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I am listening to Mariah Carey’s “I still believe” while typing this post.
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Well, I am OK. I think I am OK. Therefore, I am OK.
An epiphany came to me just now that what everyone wants in life is happiness. If the man I love thinks that marrying that fiancée, who doesn’t like him talking to me, of his will give him happiness. Then who am I to stand in his way? So, despite the fact I can’t prevent this hurt from almost over taking me, I am letting go. If he should return to me, we truly were meant to be. Wah, I don’t know I can be so literary. (To avoid any accusation of plagiarism I just listened to another Mariah Carey’s song: Butterfly. So, I see no harm of being inspired. But, anyone, any layman can have the same clauses, rite?)
Yesterday was definitely the gloomiest day of my life. I even stupidly planned to live a “William Faulkner’s A Rose for Emily” life. (you should read the story if you want to know more but in short this Emily killed her fiancé who plans to jilt her days before their wedding. She saved his remain in their supposedly wedding chamber and spent the rest of her life sleeping next to the corpse.)
You know I told my uncle, who still tried to console me and asked me to be strong, that “I can withstand anything but the fact he is getting married…why doesn’t he kill me altogether…it’s a death sentence….the sky is falling for me”. My uncle warned me not be to be fatalistic because “life is for living so go and live it”. Yet, I stubbornly decided to stay in love with my sorrow and be a Kate Mansfield’s Miss Brill, a poignant dame seule*. I persistently muttered Derevaun Seraun** during my sleep deprived night. I laid awake staring blankly to the ceiling. I even didn’t bother to care about my safety during series of mild tremor at 2 a.m. I might dead as well, I thought. Why should I live if I could not hold him again, I whispered. His face was everywhere tormenting me. Smiling. The smile that I adore.
I planned to be gloomy as well today. I wanted the world to know that I was the victim of a betrayed love (or is it a one-side love?) or a thwarted hope. But, isn’t he the victim too if he forces himself to be with me despite the fact he does not feel for me anymore (or never)? It’s suicidal for his part.
So, I started my day as usual today. As usual as days before the days I met him. Never will I regret the encounter. Probably I will cry a sob two for the detachment (I still don’t cry till this moment). I still can play a clear mental snap shot of the moments he took me to an art gallery or a museum or corrected my mispronounced English (I remember the word is sapphire) or told me funny stories or when we strolled in the park or watched Batman The Dark Knight. Such a gentle and soft-spoken young men he is . A lump felt in my throat recalling this sweet memories for your information. I still miss him so profoundly. (and probably he is now busy frolicking with his fiancée, who knows?)
And the day turned out to be very fine. I am my usual self today. Such a speedy recovery from the worst blow I’ve ever had . I don’t know what the factor for this quick recuperation is. My uncle might be right that I am too strong for this. and to “dump or be dumped is just a part of growing up…one day you will kick back and have a good laugh over this episode of you life”, said he.
Or, probably it’s because of my nature. I can never really hate someone no matter how evil they are to me including a cousin of mine who almost raped me when I was six.
* French: woman alone
** Irish: The end of Pleasure is Pain (Read James Joyce’s Evelyn if you don’t trust me)
I don’t know where to start this story. My story. But this post is probably my most personal entry.
The man I love informed me last night that “i’ve got sorts of good news but it might be bad news for u am afraid that am getting hitched”. (I had nightmares for two days in a row and I saw him in my dreams, so I texted him asking about his being and that is the asnwer)
You know what, my reaction is completely out of your expectation of what a jilted girl will have: no single drop of tears escaped my eyes. To me personally it is a mystery why I didn’t cry at all. It’s something extraordinary. I could be so calm. I could take this blow with grace. Or, am afraid that I am merely living in the state of complete denial pretending that everything is completely alright and no body is breaking my heart. I even could sleep soundly clutching his t-shirt, which is in my possession.
Yeah. Probably, I am just delirious. You know like being infected by a viral disease, I am now in the incubation stage. I could not feel the pain now but wait in few days I will burst and expire.
Or, it’s too painful that I could feel nothing at all. i’ve lost all senses.
Frankly speaking , this composure taking this kick in teeth quite fascinates me. no, it worries me. for the past one year since I got home to Padang, I never fail to cry my self to sleep every single night for the reason everybody must know: I miss him deeply. (we live in different country)
But last night was different. I didn’t weep. I didn’t wail. I didn’t tear my hair. what a mystery!
Probably my most reasonable answer to this mystery is I love him too much that I am happy for his happiness. So, learning this happy happening to come, I texted him (since he kept refusing my call) which said:
- Wah, congrats ya! When? M I invited? (no replay)
- Tell her I m happy for her. I wish u a happy and blissful marriage. Try to have only two kids coz kids are expensive today. (no replay)
Yah, I love him too much to the extent I can tolerate this disappointment to my part. He is getting married to someone else while I always think should I consider marriage I will choose him.
Or , he just wanted to get rid of me (m quite persistent and always take the initiative). I did the same thing to some of my former dates. I told them that “I am getting married so please forget me”. But I didn’t tell them “my fiancée doesn’t like me talking to you”. It hurts my pride that my future husband has such a control over my life. Normally those former dates will stop calling me or sms me or say “delvi I miss you badly”. Probably, he wants to create the same effect that I impose to boys I have dumped.
My uncle said everything happens for a reason .
Sure! Can’t agree more.
Some of the reasons I have in mind are:
- He thinks it is impossible between us since we live in different country. (You know what I did last two weeks: I flew to his city just to have a dinner with him and flew back to my country the day after. Definitely, it’s costly. And no mention about his imminent marriage at all).
- He simply does not feel for me. What else? I cannot force no one to love me if he does not want to and neither can one to me.
My uncle also said that it is not my loss, it’s his. I know he was trying to console me. then, “ he is not worth your tears….you deserve a better man”. Yeah when someone ditches u, he is not good enough for you. But, when the same man decides to stay, he is meant for you. Funny, rite?
Never know how I could develop this deep attachment to him. Could not figure out how he stole my heart. When. Why. and Why him. Why not my colleagues at uni?
I am never scared of everything including this everyday tremor we have here in Padang (just a moment ago we were hit by another quake, I guess it was at 5 or so magnitude. It was quite strong since the buildings were swaying). Truly, I never get panic when having a hit but the possibility not to see him again if I get killed in one of the hits scares me more. That’s the only fear I have now.
I love him. I still do and will do.
I won’t give hope. That’s not so me. Yeah this one particular thwarted hope won’t make me surrender. It’s hopes that get me where I am now and what I am now. Therefore, I will continue hoping.
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Let down that’s how I feel
Need to cut out this bond
Hope I don’t over bleed
So I wont fall ill.
See, having a broken heart can be productive to me. I just wrote a poem! don’t you think the rhyming is perfect.
‘Hullo Sir, first time visiting this place? This restaurant serves the best seafood in town. No. I lied to you. Truly sorry Sir. It is not the best in town but in this whole gastronomical world. No restaurant can’t beat the superior taste of its boiled oyster. Simply Superb with the capital S, I assure you Sir. How can I be so sure? Is that your question? Ha ha. Oh, let me introduce my self. I am…’
‘I have frequented this restaurant for the past six years. Such a loyal costumer. Infidelity in terms of good taste never registers itself in my dictionary. I know the owner of this heaven on earth. He is a nice old cheeky uncle. I call him Uncle E. Such an extraordinary chef I am telling you. He always boasts to me that for generations his family has served every modern dictator ever lives in the history of our war-ridden planet. A father of his grand father commanded the kitchen of Hitler the Il Fuhrer. The distant cousin of his grand mother twice removed was part of the small entourage running the civilization inside of the uncivilized bunker of Saddam Hussein. Meanwhile, Uncle E’s father’s kid brother has to make sure Kim Jong Ill, yes that North Korean strong man eat regularly to keep him alive and potent. Everybody knows there is no apparent heir yet for this dictator of many wives. Serving dictators tells a lot why the word perfect is the constant adjective and verb ricocheting in the atmosphere of his kitchen. Dictators are more arrogant than God is. They crazily (yeah most of them are harebrained) demand perfection. Wholeness. They never tolerate even a single tiny mistake. No cracks in their book. With the blood of the dictator’s chef run in his vein, Uncle E dictator-ly makes sure this restaurant serves nothing but the most perfect piece of their masterpiece.’
‘Oh God I keep you standing listening to my bubbling. Come. Come. Have a seat. Let me help you to the table with the best view in this restaurant. Yeah that corner. That is my favorite table. Uncle E always reserves that table for me. No, no, no. I don’t mind sharing it with you. Do you want to know why I love this table? Mm.. your frown sends the signal of curiosity. Such a nice Mister you are. You remind me of….’
‘Don’t you see it Mister? From this table we can see the sea in its fullest beauty. Beauteous sea which is second to none. Feel Mister, feel the breeze blowing from this abode of mermaids, the embodiment of the mysteriously luring loveliness. Smell Mister, smell the scent of salt marinating the big water there. Hark! I hear a sound. Listen. Listen to these albatrosses. Such a captivating sound they produce, no? See yonder. Look at that ancient mariner commanding the Cargo containing fancy stuffs from the decaying Mythical Land of Spices and Peacocks ruled by the Mighty Ozymandiaz. Handsomely magnificent both the captain and the ship, don’t you think so? Such a wonderful view, isn’t it Mister? On top of that, I love this table because I met him for the first time here.’
‘Hey Mister look at you. Your face seems to be so familiar. You look like someone I know. It’s like: do I know you? Are you from this city? No? So, you are from the City of the Border. Wow, I can’t believe it. What a coincidence. He is from the same city as you are. Ah, you smile now. Ha ha, such a bewitching smile just like his. I fancy you know him. You guys look a like. I see the glimpse of his face in yours. Are you family? Related by blood? God gracious, what a twist of fate. He is your son.’
‘Tell him Mister. Tell him I am looking for him. No. I don’t have to look for him. He knows I am right here waiting. He knows how to get here. Here, I met him for the first time.’
‘What? Are you, Mister from the City of the Border, asking why I suddenly burst into tears? It’s your son whom I’m crying over Sir. It’s been six years I’ve been waiting for him here. Right in this table, the spot on earth the first time I saw him smile. A beam as enchanting as the strongest spell ever casted to melt the heart of a woman who thinks she never needs a man. She fell in love….love at the first sight the doctors sentenced her with this illness of no cure.’
‘Yes. She had no hope for recovering. It is all her fault. She let the viruses to spread and breed in her emotional system. She should have sought treatment at the very first time she contacted the disease. She should have known that this virus was too strong to resist. But she was such an arrogant as yet foolish girl. She chose to court danger. She kept coming to the zone where she was smitten with this young loner fellow, your son-the source carrier transmitter of the viruses. Now it is too late. That illness called love has taken over her body and soul.’
‘This illness has such a monstrous effect to the heart of the afflicted. Little did she know that love is a viral demon with two faces. Both facets are equally dangerous. If love is reciprocated, the heart will swell with happiness. Still swollen heart is not a good thing to have, no? It can burst. If it happens to be a one-sided love, you will get a broken heart. It hurts beyond imagining.’
‘How is she now? Oh, blessed Mister you are asking how she is now? She used to have a swollen heart. Now, she lives with her heart broken. Like I said, no remedy for this malady. No scientist can mend a broken heart. The only thing the doctors can do to ease the suffering of the love-struck patient is to sedate her with this new brand of heroin. Yes, love itself. When she begins crying longing for the man she loves, the doctors anesthetize her with hope. Hoping that that man, your son, will come to say at least hi how are you are you doing fine dear. This hope suffices to create a happy smile on her face. It is enough to recalibrate her weary soul to continue to live. But….’
‘Doing drugs Sir, its nature is so bizarre. The more you take it the more you become sick. And it is the same as hoping Sir. The more she hopes the more she is hurt. Because the man she loves, your sunny Sir, never turns out. Absorbed in the banality of the world.’
‘However, keeping hope she badly needs it good Sir. She needs higher dose of hope each day to keep her head above the water. It is so painful and pitiful. Sometimes, the doctors have no heart to inject her with her sedation. They want her to live without it. They think she will be happier without it. But her emotional system refuses to beat without that hope. She will die before her time. Nobody wants her to die before getting what she wants.’
‘So, everyday she lives off hope. It energizes her exhausted spirit with the power enabling her to smile while her heart aching; to laugh while sobbing; to change the world while swallowing her own despair.’
‘No Sir please. Don’t feel bad about it. I am not sad at all. I am happy Sir. Look at my smile Sir. Observe my eyes good Mister. Do you see sadness? These tears are drops of joy. I finally meet someone who knows him. How is he Sir? How does he look like now? Does he eat regularly? How’s his job? Is he happy? Tell me Sir….’
‘I love it when he took me to the art gallery, a completely new world for me. It was a sweet Sunday. The gallery was so empty. There were only the two of us. He told me that the rest of the world must be in malls or shopping centers now engulfed by the poisonous up to 70% discount offered by the merchants. He hates crowds. I love crowds. We spent the entire afternoon there. We had ice cream. He took me home. I asked: do you love me? He answered: I do love you. I love him.’
‘I still remember when he took me to the museum. It was Sunday as well. At the museum, a throng of children greeted us cheekily asking about many things displayed there, which they could not understand. I love children. He hates children. I patiently entertained those kids. He chose to get rid of them. Yet, from a far, I know, he kept his eyes on me. It was so sweet and I was so happy but….’
‘Your son Sir began to disappear from my life at the point I cannot live without him. Countless unanswered calls; thousands un-replied sms-es; numerous un-responded e-mails. He just went away. Vanishing into the anomaly of unfulfilled hope. I never know what makes him run away from me. I never have any chance to ask. Things went bad when I miss him for I could never reach him. Then, I began to develop my addiction to hoping.’
‘In the search of my love; in an attempt to release myself from this addiction, I started to frequent the museums or the art galleries we used to go together. I went there in the hope to find him there. So far, I see not a glimpse of him. I began to seek for a face in the crowd. I develop a habit to observe who is in and out of the subway. Who knows he will be there commuting in the same train as I do. In the restaurant, before I take my seat I study the patrons eating their lunch there. Who knows he has his meal there. I always allocate my time to go to bookstores. He loves books and I love books as well. It is likely he will be there. But I never run into him.’
‘Good Sir, it’s been ages I don’t see your son. I don’t need to tell you how badly I miss him. Tell him Sir. Tell him I want to see him. Please tell him I am hurt but I can never hate him. Please Sir relate to him that he doesn’t have to love me the way I do love him. Please ask him to come to this restaurant and say hi hello how’s life with you dear. It shall be enough to make my day. I will be right here waiting. It’s truly shall be enough for me. I won’t hope for more.’
‘Nah, my time is up. I have to go. Tomorrow I will come again. Hope to see you again good Sir.’
‘Good evening Sir. Welcome to my restaurant. We serve the best seafood in town. My name is Uncle E and I am of the generation of the dictators’ chef. Yes, you are right I am the owner of this restaurant.’
‘That girl? Which girl? Oh, my good Sir, it must be her. I know that girl. She was, no, is my loyal customer. She is hospitalized right now, drowned in a deep comma. How can you are talking to a girl which is in a deep comma? Is that your question Sir? It was not her. It was her soul. You just conversed with a soul of a broken hearted.’
‘Such a sweet lass. Such a melancholic type. Poor cheerful girl. She was hit by a car right in front of my restaurant. What a careless young soul. She was after the man she loves when that dreaded car sent her into that bitter comma. For six years Sir. Six straight years she always came to my restaurant and sit in this table waiting for that lad to come. Now it is her love searching soul, which keeps lingering in the very place she met the man she loves for the first time. I am partly responsible for this sad melodrama. I introduced him to her. Never had I known she would fall for him this deep.’
‘That evening she came and launched her usual sweet greeting. “Evening my one and only Uncle E. How’s my dictator today?” I was about to say my usual “evening my sweet D” when she darted out of my restaurant to greet the glimpse of the man she yearns for. It was not even him I am telling you Sir. It was only a glimpse of him. These eyes, Sir. Before these eyes, her body flew to the thin air. I saw her soul departed her body. That loving soul stays here waiting for her love. But these hands, Sir. With these hands I carried her blood soaked body to the hospital. The body stays there refusing to expire. Not to die down before she meets the man she loves for the last time. The soul and the body work hand in hand to keep the hope glow. I never know such a power love may have.’
‘Sir, I always reserve that table for her. I do that to ease my guilt. Like I said, I am partly responsible for this telenovela.’
‘This evening she has chosen to greet you. I bet, no, I swear upon the holy blood of the dictators’ chef running in my vein you must have a son for the second child. See, I am right, am I not? Well, I saw you nodding your head. That man she loves is the second child of his family. She will only greet a man or a woman who has a son for the second child; a man and a woman whose number two sibling is a brother; a man and a woman whose second grandchild is a grandson. Never know how she noses them out.’
‘Good Sir, if you happen to be the father or the man she loves, please tell your son to come here, to my restaurant. A restaurant by the sea where she met a girl with a cheerful aura six years ago. Tell him, she does not want his love. She just wants to see him and listen to his “hi hello how’s life with you dear” before she leaves for good.’
‘Now Sir, may I take your order now? It’s on the house and I personally will serve you tonight. That’s the only thing I can do to make my sweet D happy.’
October 5, 2008
Patrisia
Kegelapan perlahan melepaskan pelukannya terhadap subuh sehingga subuh lamat-lamat menjelma menjadi pagi. Pagi yang cantik bersinar seiring matari perlahan-lahan merangkak naiki kolong langit yang mengangkangi Port Klang. Pagi yang ayu itu menyaksikan sebuah tongkang perlahan menjauhi dermaga. Kalau diperhatikan, kapal kayu itu terlihat seolah enggan berlepas dari pelabuhan seenggan anak kecil yang sedang asyik menyusu mesti berhenti menikmati puting susu ibunya karena sang ibu mesti buru-buru membikinkan bapaknya yang ringan tangan secangkir kopi manis.
“Saya sudah dua tahun merantau di Malaysia bang. Kata orang-orang di Malaysia itu mudah untuk cari rezeki. Negri Kolam Susu. Negrinya maju. Lebih maju dari negri sendiri bang. Banyak orang kita yang cari makan disini. Di Port Klang ini saja mungkin sebagian besar penduduknya adalah orang kita. Saking banyaknya orang kita disini, bagi saya Port Klang sudah bagai kampung sendiri bang.”
Hari tak lagi pagi. Sudah siang. Matari tak lagi cantik dan ramah tapi jadi garang dan terik. Siang dengan surya berang itu menjadi saksi yang angkuh atas usaha manusia untuk lepas dari kejaran maut yang tiba-tiba muncul dari genangan air raksasa. Sepuluh menit setelah enggan melepas dekapan pelabuhan pagi tadi, tongkang itu karam. Karam karena serakah. Tamak yang mengandaskan beribu, berjuta harapan seratus tiga puluh manusia yang berada di lambung tongkang itu dan asa ratusan manusia lainnya yang menunggu mereka di daratan seberang.
Lebaran tahun ini samudra minta tumbal dua belas nyawa. Idul Fitri tahun ini dua belas keluarga bermuram durja. Ada yang mati diantara mereka. Maut karena ada manusia yang loba. Manusia yang tidak bisa mengambil pelajaran sederhana dari seekor ikan maskoki yang dipenjara di dalam bejana kaca. Maskoki itu akan mati bila dia diberi makan terlalu banyak. Yah. Kapal kayu itu bagai ikan maskoki yang kekenyangan. Mati pada saat pagi baru berumur sepuluh menit. Dan diratapi pada saat pagi sudah malih rupa menjadi siang. Kenyang namun ada bau amis kematian tercium pada semilir angin laut. Paradoks.
“Sudah dua tahun di sini. Saya rindu kampung bang. Apalagi ini mau lebaran. Adik saya yang bungsu pasti sudah besar sekarang. Ibu kata, dia sudah kelas tiga SD. Semalam saya telpon pulang janji mau bawakan si bungsu gedung petronas. Saya beli sepuluh biji bang. Satu buat di pajang di atas tipi. Satu buat ditaruh di kamar saya. Selebihnya jadi oleh-oleh buat saudara dan tetangga. Saya juga sudah bilang sama Bapak bakal bawain jam roleks. Di Malaysia harga jam roleks murah bang. Kata orang-orang harga jam roleks itu bisa berjuta-juta rupiah. Mereka bohong barangkali ya bang. Di Petaling Strit saya beli cuma seharga tujuh puluh delapan ar em. Saya juga beli beg merek Ges buat Ibu. Itu lho bang tas jinjing yang diiklankan di majalah-majalah. Bagus bang.Cuma tiga puluh ringgit. Saya juga beli cokelat koin di Maydin dekat Pudu Raya. Niatnya sih buat isi toples waktu Lebaran. Tapi sayang semua tinggal mimpi. Semuanya ikut karam dengan tongkang yang saya tumpagi. Masih untung saya selamat bang. Masih hidup. Tapi saya sudah tidak punya apa-apa lagi. Hasil kerja keras selama dua tahun ludes dalam sepuluh menit.”
Ramai yang memanggil gadis itu dengan nama Patrisia. Sebenarnya namanya adalah Fitria. Tapi Uncle Lee, langganan tetap gerai nasi lemak tempat gadis itu bekerja kesusahan menyebut namanya dengan benar. “Fitreeyaa. You got difficult name ah.” Lelaki peranakan asal Malaka itu selalu berkata saat membeli seporsi nasi lemak di gerai itu. “Let me just call you Patrisia. It is easier to pronounce, isn’t it?” Uncle Lee yang berdarah Baba Nyonya melempar pandangan ke Cik Su, tauke Patrisia. “ No lah. Macam nama minah saleh jer. Nama orang Kristian. Lagi bagus Fitria. Macam nama orang Melayu kan.”
“Is it?” Muthu, mahasiswa hukum semester lima langganan Cik Su yang lain menyambung pembicaraan. “I prefer calling her Patrisia. It sounds better.” Pria muda itu melempar senyum kepada empunya nama yang sedang diperdebatkan. “Nah Patrisia saya nak tar pau nasi lemak. Bagi banyak ikan bilis sikit OK.” Memang begitu. Muthu memang menggilai ikan teri dan debat pagi itu berakhir ketika Patrisia beranjak untuk membungkuskan nasi lemak pesanan Muthu.
Cik Su tidak pernah tahu kalau di negara asal Patrisia, agama seseorang tidak bisa ditebak dari namanya. Patrisia mungkin kedengaran asing. Seperti nama yang datang dari negeri raksasa berkulit putih berambut jagung. Tapi Fitria pun lebih suka dipanggil Patrisia. Gadis ayu itu pikir nama Malaysianya lebih bagus dari namanya di kampung. Sejak saat itu semua orang terkecuali Cik Su panggil dia Patrisia.
Patrisia disamping cantik adalah gadis yang rajin. Sayang dia tidak tamat sekolah dasar. Sekolah cuma sampai kelas lima SD. Cuma bisa tulis baca dan hitungan sederhana. Bapaknya orang melarat. Ibunya juga miskin dan tidak beruntung karena dia terlahir perempuan. Beban buat keluarga dan dikawinkan pada usia muda. Patrisia punya adik tiga. Semua laki-laki.
Kalau saja keserakahan tidak pernah ada di muka bumi, Patrisia mungkin tidak akan pernah terpikir untuk mengadu nasib ke Malaysia.
“Banyak suka dukanya bang kerja disini. Saya pernah kerja jadi pembantu rumah tangga selama enam bulan. Nama Mem saya Mem Saroj dan suaminya Ser Selvaraj. Mem Saroj sih baik Bang. Dia cikgu. Macam guru kalau orang kita panggilnya. Ser dia tentara. Sering ngga ada dirumah jadi jarang ngobrol. Enam bulan kerja sama Mem saya belajar banyak bang. Buat masakan macam-macam. Tiap hari ahad pasti Mem suruh saya bikin nasi briyani. Tapi lauknya daging kambing aja sebab keluarga Mem ndak makan daging sapi.”
“Yang susah itu kalau sama Paati bang, ibu mertua Mem. Orangnya bawel. Maklum sudah tua. Sudah pikun. Kata Mem tugas saya cuma masak dan bersihin rumah. Tapi Paati sering maksa kalau saya juga harus kerja di kebun bunga di samping rumah teres Mem. Habis itu saya juga harus pijat Paati sampai dia tertidur. Cerewetnya ga tahan bang kayak nenek saya di kampung.”
Nenek Patrisia sudah lama mati. Tepatnya dua tahun lalu. Dia mati terbunuh. Keserakahan manusia yang menghabisi nyawanya. Sebidang tanah yang menghidupi keluarga Patrisia di kampung adalah hasil kerja kerasnya. Saat ayam belum lagi berkokok, Nenek sudah memulai hari membuat api untuk membuat penganan kecil dagangannya. Dia berangkat ke pasar saat langit keperakan. Nenek baru akan berhenti bekerja saat itik-itik diangon pulang oleh penggembala kala cakrawala keemasan. Tapi dua tahun yang lalu dia mati. Jantungnya berhenti berdetak ketika lumpur melumat sepetak tanah hasil membanting sekerat tulangnya. Dia mati karena ada yang serakah.
“Kasihan nenek bang. Harapannya ditenggelamkan lumpur. Makanya saya kerja di Malaysia biar bisa beli tanah lagi buat digarap Bapak. Tapi kerja jadi pembantu duitnya dikit bang. Gaji yang sudah sedikit itu pun sering dipotong sama ejen. Mereka bilang gaji saya dipotong buat bayar hutang saya sama mereka. Saya ngga ngerti hutang apa. Kata ejen, saya hutang mereka ongkos bikin paspor, tambang ke Malaysia sama biaya permit. Padahal waktu itu mereka bilang ke Bapak dengan duit lima juta saya dijamin kerja di Malaysia. Beres. Tidak perlu potong gaji. Karena yakin sama omongan ejen itu Bapak kasih izin saya ke Malaysia. Sedangkan duit buat urus segala urusan Bapak pinjam dari rentenir. Bunganya gede mas. Rentenir sana kan sama kejamnya sama ah long disini. Makanya lebaran ini saya pulang bawa duit buat bayar utang. Kalau ngga bayar mereka ngancam mau ngambil rumah yang di kampung.”
Sekali lagi, keserakahan manusia memaksa Patrisia mengambil keputusan berat untuk bertolak ke kampung halamannya. Keputusan yang sarat bahaya karena dia kosong. Yah. Kosong adalah istilah yang dipakai untuk menggambarkan orang asing tanpa dokumen resmi di Negri Kolam Susu. Patrisia pilih naik tongkang pulang kampung karena dia tidak mungkin naik pesawat karena dia kosong. Kosong. Patrisia memang kosong segala-galanya. Dia kosong akan kesadaran bahwa bekerja tanpa dokumen di negeri asing adalah bahaya dan merugi. Dia kosong akan pengetahuan kalau tongkang yang nyaris mencabut nyawanya bukan ditujukan untuk manusia tapi untuk sayur dan dedemit. Satu-satunya isi yang terkandung dalam diri gadis itu adalah niat suci untuk membantu keluarga. Menyekolahkan adik mesti dia sendiri tidak bersekolah. Satu isi kecil yang lebih besar dari kekosongan-kekosongan raksasa yang mencengkram kehidupan Patrisia. Sebuah ironi.
“Kata Encik Nurdin, saya bisa pulang kampung walaupun kosong. Cukup bayar delapan ratus ringgit. Nggak perlu takut sama petugas imigresen. Nggak perlu khawatir bakal masuk lokap. Semua dia yang urus. Makanya saya mau naik tongkang bang. Encik Nurdin itu orang sini bang. Temannya Mas Toyo, orang sana, orang kita. Mereka berdua yang urus biar saya tidak mesti ditanya-tanya petugas imigresen kalau mau pulang. Mas Toyo sih menawarkan saya pulang naik pesawat. Dia bisa bikinkan paspor. Dia bisa ngasih saya mykad asal mau jadi istri dia. Saya ndak mau Bang. Saya ndak cinta.”
Memang begitu di Negeri Kolam Susu. Paspor dan dokumen identitas lain boleh diproduksi massal macam bikin keripik singkong. Patrisia hanyalah noktah kecil pada hamparan sistem besar yang dikendalikan mafia perdagangan manusia-manusia kosong dua negara yang katanya pernah menjadi sepupu. Atau saudara? Mungkin sekedar jiran. Patrisia menjadi kosong setelah dia kabur dari rumah keluarga Subramaniam. Kerja disana selama enam bulan gajinya tidak dibayar. Dipotong agen buat bayar hutang. Hutang yang Patrisia tahu tidak pernah dia punyai. Tuan dan Nyonya Subramaniam, majikan Patrisia juga sama kosongnya karena mereka percaya sepenuhnya dengan agen soal gaji Patrisia. Patrisia yang dulu berstatus sebagai TKW atau tenaga kerja wanita kini menjadi PATI, pendatang asing tanpa izin karena dia memilih lepas dari sistem yang menahan paspornya. Beberapa lembar kertas dalam bentuk buku kecil yang menjadi nyawa kedua bagi para musafir yang mengadu nasib di negeri para hantu.
“Saya kabur dari rumah Mem dan Ser. Mereka baik tapi saya perlu uang. Setelah numpang di tempat teman selama dua minggu saya diterima kerja di tempat Cik Su. Teman saya itu juga kerja di sana. Saya dengar Cik Su mau menerima saya karena saya kosong. Jadi dia boleh bayar saya dengan murah. Tidak mengapa bang. Cik Su juga baik. Beliau mau kasih saya cuti waktu malam tahun baru. Saya pergi ke Ki-El lihat kembang api di Keelsisi. Bagus bang. Belum pernah saya lihat yang begitu.”
KLCC memang daya tarik tersendiri bagi Negri Kolam Susu. Pada malam tahun baru semua bangsa berbagai warna yang menyembah beragam tuhan memang sering berkumpul. Bertemu. Merempuh bahaya. Bagi mereka yang kosong, jalan-jalan ke Kuala Lumpur adalah suatu petualangan. Mereka bisa saja bertemu dengan RELA. Prajurit bentukan para punggawa Negri Kolam Susu. Tugas prajurit ini salah satunya adalah menangkapi setiap manusia kosong yang bernafas di Malaysia. Prajurit itu juga kosong. Kosong perkerjaan lain yang lebih terhormat tapi punya seragam yang membuat mereka berisi. Tugas mereka sama seperti tugas penangkap tikus di kampung Patrisia. Sekali mereka tangkap seorang manusia kosong mereka akan diupah dengan uang seharga $25. Huh. Manusia di Negri Kolam Susu terkadang berubah menjadi tikus. Lucu.
“Saya pernah kena tangkap sama RELA. Waktu itu saya pergi ke Pasar Seni mau beli kalung buatan Siam. Seram bang. Kawan saya kan ada yang dihamili anggota RELA. Sampai melahirkan bang. Nama anaknya Putri Mangsa Rela. Tapi saya beruntung encik itu hanya minta duit.”
“Awak nak ikut ke balai atau kita settle kan di sini?”
“Begitu dia tanya Bang. Saya kasih aja duit setengah gaji saya bulan itu. Encik itu juga untung. Kalau dia pilih bawa saya ke balai polis kan dia cuma dapat dikit.” Lagipula saya ndak mau masuk lokap. Saya mau pulang lebaran ini. Mau bayar hutang Bapak sama rentenir yang serakah. Tapi gimana semua uang saya sudah tenggelam. Semua yang saya punya sudah karam.”
“Pemirsa, saat ini saya sedang bersama dengan Bapak Duta Besar Republik Indonesia untuk Malaysia”. Reporter tivi dengan seragam biru langit berbicara di depan kamera. Mimiknya serius. Disampingnya berdiri seorang manusia tidak kosong yang punya kuasa mesti Negri Kolam Susu bukan kerajaannya. Mimik bapak itu tampak lebih serius dari si reporter. Ini memang kasus besar pertamanya setelah baru beberapa bulan menjabat. “Pak Duta Besar, sebenarnya apa penyebab musibah yang menimpa para pahlawan devisa kita ini?” Reporter pintar dia tidak menggunakan istilah TKI tapi Pahlawan Devisa. “Musibah ini sebenarnya terjadi karena tongkang yang mereka tumpangi kelebihan muatan. Seharusnya tongkang itu hanya berkapasitas tujuh puluh orang tapi saat kejadian tongkang itu bermuatan lebih dari 130 orang.” Bapak berisi itu memberikan penjelasannya.
“Lalu bagaimana nasib para korban yang selamat Pak?”
“Mereka akan dipulangkan ke kampung halaman masing-masih setelah urusan mereka selesai dengan pihak imigrasi Malaysia. Kita berharap mereka bisa berlebaran bersama keluarga mereka.”
Patrisia mencuri dengar wawancara reporter televisi itu dengan sang duta besar. Dia tergugu. Tersedu. Dia yang kosong tidak akan pernah bisa pulang buat mudik. Lebaran tahun ini dia tidak bisa pulang. Tidak ada miniatur Petronas Twin Towers buat adiknya. Tidak ada Guess hand bag oplosan untuk ibunya. Bapaknya tidak bakal pakai roleks lebaran ini. Rumahnya juga mungkin akan diambil alih oleh rentenir. Semua karam ditelan keserakahan.
Siang nan garang sudah tidak lagi bertenaga. Dia menua dan menjadi senja. Cahaya lembut menerpa kulit Patrisia. Perlahan dia menyelinap lamat-lamat keluar dari kumpulan manusia berwajah kosong dengan tatapan hampa. Dia berjalan menuju kekosongan jalan setapak nan gelap. Gulita.
“Demikianlah laporan kami dari Port Klang, Malaysia. Saya Andrea Kusno. News TV”.
