Paper scraps. Eraser dust. Pencils. The humid air from West Jakarta now become slightly more familiar than it was six months ago. The unhygienic street that used to be strange now become everyday view where I walk on; sometimes hyper with gigantic art bag, the other time draggy, hands noticeably stained with faded paint color.
On new year’s eve I rejected all hangout schedules included my mother’s wanting me to come home. Barbeque, shopping malls, mountain villa, or just the reassurance from your mother’s eyes… I don’t know what hit me. I just thought everything else can wait.
Life has been quite busy I haven’t got the chance yet to have a conversation with myself. I was racing on 3-4 assignments for classes starting at the first week of 2014, where I was scheduled to depart to Salatiga for a debate tournament. I have to make sure I handed every piece of assignment to my friends nearby so he can submit them for me.
It was frantic, to think about it now. We don’t have the typical copy-and-paste papers you do on other college major. They were four-weeks long assignments which included paint and cutters — definitely not something you can do overnight.
I barely have time the last three months. Being a freshman after two years of gap — I feel like a baby who forgot how to walk. It has been so long for me to be adapted being a student, let alone having to interact with so many people cramped in one class.
It does not take a lot for you to just actually finish the assignments given — you will still fit your bed throughout the weekend. But forget your whole idea of vacation when you wanted to actually explore and learn on the way finishing your project. I don’t waste money to not gain knowledge, okay?
It’s should not be this hard if I am not a slow learner AND a heavy sleeper at the same time. Also I might still have a spare time unless catch up with debate training thrice a week until 12 PM midnight… Which I did.
Surprisingly, despite all the sleepless nights, it was being taken care just okay. I did everything — assignments, my financial budget (yes I track everything), my zero to-do list, even my sleep cycle app.
But that weren’t the closure I need to go out and celebrate New Year. The fact that every aspect is sorted won’t make my day more enjoyable.It was all running and good, but the hollow inside me keeps me shivering down low.
It wasn’t enough. It feels like I’m dying in thirst for the fact that I’m floating on a huge swimming pool. I can’t wear off my exhaustion no matter how long I tried to relax and sleep. So I isolated myself from daylight by shutting off the door to my 3 x 4 room.
I just sit there throughout the night of December 31st to the time where all drunkards are probably crawling off the streets — literally talking.
I talk and talk to the darkness, to the ticking clock, to the hum of machines outside. I talk what ought to be talked to the person I am so afraid to meet, I talk the words I muttered to a stranger, I talk about what should never leave your mind.
I talk about frustrations I felt throughout the year. I let words describe misunderstanding I receive to the time where someone gives me up completely — leaving a permanent scar inside.
I sob to the cold air.
But the ticking clock doesn’t wait a bit even when celebrated by people across the swarming Times Square. Some people wait for the two hands of the clock meet at 12, then took thousands of photographs to freeze the momentum.
But time did not give anything for those who lost the chance to. It keeps ticking, as it should be.
And we keep living, as we should be.