dihemat-hemat dan lalu bisa ambil cuti besar, bukankah malah jadi bisa tinggal lebih lama dengan keluarga, daripada cuti lebaran yang paling berapa hari sih?

Bermaaf-maafan pas lebaran?

Ah, pengalamanku juga kebanyakan kita maaf-maafan lewat whatsapp, twitter, facebook, segala macam media sosial lain. Sekarang teknologi komunikasi sudah canggih, dimanfaatkanlah untuk jadi  kebaikan. Jangan buat jadi ajang gosip dan debat kusir aja.

Dan lagi, sejak kapan kita disuruh maaf-maafan pas lebaran sama Allaah? Untuk perayaan aja, sebenarnya lebih tepat kalau kita pesta (makan-makan) pas Idul Adha. Itupun dengan tetangga, keluarga terdekat sehari-hari juga bisa…

Well, apapun itu, kalau emang itu yang bikin seneng, silakan aja, sih… 😀

Terlampir sumber soal berita kecelakaan pas mudik tahun 2017 : silakan klik di sini


A Tale of Two Cities (Plot dan Sejarah)

photo (3)

Pengarang : Charles Dickens

Tebal : 352 halaman

Penerbit : Wordsworth Classics

Tahun terbit : 1997

Bahasa : Inggris



Ternyata, benar-benar reviewnya mesti kupisah jadi banyak bagian begini. Maklum, baru pertama kali, serius mau review isi satu novel selengkap-lengkapnya (tanpa perlu jadi spoiler tentunya!)

Versi yang ini, aku mau ngereview tentang sisi sejarah yang terjadi di novel ini. Sebelumnya, kan aku udah cerita ini tentang pemberontakan rakyat Perancis yang mengakibatkan jatuhnya Bastille, lambang otorita kaum aristokrat Perancis zaman dulu.

Di sini, memang Dickens menjelaskan tentang penderitaan rakyat Perancis, yang miskin dan kelaparan, karena ulah kaum aristokratnya (di mana-mana sama aja, ya). Tapi, yang menarik, Dickens bukan cuma berpihak pada sisi rakyat jelata Perancis, tapi juga menceritakan kisah ini dari sisi kaum aristokrat. Seperti Charles Darnay, yang keturunan aristokrat, tapi memutuskan untuk putus hubungan sama pamannya yang sombong dan semena-mena banget. Ada juga, ayahnya Lucie, Doctor Manette, yang bisa dibilang dari kalangan terhormat, karena dia seorang dokter.

Bahkan, ada kaum aristokrat yang divonis hukuman mati oleh Guillotine, bilang begini, “What I have been thinking as we came along,  and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong ace which gives me so much support, is this; – If the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time: she may even live to be old.” (almost cry at this scene…)

Dickens, I fell for you, sementara para pengarang lain suka menggunakan kata ganti “laki-laki” atau “he” sebagai kata ganti untuk semua hal, terutama yang berhubungan dengan perjuangan dan pergerakan, yang emang banyak lebih terkait sama laki-laki, Dickens menyebutkan “she” sebagai kata ganti “Republic.” O, wow!

Jadi, nggak hanya penderitaan rakyat jelata, para kaum aristokrat ini juga menemui ketidakadilan dalam proses revolusi Perancis. Bahkan, Dickens menyebut istilah populer soal kemerdekaan di Perancis liberty, egality, fraternity, or Death. Dari novel ini juga, kita bisa melihat fakta-fakta kelam pasca revolusi Perancis. Fakta kelam dari perjuangan kebebasan. Ya, tentu saja, masa transisi nggak segampang itu dicapai. Sama aja kayak reformasi Indonesia, kan?

Kadang, emang mesti jelek dulu sebelum kita belajar untuk jadi baik.

Setelah baca novel ini juga, aku baru sadar ada satu kesamaan dari novel-novel klasik. Mereka menggunakan banyak tokoh, yang satu per satu dibahas secara lompat-lompat, tapi akhirnya ketemu di akhir cerita. Seperti novel The Count of Monte Cristo oleh Alexandre Dumas, yang lebih kompleks lagi jalan ceritanya, tokoh-tokoh yang terlibat itu pertama kita baca seakan terpisah, tapi pada akhirnya mereka tersangkut-paut dalam seluruh konflik cerita keseluruhan, yang dikemas belakangan.

Tetralogi Buru Pramoedya Ananta Toer juga kurang-lebih punya gaya cerita yang sama. Bedanya, mereka ini nggak terlalu kelihatan terpisah karena ada satu tokoh yang menyatukan mereka, yaitu si Minke.

Jadi, kalau baca buku ini, terima aja dulu setiap tokoh yang muncul, familiar atau nggak, atau setiap adegan yang kelihatan nggak ada hubungannya, trus simpen di memori. Karena, nanti pasti setiap tokoh ketahuan apa perannya, dan tiap adegan bakal ada hubungannya juga. Itu juga yang bikin aku kagum sama sastra klasik, begitu banyak tokoh dan adegan, tapi bisa aja koneksinya nyambung dan masuk akal.

Dan, inget, setiap tokoh, sekecil apapun, kalau disebut namanya, atau jadi karakter di satu bab, pasti bakalan muncul belakangan, jadi jangan pernah melupakan mereka sedikitpun ^^;

Aku berharap jadi nggak terlalu banyak ngebocorin isi ceritanya. Yang umum-umum aja kok ini hehe…

Last but exactly NOT the least… Narasi yang satu ini mesti aku sertakan. Setelah beberapa kalimat yang bikin aku terkesima, ini salah satunya. Kenapa, ya? Bukan hanya menggambarkan ketakutan, tetapi juga menggambarkan sisa-sisa negeri yang selama ini menderita. Setidaknya, kesan itu yang kudapet.

Houses in twos and threes pass by us, solitary farms, ruinous buildings, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, open country, avenues of leafless trees. The hard uneven pavement is under us, the soft deep mud is on either side. Sometimes, we strike into the skirting mud, to avoid the stones that clatter us, and shake us; sometimes we stick in ruts and sloughs there. The agony of our impatience is then so great, that in our wild alarm and hurry we are for getting out and running – hiding – doing anything but stopping.

Out of the open country, in again among ruinous buildings, solitary farms, dye-works, tanneries, and the like, cottages in twos and threes, avenues of leafless trees. Have these men deceived us, and taken us back by another road? Is not this the same place twice over? Thank heaven, no. A village. Look back, look back, and see if we pursued! Hush! The posting-house.

Leisurely, our four horses are taken out; leisurely, the coach stands in the little street, bereft of horses and with no likelihood upon it of ever moving again; leisurely, the new postilions follow, sucking and plaiting the lashes of their whips; leisurely, the old postilions count their money, make wrong additions, and arrive at dissatisfied results. All the time, our overtraught hearts are beating at a rate that would far outstrip the fastest gallop of the fastest horses ever foaled.

Tapi, baca sendiri ya, ini kutipan di bagian mana bukunya *ketawa setan* Singkatnya, ini buku rekomended banget bagi yang suka drama dan mau menikmati narasi-narasi panjang. Lebih bagus lagi kalau baca dalam bahasa aslinya, karena pemilihan kata-kata oleh pengarang itu yang bikin menarik. Yah, kalau dalam bahasa lain selain Inggris dan Indonesia, aku nyerah, sih! ^^;


sampai di akhir review, hore! 😀


A Tale of Two Cities (Gaya Bahasa Narasi dan Dialog)

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Pengarang : Charles Dickens

Tebal : 352 halaman

Penerbit : Wordsworth Classics

Tahun terbit : 1997

Bahasa : Inggris




Setelah beberapa bulan, lupa juga ya, berapa bulan tepatnya, akhirnya aku selesai baca “A Tale of Two Cities”! Waktu pertama kali baca, seperti yang sudah kutulis dalam review sebelumnya, aku jatuh cinta pada paragraf pembukanya. (Lihat review part 1 : A Tale of Two Cities (part 1)) Tapi, selanjutnya, setiap kali aku buka buku itu lagi, kepalaku puyeng dan aku langsung ngantuk. Gara-gara bahasanya susah, dan mungkin juga konsentrasiku jelek 😀

Karena Dickens juga sastrawan klasik abad pertengahan (iseng pakai istilah ini, karena suka aja) seperti Shakespeare (mana yang lebih tua ya, aku nggak tahu) kadang-kadang dia pakai istilah kuno, seperti “thee,” “thy,” untungnya cuma di dialog dan nggak banyak banget. Dan karena Shakespeare terkenal banget, jadi aku udah belajar dikit-dikit soal bahasa kuno itu. Bahasa kuno ini sih, masih dipakai dalam pemujaan agama dan sebagainya setahuku, sih.

Di review kali ini aku mau fokus ke gaya bahasa Dickens, lebih mendalam. Seperti biasa, sastrawan klasik emang suka banget muter-muter dengan narasi yang panjang. Dialognya juga sama muter-muternya. Akibatnya, aku suka bosen dan ngantuk. Yang parah, nggak ngerti haha. Positifnya, narasi dari Dickens ini menarik, jadi kita tetap bisa menikmati narasi panjang-berbelit itu kalau kita mau meresapi cara penulisannya itu. Negatifnya, siap-siap capek (kalau nggak biasa sama gaya bahasanya).

Ada dua scene, yang aku mesti balik-balik halamannya, karena aku susah ngerti maksudnya. Kedua scene itu sama, dialog antara dua tokoh. Pertama, dialog antara Mr. Stryver dan Mr. Lorry. Ceritanya, Mr. Stryver mau melakukan sesuatu (apakah ituuu??? Haha), dan meminta restu dari Mr. Lorry, yang ternyata nggak setuju. Masalahnya, di tengah-tengah dialog, tiba-tiba Mr. Stryver ini marah, dan aku nggak tahu kenapa.


Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, “you know there really is so much too much of you!”

“Well!” said Stryver, slapping the desk with his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, and taking a long breath, “If I understand you, Mr. Lorry, I’ll be hanged!”


Di atas jelas dari gesturenya, Mr. Lorry terlihat nggak setuju, tapi dari satu kalimat itu aja, dan dialog mereka mengalir ke arah perseteruan. Nah, pas pertama-tama, aku bingung banget, dari mananya sih, kalimat ini tiba-tiba membuat Mr. Stryver marah? Pelan-pelan, aku baru ngerti makna dari “so much too much of you.” Sindirannya ngena banget deh, Mr. Lorry… 😀

Kedua, dialog antara Lucie dan Mr. Carton. Di sini, Mr. Carlton menceritakan kegelisahannya pada Lucie, yang tentu saja didahului oleh basa-basi dan permintaan maaf.


“Don’t be afraid to hear me. Don’t shrink from anything I say. I am like one who died young. All my life might have been.”

“No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be; I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself.”

“Say of you, Miss Manette, and although I know better – although in the mistery of my own wretched heart I know better – I shall never forget it!”

She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could have been holden.


Hmm… Jujur, aku nggak tahu apa yang ngebuat Lucie pucat dan gemetar. Ya, emang ada kata kunci di dialognya, kalau Mr. Carton bilang “wretched heart” dan “died young” yang pasti menyatakan penderitaan dia di masa lalu. Tapi, belum jelas banget gitu lho, apaan. Bahkan, sampai detik-detik terakhir pembicaraan mereka, Mr. Carton sama sekali nggak cerita masa lalunya (nggak usah dikutip, makan space 2 halaman sendiri -_- ). Beda ya, sama kita-kita sekarang, maunya curhat aja, sedetil-detilnya.

Waktu baca novel versi Inggrisnya, kita juga harus hati-hati menelaah penggunaan bahasanya Dickens. A Tale of Two Cities ini kan mengisahkan tentang Inggris dan Perancis di detik-detik ketika Bastille jatuh oleh people power-nya. Sewaktu rakyat Perancis unjuk rasa dengan mengerahkan massa ke arah Bastille, Dickens menggunakan istilah The sea rises. Karena aku rada lemot, kupikir beneran air laut yang menerjang (sampai-sampai aku bingung, emang di tengah-tengah kota Paris ada lautnya, ya?), tahunya laut manusia. Bisa jadi juga aku yang lemot, sih. Hmm…

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Ilustrasi scene “The Sea Rises” dari Wordsworth Classics

Satu lagi, ada satu tokoh wanita, namanya sampai akhir pun nggak ketahuan. Tadinya aku pikir dia hanya semacam simbolisme dari kemarahan dan dendam yang ada di tengah-tengah rakyat Perancis, namanya aja The Vengeance. Lah, tapi ternyata dia manusia asli, yang punya panggilan begitu, tapi aku nggak paham kenapa namanya bahkan nggak disebut sampai akhir. Dan kenapa dia yang dijuluki The Vengeance, sementara ada tokoh lain yang mendendam sebenar-benarnya, yang bakalan lebih tepat dapat julukan itu?

Karena sifatku gampang curiga, jangan-jangan dia tokoh asli yang terlibat gerakan rakyat Perancis waktu Bastille jatuh dulu? Well, who knows. Bisa jadi juga dia tokoh yang digunakan Dickens untuk memperkuat kesan dendam dari si tokoh yang punya dendam itu. Bisa jadi juga, memang simbolisasi dendam proletar Perancis ke kaum aristokratnya, tapi disuguhkan sebagai karakter yang sebenar-benar hidup.

Sampai sini aja review yang ketiga. Kalau kulanjutin, pasti jadinya panjang banget. Sampai ketemu di review selanjutnya, kalau pada belum bosen haha…

See ya!

antara maya dan nyata