Funhouse Mirror

Sometimes we have our own distorted, twisted perception of certain people. It's that quirky kid in class that you secretly admire because of his passion in learning science. It's that gossip master in class that you internally straight-up repulse and avoid however you can. It's that rigid-ass teacher that's everyone's secret villain figure. Of course, this effect is usually surface-level. Once you get to know them a little deeper, you begin to find justifiable reason beyond why they are who they are, and you can no longer judge as harshly.

Ultimately, though, you just stop trying. Because of that one particularly annoying person.

You.

That mirror, that's in your room? There's something wrong with it. It's like a funhouse mirror that never worked to your favor. Sometimes you see a funny face. Sometimes you see a normal face, just like how you see people on the street. Sometimes you see the ugliest creature to ever walk this earth. Sometimes there's a faint glimmer that you try to brush off as bad lighting because you refuse to acknowledge that you can be happy at times.

Are my eyes just fooling me? No. It's the mirrors that are wrong.

We all have our own distorted, twisted perception of ourselves that we could never be certain the accuracy of. Hell, people have their own distorted perceptions of us, and they're usually wrong. No, this is not your typical "only God can judge me" psychobabble, because I know we physically cannot stop our brain from automatically forming first impressions of people (although we can at least refrain from talking without thinking first). It's the act of looking in the mirror and seeing different things.

I've always had the mindset that people's personalities are like those you customize on The Sims games. You choose an 'Evil' trait, then they're going to be mischievous and misbehaving all the time. You choose 'Good-mannered', then it's the other way around. Yeah, blame my asocial adolescence for spending more time with video games rather than actual people. Surprise, surpsrise, this is not applicable in the real world.

It's too easy to see others as monolithic, unchanging. We're more akin to special relativity here, since we are moving, our thoughts are moving, our lives are moving, and so are others'. The times dilating, the lengths contracting, but never constant. That's why the mirrors look slightly distorted along the journey, be it for us or them. Hell, you would look distorted to them, vice versa.

Growing up, I was never a fan of mirror, be it metaphorically or factually. I didn't like looking at myself. I was never aware of myself, so to speak. I would stand in front of the mirror and let people tell me what they see in it, taking their surface-level assessment as the truth. If I were someone else witnessing this situation, I'd immediately think in exasperation, 'just lift up your sight for a few inch, it's not that hard!'.

Yet I'm trying to be sympathetic. I think back, and try to figure out why I was the way I was. Why past me wouldn't even spare herself a glance. Why she lower her gaze to the ground around her feet instead. She was uncertain, she didn't know what to do. I know. 

She was scared. 

But why was she scared? Is it because she found out at such a young age that all mirrors are distorted and she would never find the truth through it? Is it because she already know she wouldn't like what she sees that she's in denial? Did she refuse to acknowledge that she needs a mirror after all?

No. That's because a few times as a kid I tried staring at my eyes' reflection for so long that I tripped out. Forgot my name, questioned my existence, was unsure if I were dreaming or not. Then I discovered the infamous superstition of mirrors being a gateway to other dimension. Then mirrors became a creepy thing to me.

Like I said, sometimes you just stop trying, because the reason is stupid anyway.

But I understand, because she was a kid, and emotions are more difficult to invalidate than the underlying logical argument behind it. Just because you could explain your fear doesn't mean you would stop fearing it altogether.

It's disorienting to actually have a perception about yourself on developing period that you rigidly plant in your brain for many years, and you begin to see yourself as unchanging. You aren't sure to move forward, in expense of changing yourself and completely destroy that perception. Yet, you couldn't stay still forever, because that's just technically improbable. You're already boarded this spaceship.

Almost like when you already climbed the social mountain of fanbase and blindly planting a flag declaring 'X is the best band ever and nothing can change my mind!!' only for them in the span of a few years releasing an album that's an utter bullshit even to your obsessive taste. oops totally not personal story, guys. On one hand, you couldn't even bear to listen to it, but you were also unable to admit because you're a stubborn twat who hates to be proven wrong. So you ditched the fanbase altogether and start a new account. like I said, not personal.

So I guess the moral of the story here is that I have grown enough to acknowledge this fact, and that I can finally look in the mirror with my own two eyes, no matter how wacky or weird the reflection will be. I can confront the fact that people might not see the same things as I do, and that's fine, we'll just agree to disagree. After all, just one is plenty enough mirror on my spaceship.

Another 3 AM Ramble

Well... sleep is overrated anyway, isn't it?

It's February without I could even realize it. I could have sworn I already had my blog post draft of wishing you all a happy new year, and that I spent it looking at fireworks blah blah, and look where we are now. The second month. With the USA almost at war with Iran, the novel-coronavirus epidemy, and the helicopter accident. Wow.

For the first time in almost ever, I was kept awake after midnight. It's probably because of my flu that I practically spent the whole day sleeping yesterday. It might be the medicine. It's possibly because right now I have someone hoarding my space in bed. And I'm glad. Truly, I am.

There are moments in life where I just miss this nocturnal idleness, the producing unproductiveness, the romance of late-night lo-fi vibe. The curtain's drawn, the windows closed, the lights are out, the soft background music is playing, and you're just... still there. Mind wandering faster than the speed of sound, with more clutter than Einstein's desk.

It's always like that, isn't it. When you realize that the clock is ticking, your heart is beating, and your nose is breathing, you left a piece of soul in the past and inhale a part to your future. Some things you just want to touch, just a tad out of reach. The silly ideas, the pipedreams. Ones I'm too young to understand yet too old to attend.

You could be anywhere right now, my mind whispers. You could be doing anything right now.

It could be wonderful if I'm chilling on a beach right now, listening to this. I could slow dance until someone find me and laugh at me and it could be the start of a wonderful friendship.

But you have to get up early tomorr- er, this morning. Start dozing off, pronto, or you will miss the morning class again!

But it's been so long since I have the muse to daydream like this- let me just-

Come on, you've promised yourself to be functional this time...

I did, I did, but I just slept everything away yesterday, I don't feel like sleeping tonight...

Talking with myself didn't exactly help the insomnia situation, because in the end I didn't sleep anyway. I started thinking more and more things.

The long-drawn line of regrets that stretched out. Who I was, who I never was, who I could be, and who I would never be. Worrying about where I stand among my friends, where I should sit in this classroom of productive demography. It's a homework that never gets done, and looks like one I'm going to postpone until I reach my deathbed, sweating bullets until I drain because deadliners never learn.

I was optimistic, then I got discouraged. Awake past three in the morning lying in the darkness with your eyes open, whirring yourself in your own emotional rollercoaster.

I wonder how turkey sandwich tastes like.

Sometimes it maddens me how I could produce ramblings like this in such a short amount of time, while in any other day it burdens me to even try and think of writing, when this is supposed to be my therapy. For any rambles and posts that I make, I spend in average two months of hating myself for not being able to make practically anything.

I began second-guessing myself, am I doing anything wrong? 
Am I just capable of ramble-writings and not any serious literature / script? 
Have I just been overestimating my writing skill? 
Am I legit? 
Or am I too hard on myself, that I couldn't appreciate the small things?

If only I was alone, I could just shout "Hey Google"

*bleep*

"How to appreciate yourself more"

Ah, yeah. I've been keeping Google gadget as my primary device now. Pretty slick. I should tell you about her sometime.

Time is An Arrow, I Am In A Bubble

I rode a rollercoaster once in my teenhood time. Okay, maybe twice or thrice, but I couldn't remember other than that one time we almost tried the more extreme one with the upside-down enclosed loop.

"We just ate lunch, guys," he reasoned, "I'm just worried we might throw up and bother our chaperon again."

Still, we took our seats in the front lines of the ride, strap in the required belts, and let the machinery navigated us to adrenaline-ridden joy. In a matter of seconds, a bunch of teenagers took off to uncanny speed among the railed wagon. Some were screaming, some enjoyed and some didn't. The air whooshed around us, wind friction smacked against bodies, flapping hair backwards and sending us the humanly response of sensation fluctuation.

Being alone in time felt almost like that. Except you're the ghost that got stuck in the rail for an imperceptible amount of time. And the track didn't go around, they just span on forward in almost an infinity. How do you even propose an 'almost' infinity, though?

Dead, for God knows how many years ago. Bodies, unfound. But you linger there, unmoving. A lost ghost sitting atop a phantom wagon, detached from space and reality. Just watching. All the fun, all the togetherness.

I wonder how many of them still remembered me.

-

It was the New Year's Eve. Breaking the ordinary routine of not leaving home and just waiting until the fireworks going bonkers outside to mark the start of a new calendar period, we decided to get dinner in a family restaurant, and went to the uphill cottage to catch the overview of the whole town. Roasted corn and ice cream were there, too, and for a moment I thought it would finally be a good year for me.

11 days in, I'm still stuck.

In a bubble, unfazed by the quick flow of ethereal matters around me. Time.

It moves like a current, a river so vast and makes little sense to our limited navigational function. Most things - and people - swim along its flow. Some are slow, some are faster, some attempted to hold their movement before reaching finish line, but nothing tried to move against it. Nothing could.

At first I swam in delight. Fast and steady, together in warm water, like everything is possible. Then the bubble came out of nowhere. Tiny little bubbles floating around us, me and my friends, we giggled at them and played along. We popped some of them as we drift along. I tried keeping one particular bubble as a token of that moment, but it popped as I swam a bit further.

He insisted to leave. I kept another bubble.

It was stronger than any other I've ever seen. It floated alongside me when I was alone. Then it grew bigger and bigger everytime I found an island to rest.

I don't rest on islands anymore. The bubble is where I live, where I rest, and where I spend the rest of my life.

Numb

"Are you listening?" The doctor remarked from behind his glistening, polished wooden desk. I wondered if doctors pick their own furniture and he chose this one in particular, or that he left the options for his newly-wed wife with an excitement towards interior design.

"Um, yes." I muttered, "No chiropractor."

"Yes. Let's hope it doesn't come to that." He wrote something incomprehensible on his medical record paper. I wondered, again, if the whole MD-scribbles was still kept alive because of some cybersecurity reason or the sentiment of authenticity.

"What are you going to prescribe me, then?" I asked.

He looked up from the paper and answered, "Nothing. But I'm going to give you a list of exercises you can do at home. You can come back again in a week if nothing changes."

The third consultation I had over the span of this week with different doctors, and none of them gave me what I wanted. The little white coins I could swallow and made my head spun a bit before shifting into focus. I sighed as I put on my jacket to walk outside, one hand stealthily crumpling the written list inside the sleeve. I passed a trash bin and tossed it quickly.

---
"Why are you such a drama queen?" She asked nonchalantly. She didn't mean to offend, I guess she was just curious and 'drama queen' happened to be the word she came up with to describe my situation in her head.

"Amplifying emotions seem to bode well for my writing," I continued brushing the blue hair dye on my fringe, "I wish I could explain it to you better, but you know, we're kinda different."

"Yeah, sometimes I find it hard to understand you-" She went back to scrolling her phone. I knew a few ways she could resume her sentence- 'not that I cared that much though', 'I didn't even want to know what you're talking about', 'but we can still hang out anyway'. Why did I even think of resuming her sentence, and why did it even matter anyway?

"Do you want bento takeout for tonight?" She asked again.

"Sure."

---
I suck at world building. Description, narration, coherent timeline, they're not really my strong suit. My specialization is in creating dialogue based on strong emotions and self-thought. There's no flow, no plot, just redundant exercise of interaction exchange, not supported by non-verbal gestures at all. I stick with writing because it's been easy. Only thirty percents of communication is deliberately delivered, so I thought I could get away with hiding the rest of it behind linguistic barrier.

I haven't even explained who I am, who she was, what situation I was in, and why it all happened. I tend to avoid these things because it meant objective assessment of myself, my roommate, my condition, and it's a pain to be honest. I'd rather present myself as a bundle of negativity with human physical embodiment, and leave it at that.

My relationship with my roommate isn't all that fabulous. We didn't exactly start up as some kind of dynamic duo with lifelong pledge to conquer the world or something equally touching. We just happened to be in the same thermodynamics class and she was looking for roommate while I was seeking new air. There was nothing remotely similar about us, be it appearance, music taste, or life principle, but she was eager, and I was willing to try.

Our roommate-ship is basically a business-only relationship.

I munched the sweet and spicy shrimp rice as I listened to her going on about her day at work. I nodded and responded only briefly, hiding my unemployed shameful face behind the chopstick and bento box.

---
I always thought of her as a straightforward, normal person. She always said what she wanted to say, did what she wanted to do, and so bright and cheery as far as I knew. She often avoided deep conversation, and wanted nothing to do with my negative talks.

Until I found a pack of these at the very bottom of her purse.

Prescribed for [redacted].

I took a couple and wrapped them underneath a tissue paper, stashing it in my stationery drawer. I wanted to see how these things might work for me. Just a little experiment.

"Here's your eyeliner." I handed her the only thing she asked, which she promptly responded with an expected 'thanks'.

That night I stayed at another friend's place. The night after, I stayed in a 24-hours cafe. And I took the wrapped pills with me.

"When are you coming home?" Her text gleamed from my phone screen. My surroundings were dark; I turned down the brightness. I couldn't answer. I put the device on the table, face down, and resumed typing. I never felt this calm and focused before.

I didn't know if she noticed or not, but she made no indication of confronting me upon the disappearance of her two pills. I brought her croissant and coffee for breakfast as I went home in the morning, ready to hit the hay. I reckoned she was still in the shower, so I wrote a note to put on the table.

Breakfast for you. Good luck with work today. -Tay

---
Back to the present, though. I didn't know how much I needed the pills, I just knew how badly I wanted the desired effect to work again to me. I sent my last manuscript three months ago and I still hadn't heard back from the publisher.

I haven't written in two months, and I didn't feel the urgency to do so.

I was already discouraged with my last piece. I knew deep down that I needed to get my gears going and come up with another writing if I still wanted to establish my self-actualisation, published or not. It was the only thing I wanted to do in life, and the only thing I knew how.

But my muse was gone. I barely left my room if not for piss or butter and toast, and a few household chores I agreed to do.

She didn't really intervene. Like I said, it was almost a business-only relationship. I got my secrets, and she got hers. She'd listen if I wanted to vent about my problem, but until then, she wouldn't try to breach my vault. I did the same.

---
I once asked her to go through one of my fiction writing. She commented something along the lines of 'using too many metaphors and big words that only makes sense for you', and that she found it difficult to follow the flow of my narration, jumping from one thought to a different one in a short period of time, without allowing the reader to get immersed first.

That was a lie, of course. That was my own criticism from her brief comment of 'this is difficult to read', which I was highly aware of. She didn't care much about fiction, per her life principle of 'more experience, less fret'. I was the drama queen, she was basically the go-getter prime minister. She bravely made decisions without much fuss, although not immune to annoyingly everchanging second-thoughts.

Maybe that's one reason I got so easily attached to her.

Not emotionally, but domestically. I could always wake up and rely on her being there. At the very least, I knew I wasn't alone at that moment. I hated to admit that I would dread the time she would decide to move out.

---
It was dark outside- inside too. Dusk had far from passed, and I still didn't think to turn on the lights in my room, save for the one study lamp I used to stare at the small box atop my desk. An early birthday present. A semi-parting gift. An unexpected one, at the very least. I took off the wrapping paper minutes ago.

She was going out of town for work for a few weeks.

"I want you to take care of yourself, okay?" I recalled our interaction a couple of hours ago. She stood before the doorway, suitcase packed and ready to haul near our shared shoeracks. Her face was made in a natural manner, fine plum-colored lipstick clung to her thin lips. I saw a hint of sadness in her smile as she faced me with an intense expression, but that might be just my imagination.

She took the small gift-wrapped box from her totebag, and handed it to me.

"I'm gonna miss your birthday, so here's an early present."

I was appalled she remembered at all, let alone getting a gift for me. Unsure, I received the box, "Thank you."

"Open it when I'm already away." She opened the door as she grabbed the handle of her suitcase, then turned to me for a brief moment. I felt her breath as her face leaned towards mine and landed her soft lips on my cheek.

"Wha-"

"See you." She walked out before I could respond the surprising interaction.

I looked at the open box once again, which was just the size of a newly purchased phone package. Instead of smartphone, inside was one tosca-yellow colored stress ball, mini chocolate bar of my favorite brand, and a sealed pack of white pills.

The same one I stole a few months ago. The same prescription. The same label.

Prescribed for [redacted].

With an additional note, a purple-ink curvy handwriting on an ivory card with a doodle of birthday cake and her face. Happy birthday! Take as prescribed and don't forget to eat. Love, [redacted].

I didn't know why I bother looking for muse anywhere else but here. She was staring right at me all along.

Tumultuous Tendency

"In quickness, there is truth." - Ray Bradbury

Tick. Tock. I desperately glanced at the digital clock on my computer screen. One hour.

Time? Passed. 

Mind? Blank.

Paper? Empty.

Hotel? Trivago.

One hour. My cognition still hasn't functioning properly.

The cup of coffee hasn't been much of a help, nor has everything else. I seemed to be in a state of disarray, where my brain just straight up refused to cooperate, to think, to even perform the most basic analysis of things.

Sighing, I got up of the chair and headed towards the bed, only dizzy. I laid down, looking at the ceiling above, heartbeat going faster. Eyes closed, breathing going manual. Inhale. Exhale. Five seconds. One at a time.

Zero. Eighty. Zero. Dim lights. Eyes still closed, ears perked to the sound of a familiar tune. My phone ringtone. I stayed still, breathing in and out. Ten seconds and it was over.

"OK Google," I called out, followed by a bleeping sound, "Who called?"

Amber voice spoke out. No names were mentioned, but she spelled a sequence of number I recognized immediately. Eyelids still shut, I muttered, "Thanks."

I have a friend who was dear to me. She was dear to everyone, in fact, that I sometimes don't feel I hold a place that special in her heart. I personally think keeping tabs of people is exhausting, so for someone to invest their time and energy for me is beyond my understanding. She called me twice already. I wanted to pick up. I wish I could pick up.

But I don't want to hurt her. Not anymore.

I can't answer the question. I don't even know the answer.

"Are you okay?"

I wish I could say I'm not, because it's easier to actually be diagnosed clinically with something wrong, than spending your whole life treading between the line of sanity and its counterpart.
I wish I could say I am, because I don't need her to worry about me and that she's burdened enough with her problems.

I could pick up the phone and send the text.

"Sure, why?"

But I didn't.

Sighing, I got up of the bed and headed towards the desk, still dizzy.

Tick.

Tock.

In this room, only time runs. In circles.

November Update

It's almost the end of the year. Hell, it's almost the end of the month of the second last month of the year. I just started getting my hands on a sheet of habit tracker when I looked at the date numbers... wait, it's already the 20th. Guess I'll start next month.

Nothing much had happened since my last update. I'm still living in the same old house, sporting the same old shoes, watching the same old youtube videos and eating the same old junk foods.

For the first time in years, though, I'm bailing.

Like a fish amongst its school captured by the large net, I swam away. I looked from afar at my friends. They're going to be processed into canned foods, which was morbid, but perhaps tad nice since it means they serve their usefulness. As I made my way through the vast blue of the sea, I began thinking, should I have not run away? And that's been the question since day one.

December is almost here. Christmas holiday is coming, so my book delivery is going to be postponed. The semester is almost ending, and my lazy ass still hasn't found its will to get up and fight.

I don't know where I'm going with this. Truth is, so much is going on in my mind, so many internal battles are held stalemate until further notice, yet so little is done by me as a person. I feel like I have lost touch with myself so much that I don't know how to express what's really inside. I had become to cowardly to even recognize my own thought and feeling, that I deny them all. It's no longer about what I really want, it's more like what I have to let go to find out what I really want.

Uh, yeah, so, November update. Tried bus tour. Wrote a new novel draft. Bought new jacket and books.

Cry a lot. Sleep well.

Cheers.

Toilet Thought

Aku tidak punya penderitaan untuk khusus dituliskan hari ini.

Jangan salah, aku masih mengutuki diri sendiri atas hal-hal buruk yang kurasakan dan ketidakbecusan untuk mengendalikan emosi secara dewasa. Hanya saja bukan hal itu yang ingin aku tulis pada kesempatan ini.

Aku sedang merenung di atas kloset duduk dan memikirkan hal-hal bodoh, mengkhayalkan apa yang mungkin dan tidak mungkin terjadi. Aku terpikirkan kala kesempatan jarang kulontarkan lelucon dan respons para pendengarnya. Aku teringat salah satu podcast yang pernah kudengarkan yang membahas bahwa banyak orang yang mendengarkan podcast ketika mereka mandi sehingga mereka sama sekali tidak punya waktu merenung dalam sehari. Terlintas dalam benakku kalau orang yang mengaku bisa membaca pikiran bisa jadi antara omong kosong atau sangat luar biasa, karena bahkan aku sendiri sering tidak tahu apa yang kupikirkan.

Dilanda khayalan tentang pikiran pun, aku mulai merenungkan betapa magisnya cara kerja otak manusia. Dia mampu membuatku memikirkan tentang berbagai macam hal yang rasanya mengawang amat jauh dari singgasana buang hajat tempatku berada. Dia membingungkan aku sendiri, punggawa jasmani yang merumahi dirinya. Dia menamai dirinya sendiri, pun teman-teman serumahnya. Oh ya, namakan saya 'otak'. Kamu 'jantung', dan kamu 'hati'. Biarlah para mat saleh itu bingung dengan terjemahan bebas antara kalian berdua.

Dulu aku sempat terpikir untuk mengambil jurusan neurosains, ilmu yang mempelajari otak manusia. Brosur sebuah perguruan tinggi swasta di tanganku, dan aku boleh memilih di antara jurusan-jurusan yang terdengar trendi itu. Neurosains, goda titel itu padaku yang akan lulus SMA beberapa bulan lagi. Keren. Agung. Mutakhir. Itu kesan yang kudapat. Masalah konsep akson dan neuron yang masih terbolak-balik di dalam kepalaku (ironis sekali), itu persoalan belakangan.

Kakiku mulai kesemutan dan aku menyadari sekali lagi di mana aku berada. Sial. Sudah melayang kemana-mana pikiranku, belum juga selesai urusan perut ini. Aku menggoyang-goyangkan kaki untuk menghilangkan sensasi mati rasa, masih hirau akan pikiran sebelumnya, bagaimana kalau ternyata aku akan lebih bahagia kalau seandainya aku memutuskan untuk mengambil jurusan neurosains?

Ah, runyam sudah kalau menyangkut perkara mengandai-andai. Andai saat itu aku cukup berani untuk menyatakan perasaanku. Andai saat itu aku tetap nekat ambil sekolah di Jogja. Andai aku lebih tinggi. Andai aku lebih rupawan... dsb dsb.

Aku cukup akrab dengan dunia fisika untuk mengenal prokem multiverse, yang terkenal dengan gagasannya bahwa setiap pilihan yang mungkin, ada dunianya sendiri. Misalnya saat ini aku berandai dulu masuk SMA Negeri 1 Yogyakarta, ada suatu dunia paralel dimana 'aku' mengenyam pendidikan menengah atas di Teladan Yogya, tapi kebetulan saja 'aku yang ini' hidup di dalam semesta yang menggariskan diriku sebagai lulusan SMA Balikpapan. Ini konsep tipikal usungan film sains fiksi picisan, yang bila digarap sutradara dengan kaliber di bawah Christopher Nolan akan dicecar habis-habisan oleh para pengkritik.

Aku katakan sains fiksi karena aku sendiri tidak mengerti intisari dari konsep itu secara nyata. Berhadapan dengan persoalan termodinamika saja aku masih terheran-heran; membayangkan solusi persamaan Schrödinger masih butuh representasi visual kotak-garis. Temanku yang berlatar belakang fisika teori hanya memandangku dengan aneh ketika aku menanyakannya tentang gagasan multiverse itu. "Ah, itu mah ngada-ngada." Ujarnya santai, lalu kembali memusatkan perhatiannya pada game Skyrim V The Elder Scrolls-nya yang saat itu sedang booming.

Betul memang, terdengar sungguh mengada-ngada kalau berharap seandainya semesta mengabulkan harapan muluk-mulukku untuk pindah ke Harajuku bersama Will Toledo dan membeli apartemen berbalkon satu yang menghadap pusat kota. Lagipula, apa bedanya kalaupun 'aku' di semesta lain benar melakukan hal itu? Tetap saja 'aku' yang ini masih bertandang di sebuah kamar mandi kosan uzur di suatu sudut kota Bandung, menghabiskan tenaga akal budiku untuk gagasan abstrak yang tak jelas juntrungannya alih-alih menyumbangkannya untuk bangsa dan negara.

Carl Sagan, seorang astrofisikawan dan novelis terkemuka pernah menulis bahwa "masyarakat tak pernah mengajari bagaimana membedakan sains sungguhan dari tiruan murahan". Tak bisa dipungkiri kalau aku tertarik mendalami fisika karena lebih dulu mengenal jargon abstrak seperti time travel, quantum field theory, standard model maupun teori relativitas, walaupun lebih terutama karena Pak Yo Surya. Tentu saja dengan alasan serapuh itu, aku merasa kecewa ketika mendapati kuliah dipenuhi persamaan-persamaan matematis dengan hieroglif alien, bukannya partikel warna-warni dalam balutan hadron collider.

Mungkin saja para fisikawan tulen itu lelah dengan masyarakat awam yang kesana kemari melempar istilah 'quantum' seenaknya mulai dari merk kompor hingga teknik penyembuhan alternatif. Penat dengan wajah Kakek Einstein yang kehadirannya tersaturasi lewat brosur bimbel dan kepustakaan populer berbahasan fisika. Para dosen sudah terlalu jemu untuk meluruskan miskonsepsi mahasiswa lugu sepertiku yang kebetulan terjebak dalam ranah keahlian mereka. Yang kusesalkan hanyalah betapa selama masa kuliahku aku hanya berhadapan dengan kekecewaan demi kekecewaan karena realita tak seindah pseudosains dalam benak. Aku lupa untuk mengambil hikmah, belajar tentang keindahan di dalam sains yang sejati. Yang ada hanya kegetiran dan pesimisme.

Aku merenung, berapa orang sepertiku yang punya ekspektasi tinggi untuk terjun ke dunia sains dan teknologi karena terpapar jargon-jargon emas, hanya demi dimentahkan perkuliahan yang membosankan dan situasi yang tak mendukung gairah? Apakah mereka sebodoh aku yang tidak mau mencari informasi terlebih dahulu sebelum mencemplungkan diri ke bidang itu selama beberapa tahun penuh? Apakah mereka termakan agresi istilah asing yang terdengar keren dari tim marketing universitas yang mencari wajah-wajah baru? Apakah mereka korban sistem penyebaran informasi yang kurang waras dan tidak merata? Apakah ini salah sinetron pukul tujuh malam atau menteri pendidikan yang baru?

Lagi-lagi aku merepet. Betul kan, keberadaan 'pembaca pikiran' itu hanya omong kosong. Aku sendiri saja membutuhkan waktu berjam-jam untuk menata isi kepalaku agar berbentuk suatu tulisan yang setidaknya bisa dibaca manusia dengan kognitif sehat walafiat. Kecuali mungkin kalau aku memusatkan perhatianku dan memikirkan sesuatu untuk 'dibaca' oleh para esper itu, seperti tolong aku. Aku tahu kau bisa mendengarku. Aku butuh tisu toilet sekarang.

Lalu suara pintu kamar mandi diketuk. Mungkinkah...?

"Maaf, di toiletnya masih lama?" Terdengar suara mungil perempuan dari luar pintu. Ah, betul juga. Toilet kost ini yakni sebuah properti sosialis, dikuasai komando pusat (ibu kost) dan digunakan bersama (anak kost). Sudah berapa lama aku merenung di sini?

"Oh ya, sebentar! Mungkin 5 menit lagi!" Jawabku, tak ingin menjelaskan panjang lebar tinggi volume. Kurasa lebih baik kusudahi saja hajatku di situ karena akal sudah tidak produktif dan usus tidak berkooperasi.

"OK, kak." Aku kenal suara itu, suara seorang adik tingkat satu kost. Jarang kami bercakap, tapi setidaknya kami paham keberadaan satu sama lain.

Hening sebentar.

"Tisu toiletnya aku taruh di luar ya, kak."

Terhenyaklah aku.