Coba, coba katakan

The best quality a writer could ever possess is the ability to express what is complicated in a simple manner so that the readers can get the idea clearly and, in some better cases, feel the exact atmosphere and the messages the writers try to send. I am now, writing here, to my dearest fellas out there, friends and folks; which some of you might have been ignorant with me, that I feel very thankful, grateful, and every other word which can express the same thing to all of you. All of the times you've been giving me, one month back, no matter how seemingly insignificant they are to you, they mean totally inversely proportional to me.

Each time I had my flight back to S, I would sob for an hour or two, and then stop, and then sob, and then stop. I would take shower and the loneliness would start climbing through my back, with her cold feet up to my hair, tickling my eyes and started to force my crystalised drops of water to run down my cheeks, mixing with warm water from water heater. Sometimes I curled up, trying to warm myself though it was a hot day with the blinding sunlight and streaming hot water. Sometimes I didn't even know what I was thinking about. Sometimes, there were too many things and imaginary lines in my head making every cell in it wanna explode, but I wouldn't let them.

Sometimes the tears are dry, sometimes they are too painful to get down. I'd love to share a slice but I couldn't, because every time I tried to let the words out, my eyes would get wet and dirty and ugly, and I didn't want them to get exposed. Other times I was brave enough to open up, but the joy of my friends' laughter in front of me made me burst into laugh instead, and suddenly I forgot what I was mourning for. And after I got alone some more, I began to think how I would miss the laughter so much and I would cry alone, again. The streets we've been passing together, the rooms we've been sharing together. I could never, ever, at least up till now, share these feelings orally, so I am trying to let them out here.

I had to go through this, four times in a year, not being a crybaby, at least in front of the people I love. I thought as time passed by these goodbye rites would get easier, but in fact things get much much more difficult. J has been my greatest yearning, a funny thing which never ever crossed my mind a few years back. It is very true that you never knew what is precious to you until the moment you lose it. One of the most cliche sayings, but sometimes you couldn't help when your life is filled up with cliche things, no matter how extraordinary it has been.

It's been clear and even made easier, that "Achievement is a measure made by others for you, but Satisfaction is a measure made by you, and for yourself." So it was satisfaction I've been trying to pursue, and I almost did well back in J, but I can never blame my family for taking me here and making the line separating them get blur. Every time I received positive injections I would heal, but they would evaporate with time. It wasn't easy, nobody ever said it was. Like letting these feelings out. Letting all out of me, letting the world know, letting it break free and all the scars exposed.

I'm not being less human, though I don't like the idea of spending my tissue supply alone in a day. So now, just like when I let my tears fall down, I am getting better. I'm not saying I'm getting good, even after a year, which may sound real pathetic. But this is it, and I'm not hiding every single bit, that I've always always always been missing you, J. That I've never been strong enough to let go, even it was often that I felt I really was. And it is kind of big confession, to me, so I hope you are not laughing at it, until you really walk on my shoes.