[Orific] Deep Snow

A/N: Happy new year!

My first memory of that day was white snowdrops slowly falling onto me.

I think it was deep into the night judging from the absence of other noises, but strangely enough, I didn't register the coldness. Even though it should have been freezing. I was silent as I laid there on the soft bed made of snow, gazing blankly at the snow petals. It was so pretty. It was mesmerizing. Had I ever seen something as majestic before? No, not really. A scenery as beautiful as this would certainly leave a mark in my memories, yet I could find no such thing. Ah, yes, this was the first. 

And then I blinked. 

"Yo. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

A figure. He—or at least I thought it was a he—wore a black cape that shielded his eyes, I could only found his delicate lips and sharp chin from down here. Who? I tried to think with my dull brain, questioning my mute senses about his arrival. I didn't know if I didn't catch him coming my way, as deep in a trance as I had been, or if he had been very silent when he approached me. 

"Hey, hey, you can at least look a bit more surprised, you know," the figure spoke again as he crouched down. He put his chin on one hand, as though he was bored out of his mind as he peered down. "You're no fun."

I blinked.

"Heh, I suppose you're too far gone, huh? This won't even hurt then."

What?

My eyes followed him as he straightened his back with a little heave, as he pulled out a huge scythe seemingly out of nowhere, as his small lips curved beautifully into a smirk. When he readied his scythe, though, for a milisecond his cape was pulled back and I could spot two sparkling crimson eyes. It was then I understood. Not with my dull brain and mute senses, no. I understood with my whole soul.

He was my Death.

Such a long-awaited reunion. Too bad it would be gone in another second, don't you think? But I was satisfied, I had no complaint. At the last moment, I was able to stretch my own lips into a small smile too.

Hello, Death.

Meet the OCs!

Just a quick, random thought.

How much do you develop your OCs? You know, original characters? Whether in original story or in some fandom? Those who write novels or something like that surely have an extended development of their OCs, sure, but as someone who don't, how much do you develop your OCs?

[Orific] Hancur: A Sequel

Suara hujan. Tik-tik-tik, makin deras, lalu angin, tik-tik-tik, kaca jendela basah kuyup. Aku basah kuyup. Berlindung di bawah atap ala kadarnya di depan sembarang toko, aku masih menjadi sasaran empuk tetesan air hujan yang terbawa angin kencang. Dingin. Aku mulai menggigil. Kepalaku pening.

'Seharusnya tadi aku pulang lebih cepat,' sesalku. Bodoh karena sudah menunggu sampai awan mendung berkumpul sedemikian pekat, tolol karena mengabaikan cakaran angin dingin yang membawa bau hujan dari jauh. 'Seharusnya aku pulang lebih cepat,' ulangku dalam hati. Bukan malah bersikeras menanti munculnya seorang lelaki yang tidak memberi kabar. Dan lebih bodohnya lagi, dalam kondisi begini, aku malah mengecek ponsel dengan harapan melihat notifikasi pesan masuk dari yang kutunggu.

Nihil. Mataku bergeser sedikit ke arah empat digit angka di sisi atas kanan layar. Satu jam lewat dari waktu janjian. Aku ingin tersenyum tapi bibirku malah bergetar karena dingin. Aku mengusap mata karena seperti ada air mata di sana, tapi hanya dinginnya hujan yang kurasa. Satu jam dan aku masih mencoba percaya pada lelaki itu. Aah, bodoh, bodoh.

'Hiiragi Maki, kau benar-benar goblok,' aku memarahi diri sendiri. Hanya saja, mengatakan hal itu rasanya sudah terlalu klise—aku tidak tertarik meneruskan. Mari alihkan perhatian saja.

Sambil menarik anak rambut yang jatuh ke depan mata, aku mulai menghitung-hitung. Probabilitas terbesar aku baru akan sampai di rumah sekitar pukul enam, atau tujuh kalau aku tidak beruntung. Nanti aku mau berendam air hangat yang lama. Sepertinya aku masih punya lilin aromaterapi yang sangat kusukai itu, jadi aku akan menyalakannya juga. Setelah puas, aku bisa langsung ke tempat tidur karena semua pekerjaan untuk besok sudah kusiapkan sebelumnya. Sekali-sekali tidur sebelum jam sembilan boleh lah, apalagi rasanya aku lelah sekali. Mungkin satu bab novel misteri itu sebelum benar-benar terlelap. Yap, rencana bagus.

Oh, aku juga harus menelepon Shou-kun besok pagi.

Perlahan aku berjongkok lalu memeluk lutut. Tidak punya energi untuk sekedar menangis.

.:.:.

“Shou-kun. Ini Maki. Kemarin kamu tidak datang... Jadi kapan aku bisa menemuimu? Kamu tahu, untuk membentakmu habis-habisan? Karena aku marah. Marah sungguhan.”

Pip. Pagi ini, ponsel Shou-kun masih tidak bisa dihubungi. Akhirnya aku meninggalkan pesan saja, karena aku tahu ada kemungkinan Shou-kun hanya menghindar dan sengaja tidak mengangkat teleponku. Pesan yang bodoh, pula. Seharusnya kan aku langsung memarahinya, terang-terangan mengatakan kalau aku sakit hati setelah dia melanggar janjinya. Maki yang biasanya pasti bisa menyampaikan rasa kesalnya dalam beberapa kalimat pedas, dan Shou-kun akan meminta maaf lalu mentraktir sushi—bam, kondisi kembali seperti sedia kala.

Masalahnya, aku lelah. Terlalu lelah untuk berbicara dengan berapi-api. Terlalu penat untuk mulai berbicara dengan Shou-kun tentang dinginnya pertemanan kami belakangan ini. Menyalahkan diri sendiri rasanya beribu kali lipat lebih mudah. Aku tinggal melemparkan kata-kata tanpa suara pada orang di dalam cermin itu. Toh dia menerima dengan sepenuh hati. Bahkan tidak berusaha mendengarkan logika. Lihat, lebih mudah, tidak perlu tenaga. Aku sudah kehabisan tenaga.

Orang di dalam cermin itu menatap kosong. Padahal semalam tidurku nyenyak. Begitu bangun, aku sadar energiku sama sekali tidak kembali.

Maka sekali lagi aku menyalahkan diri sendiri.

A/N: I'm sorry again, Maki. You have to bear the burdens again.

[Orific] Hancur

Aku mendecakkan lidah dengan kesal. Kedua mata sibuk berputar-putar memindai seluruh penjuru taman, tanpa hasil karena kepala rambut merah yang dicari tidak kunjung ketemu. Padahal aku sudah menunggu sejak, entahlah, tiga puluh menit yang lalu? Tempat ini berangin, aku lupa memakai jaket yang lebih tebal, dan orang yang kutunggu masih belum menunjukkan batang hidungnya. Bagus. Aku mengusap kedua pipiku sebal.

Sekali lagi aku mengeluarkan ponsel dari saku dan mengecek notifikasi. Masih belum ada pesan masuk. Saat kulihat pesan terakhir yang kukirim, juga belum ada tanda pesan telah dibaca. Desah panjang dan berat meninggalkan hidungku, sementara aku mengembalikan ponsel ke tempat semula. Tidak ada kabar, tidak ada tanda-tanda kehidupan. Memangnya ke mana cowok satu itu? Aku tahu dia bukan tipe yang mengecek notifikasinya setiap menit (Iya, beda seratus delapan puluh derajat denganku.), tapi dengan kondisi sedang ada janji ketemu, bukannya wajar kalau melihat ponsel barang sekilas?

Tiga puluh lima menit. Angin masih berembus tanpa henti, dan aku mulai merasa putus asa. Tumbuh keinginan dalam lubuk hati untuk melupakan janji ini dan pulang saja, mendekam di balik selimut sambil membaca novel. Tapi, ah, aku ingin bertemu. Jujur, aku ingin bertemu dengannya. Selama libur musim panas dia tidak di Yokohama, sementara aku terpaksa tinggal karena kerja sambilan. Aku kangen. Makanya aku buat janji bertemu begitu tahu bahwa dia sudah kembali ke kota ini.

Tapi sepertinya yang kangen hanya pihakku. Pikiran-pikiran buruk mulai bertunas. Jangan-jangan dia bohong saat bilang sudah kembali. Jangan-jangan pacarnya datang ke apartemennya duluan, jadi dia tidak bisa (atau tidak mau) pergi memenuhi janji denganku. Jangan-jangan, jangan-jangan...

Napasku memendek. Seperti ingin menangis, tapi tidak bisa. Seperti ingin berteriak, tapi tidak bisa. Pada akhirnya, yang bertahan hanyalah rasa pasrah dan putus asa ini. Perih dan pahit kutelan saat menengadah, memperhatikan awan yang bergerak berkumpul perlahan. Sepertinya akan hujan. Aku harus pulang.

Maka aku meninggalkan taman itu, dengan senyum tipis yang seperti pilu.

A/N: Hiiragi Maki, I'm sorry I put this burden on you.

Berdamai

"Pada akhirnya, aku bisa berdamai dengan diriku sendiri." Gadis itu menatap jauh ke horizon, senyumnya tipis dengan jejak-jejak luka yang ditanggungnya sendiri selama bertahun-tahun. Itu senyum seorang pejuang, yang garis antara menang dan kalah terburamkan oleh masa kini. Tangan kirinya meremas bagian depan bajunya, bagian yang berada tepat di atas jantung. "Karena kalau tidak, aku pasti hancur."

Sekarang gadis itu berdiam diri. Dia tidak terlihat bangga ketika mengatakan sudah berdamai dengan dirinya sendiri. Dia hanya terlihat lelah. Mungkin berdamai tidak sama artinya dengan memenangkan pertempuran, aku menyadari. Mungkin iblis dalam hatinya masih ada di sana, membara menyerang isi tubuhnya hingga mengelupas, hingga bernanah. Tapi tak lagi dia melawan. Dia memilih untuk menjilat luka itu dalam diam dan menunggu hingga sang iblis berhenti, baru kemudian dia bisa berdiri tegak dan melangkah maju lagi.

Dia bukan gadis yang luar biasa, apalagi sempurna, tapi bagiku dia punya kilauan tersendiri. Aku tahu gadis itu selalu berusaha untuk mendengarkan kisah dari teman-temannya, menguatkan mereka, menemani mereka ketika tangis melanda--sementara dia sendiri selalu bersikap seolah tidak ada masalah. Ada waktu di mana aku menunggu gadis itu datang padaku, untuk menceritakan keluh kesahnya, tapi tidak pernah hal itu terjadi. Dia selalu berhasil mengenali kekurangannya sendiri, dan berhasil mengatasi masalah-masalahnya sendiri. Dia bukan gadis yang kuat, tapi jelas dia tidak lemah.

Aku melihat senyumnya yang masih setipis tadi, dengan napas yang sedikit bergetar, dan aku terpesona.

[Fanfic] But You Were A Lie

Title: But You Were A Lie

Author: Vianna Orchidia / Annasthacy Chashyme
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII Series
Character: Lightning Farron, Hope Estheim
Rating: K
Genre: General
Disclaimer: I do not own the series and the characters, and I do not gain any profit from this fanfiction

Warning: OOC, set sometime during LR, see A/N below.

I was just a lie, a fake. But the feelings became real.

I love you. I always have.

--Serah to Lightning in LR

He reached out to take her hand, but she flinched and swatted him away, almost defensively, and he could only smile in sadness. He understood. He could imagine the whirlwind of emotions in her more-than-human body, turning and throwing things into disarray, into dismay. He could understand if she got wary of him now, if she hadn't before.

He was no longer the man she once knew during their l'Cie times, after all. Rather, that man never even existed. Hope Estheim had never been there.

“Light,” he whispered. Beaten and admitting loss. “I...”

The rose-haired woman closed her eyes. Hearing that voice would destroy her again, again, again— “Leave,” she said between gritted teeth. “Leave, NOW!”

She was broken, she was shattered, she was not hiding the sound of her heart falling into unmendable pieces on the floor. It took everything in him not to rush toward her. He felt a lone drop of tear on his cheek as he wished that Hope Estheim, the real Hope Estheim wherever that dead existence might be, he prayed so hard that Hope Estheim would appear this instant to soothe the pain away from his most beloved woman.

Hope Estheim's existence was a lie.

Then was this terrible in his chest a lie too?

A/N:

[headcanon where Bhunivelze killed Hope after extracting his memories, and then made a copy of him. This copy is the Hope that Light sees in LR. He was made by God and was given memories, but not a soul. In the end, because this fake!Hope studied the memories thoroughly to be able to interact naturally with Light, he fell in love with Light too. Very similar to Serah's case.

By the way, as continuation from this drabble, I also have a headcanon that real!Hope's soul has always been in the chaos, because he was killed and already dead before Light awoke, so he could be reborn safely. Not sure if this headcanon will make its way into a real piece of writing tho.]

[I HATE MYSELF FOR WRITING ANGST FOR MY OTP]

[Fanfic] Limbo In You

Title: Limbo In You

Author: Vianna Orchidia / Annasthacy Chashyme
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIII Series
Character: Hope Estheim, Lightning Farron, Rose-Haired Phantom?
Rating: K
Genre: General
Disclaimer: I do not own the series and the characters, and I do not gain any profit from this fanfiction

Warning: read A/N below.

Another dream. Dreaming meant seeing her, the rose-haired phantom that always carried sadness in her eyes somehow. And Hope was beginning to learn more about this woman, while she seemed to know everything there was to know about him in the first place. How she did it, though, he would never know.

When the darkness of sleep slowly changed into stark whiteness, he would always find her standing straight in the center of this realm. (He began to call this his personal dream realm, located inside his head, the dark parts not yet discovered by humanity. She didn't complain.) Just like tonight. She was there, as if she had been waiting for him in the deepest recess of his mind during the day. Her face was devoid of any emotion but her eyes were soft.

They didn't say anything at first. Eyes met eyes, ocean blue to sea foam green, reading each other. He finally gave up, a little too quickly, in favor of his unstoppable curiosity.

“What are you?”

The rose-haired phantom showed a small smile on the corner of her full lips. It was almost parody, he realized, because once upon a time he asked who she was. (Back when he was younger, feeble, new to this woman.)

“I am a being,” she started, a little unsure at first, but regaining confidence then, “that only exist inside you.”

He frowned. “Why me?” he asked softly.

“...you shall find out in time. For now, just believe that this is not something I could control myself.”

“Then, are you real?”

A second of silence ensued as the woman in military uniform turned her eyes away from his. “As real as you are... I think.”

“You think? That's not very convincing, you know.”

“I know,” she turned around. “Even to me, it doesn't feel real. But I'm here, I'm still here, so it means I still exist, real.” Hope noticed her shoulders were shaking a bit before she clenched her fist tightly.

“Please, Hope, don't forget about me.”

A/N: 

So this is just a quick fanfic, not really meant to be continued. The main point here is Hope was reborn into the new world.. while Light wasn't. Something went wrong or something, and her soul ended up inside Hope's body instead of her own body. That's why she was real, a separate being from Hope, but she could only exist inside his mind. It's weird, I know, but I guess I got ahead of myself lol.

[Orific] Do You Love Him?

Father's piercing gaze unsettled me. In his kind, gentle eyes I found reluctant acknowledgement. He stared at me warmly, like any other day, but I felt he knew something I did not. He was trying to tell me something, I knew. Something along the lines of 'open your eyes, my daughter'.

Father's small smile unnerved me. He looked at me funny, holding his laughter in, and I couldn't stop the warm feeling inside my gut. He was telling me something in the way he smiled at me. My blood answered to him, my flesh responded to him.

Finally he opened his mouth. "Do you love him, my daughter?"

Air was forced out of my lungs immediately. Out of all things, it was one I could never expect from him. I tried to breath normally, but my heart suddenly punded faster, harder, and I found myself lacking the ability to stay calm.

A thousand thoughts, a million memories flooded harshly into my mind in a second. About him. About that one man who stole my undivided attention. About that kind man who listened to my stories and let me listen to his stories. About that amazing man who always did his best for everyone around him.

My eyes watered.

So much, so much I wanted to say. Words alone could not suffice. My feelings throughout the years could not be expressed in mere words. It was too much.

But as I blinked the tears away, I caught Father looking at me gently. His eyes dove deep inside my brain, and all of a sudden I understood. He was reading my mind. I needed not to explain, because he heard everything from my eyes. I never needed words, silly me. He already knew everything, because we are linked by blood and flesh.

I openly cried now.

"Do you, my dearest, love him?" Father repeated his question, and this time I knew I only have one word to say, to represent the whole turbulent feelings inside me.

"Yes." An image of him flashed before my eyes, and I embraced it dearly. "God, yes, I do."


A/N: I don't know why I wrote this, but it felt good.

[Orific] Redemption

A gasp left her lips. With trembling breath she tried to calm down, to ignore the piercing pain that just lodged in her chest. It almost felt like a plate of lead was hammered into her chest--heavy, painful. But when she peered into the giant mirror situated across the room, she only saw herself. Bleeding eyes, labored huffs of air, and sickly pale skin that hugged her limp body like a death call. Her clothes were still intact (though very messily strewn on her body) and not a piece of metal was on her chest.

It was just her imagination.

She begged to differ, though. The ache was definitely there, right in the core of her chest and lungs and heart. Her small fingers grasped blindly onto the fabric of her nightgown because the pain was almost unbearable. She choked, an ugly sound that bordered a sob. She couldn't even cry--the rivers had long dried form the drought she taught herself to make.

"Help me," she groaned, a broken holler--but who was she kidding? There was only her in that room, in that house, in that world. Everyone she could turn into had gone. Before she knew it, she was all alone to deal with her wounds and her imaginary plate of lead.

Another surge of pain shot into her own and she let out a guttural groan again. It hurts, she said. Who can offer consolation? What can offer consolation?

And then she the young lady started to scratch at her forearm. The long nails, well-groomed and colored in blood, drew fine line on the vulnerable skin. The lines were pinkish but they vanished quickly. The small action, however, gave comfort to her. It was something she learned way back, about a year or two; that the pain on her skin and flesh dulled the ache of her heart. She had been breathless at that time of discovery, both from delight and from utter fear.

Just what had she found? An inhuman part of human beings. She quickly labelled it as repulsive and hid the knowledge of little redemption in the farthest corner of her brain.

But now--now the pain had intensified and she couldn't help seeking that once found redemption again. She pressed her nails again, a little deeper and rougher this time, and dragged them along her forearm. It felt nice. She no longer felt as heavy. Another line, then another, and another.

She couldn't stop.

The books on the floor, on the shelves, on the tables; they stared sadly at the broken piece of being God named human. They watched as the girl started to show a twisted smile that didn't look very sane. They sung a heedless lullaby to their master, wishing she would stop hurting herself.

When her whole forearm were stained with red lines, and the pain had gone considerably, the girl was finally able to close her eyes and fell into the long-needed slumber.

But who knew if she would wake up in agony yet again, and started the foul deed to freed herself?

The Right Person

I'm waiting for the right person, and the right time, to share about my darkest secret. The forbidden emotion that once sprouted well in my heart. In all honesty, I humored the prospect of actually dwelling in that emotion too. Watered it, nurtured it. I was killing myself, I know, but it had felt so good.

Being bad always feels so good.

I'm waiting for the right person to tell, and I'm really, really looking forward to his reaction to my confession. Will he reprimand me? Will he stare wide-eyed, disgusted at me? Or will he smile bitterly and say, it's in the past?

 I'm also wondering, what kind of face will I make as I tell the story? What kind of tone and voice will I use to speak of the past I don't really lament?

I do not lament that aspect of me. No. I just think that it's part of the process. An important, precious part of it. Without it I wouldn't be the me I am right now. I figure that this secret will serve as a reminder.

Of my hidden insanity.

I am aware, when I reflect back to those days, that I've grown a dark part that spells insanity. At first it was fun; I was tired of being a good girl so this insanity helped relieve the stress. But now, as I look back, I found it not at all pleasing. A little scared even.

Will my right person also feel scared like this?

Not to mention that lately, my stress management has been bad. The insanity has been, well, maybe three or four years of dormant state--but with my poor stress management, I managed to provoke it again. In depressed times I find myself unable to stop the insanitty. It's coming back, even stronger, and still growing--and it eats away at my body and soul.

I try not to be scared. I try to accept it. Thinking perhaps, if I don't reject it, the insanity will ebb away eventually. I suppose it does, but during the process of slipping away, it still consumes my soul painfully. I'm afraid one day when it finally disappears completely, my soul would be left only so little.

Then I get scared again, and it brings me back to square one. Once again I find myself sitting at a place, blindly searching in my surrounding that tells me where I am, what I'm doing here, and who I have become.

I'm still waiting for the right person to come and take me home.

Mencoba Grafologi

Pagi ini, tiba-tiba teringat dengan ilmu grafologi sederhana yang saya baca di sebuah novel teenlit. Menurut novel tersebut, tulisan tangan manusia bisa dibagi menjadi empat kategori besar: berbentuk bulat, kotak, segitiga, atau kurva (tidak beraturan). Tiap kategori menggambarkan karakter orangnya. Bukan tidak mungkin satu orang memiliki lebih dari satu karakter.

Bulat: idealis soal cinta

Kotak: paling mementingkan kenyamanan

Segitiga: keras dan cenderung main fisik

Kurva: fleksibel dan artistik (or something like that, saya juga lupa sih. Sifatnya kurang lebih seperti golongan darah AB)

Yang paling mudah untuk diteliti adalah tanda tangan seseorang. Hal ini dikarenakan tulisan tangan biasa masih dipengaruhi dengan situasi dan kondisi saat seseorang menulis. Lain halnya dengan tanda tangan, yang bentuknya cenderung tetap dan tidak terpengaruh kondisi emosional penulis, apalagi tanda tangan selalu digoreskan dengan cepat dan tanpa pikir panjang.

Setelah bertahun-tahun mengetahui konsep ini, baru tadi pagi saya kepikiran untuk meneliti tanda tangan saya sendiri. Dan hasilnya?

Tanda tangan saya membentuk bulat dan segita, dengan keduanya memiliki proporsi sama besar.

So... hahaha? Idealis soal cinta, memang, karena saya juga seorang Libra. Tapi keras dan main fisik...? Keras, oke, masih boleh lah, kata-kata saya seringkali tajam—tapi soal main fisik...

I don't know what to say.

Pidato Pak Rektor

New semester, new lessons to take, new teachers.

Hari Jumat kemarin adalah pertemuan pertama mata kuliah Pengantar Kesusastraan Umum, sekaligus pertemuan pertama dengan Bapak Puji yang mengampu mata kuliah tersebut. Orangnya menyenangkan, tidak kaku, banyak bercerita tapi tidak lupa dengan topik awal, dan guyonannya tidak payah.

Di satu titik, Bapak Puji berkata, "Tiap tahun, pidato rektor pada saat wisuda selalu sama. Tapi itu selalu berhasil membuat semua orang menangis. Padahal cuma satu kalimat, tapi selalu berhasil menembus sanubari para wisudawan dan orangtua."

"Saya mau, setelah ini, kalian semua membalikkan badan. Pergi ke orangtua kalian. Lalu ucapkan dua kata sederhana. 'Terima kasih'."

"Setiap kali rektor mengatakan hal ini, belum lagi mereka balik badan, belum lagi mereka pergi ke orangtua masing-masing, tapi semuanya pasti sudah mulai menangis."

Masalahnya, Pak Puji--saya bahkan belum wisuda, belum berada di gedung ACC, belum memakai toga dan belum mendengarkan pidato rektor--

--tapi saya sudah menangis.

Tidak bisa saya menahan air mata yang menggenang di pelupuk. Teman-teman saya tersenyum geli melihat saya berkaca-kaca, tapi mau bagaimana lagi. Karena topik orangtua selalu jadi topik sensitif buat saya. Orangtua adalah orang paling berharga dalam hidup saya.

Otou-san. Okaa-san. Arigatou.

[Poetry] Capek, Padahal Tak Pasti

Sang udara berhilir-mudik
Ia lewat di depan wajah berkali-kali
Hawanya dingin
Merasuk lewat celah pori

"Diamlah," aku hardik
"Aku hanya ingin menunggu,
tahu?"
"Jangan ganggu!"

Dia menolak--dasar bebal
Hawanya membekukan
Meresap sampai tulang
Sudah, aku tidak tahan
Menunggu membuat payah
Aku menyerah
-03022014-

A/N: THAT'S LIKE THE LAMEST TITLE I'VE EVER MADE LOOOOL
By the way, ini dibuat waktu saya janjian sama temen di kampus tapi mereka nggak datang-datang, dan waktu itu memang lagi berangin, saya sampai kedinginan nungguin mereka -___-
Oooh dan waktu itu lagi galau-galaunya karena IP nggak keluar-keluar padahal jurusan lain udah pada keluar 8D

ADHD, or Not?

So if you happen to have me in your friend list on Facebook, you may have read my rambling just a while ago (it's in Indonesian though). It's something about getting shocked after re-reading an old piece of fanfiction. I found it quite decently written, with decent flow of words--which is complete opposite compated to my latest pieces that tend to get rushed. I reasoned that I usually get restless after spending some time writing/typing stories (or articles, or anything in that case, even this post) and always wants to finish as soon as possible.

I have always known I have attention problems. I can't write anything without minimizing it for a quick twitter check, or maybe a round or two of games. I can't sit and study for hours without getting up and walking around the house (or talking to my friends, if the study is during class). But only now I consider the possibility of having ADHD, as minor as it may be.

I found this on internet:

[Orific] Sweet Orange

At daybreak I awoke to the smell of oranges. The sweet, fresh fragrance filled my nostrils immediately, giving me a slight nausea. I proceeded to stand up while covering my nose and wandered to the living room. There my sister was, peeling oranges indulgently and sipped the juices off the fruit, leaving dry, crumpled skin of oranges in the trashcan.

"Morning," I said hoarsely.

"Hey," she smiled back. "Go drink first, your voice's horrible."

I stepped to the water dispenser and poured myself a glass of water which I quickly downed. "Eating oranges this early, sis? You'll get stomachache."

My raven-haired sister merely laughed it off. "It's a fetish; I can't help it." Her almost curly hair bounced around as her shoulder shook with laughter. "Want some?" she offered when I sat next to her, turning the television on.

I eyed her, her smile, then the orange in her hands, and huffed.

"Nah, I'll pass."

-fin-

Yeees, I know, this is just some meaningless drabble. 

Written when a friend ate her orange in class, 

of which then the smell quickly invaded the whole room.

-05092013-

[Poetry] In Darkness

taken from http://www.flickr.com/photos/elvirasdada/5563219556/

Hey, are you still there?

In the darkness; waiting for your demon to go away?

Sometimes choking in the damp air,

Sometimes groaning and calling God,

Sometimes even scratch the blood out.

Hey, can you hear me?

From outside; I whisper your name in my heart.

Wondering when you're going to show up,

Wondering what story you'll tell me today,

Wondering how you'll fight away the monsters.

Hey, will you promise me?

During storms; you are strong as ever.

But the winds are growing fierce--

--you are falling down, down, down, again.

Still, can you promise me?

Tell me you won't give up.

Tell me you'll stay to see another daylight.

Tell me I can go inside, into the shadows, into your darkness.

And let's wait together.

-03082013-
I can't promise I wouldn't get scared or something, but I can promise that you're still my friend.

Hey, You're Weird!

"Weird" sure sounds offensive, huh.

I quite often use this term. To my friends, my family, and myself. Mostly to my family and myself. I just can't deny that yes, we are weird. Sometimes I believe it's hereditary--but meh, copycat-ing our parents makes more sense (we are a sibling of three, FYI).

Is that, in itself, weird of me? I mean, calling myself weird. At least thrice a day?

(okay, a bit exaggerating there, but you see how often I do it)

Sometimes I wonder, do my friends think I'm offending them when I call them weird? Because I think I catch them sending me disapproving look as I tell them stories about someone then straightforwardly said that "he/she's so weird!"

Well. In my dictionary, 'weird' means 'out of the box'. Extraordinary. People who are courageous enough to be different. And I absolutely give them the highest regard. So when I say "you're weird", it means "you're great".

I like using the term "weird". And I love "weird" people. I really do. I mean, if you ask me what quality I'm looking in friends (or, ehem, boyfriend), I'll answer "someone I can call weird".

Thank goodness my family are weird.

(and you, yes you--you don't know how many times I've called you weird since the first time we talked. I even used the superlative term: insane. Congrats, now you know.)

[Orific] Futile

For #FF2in1 Sesi 3 April 2013 (1)
Theme Song: Dua Cinta Satu Hati - Calvin Jeremy

Dengan dagu tertopang satu tangan, aku memandang jauh keluar jendela. Menerawang tembus awan dan cakrawala, bisa kurasakan melankoni memenuhi benakku. Deru pesawat dan perubahan tekanan udara adalah satu-satunya yang menjadi pengingat tujuan kepergianku.

"Nggak apa-apa?" orang yang duduk di sebelahku menepuk pundakku, dan bertanya lembut. Aku menolehkan kepala dengan ogah-ogahan karena aku tahu dia pasti melihatku dengan pandangan mengasihani.

"Nggak apa-apa kok. Kenapa harus apa-apa?" jawabku dengan sedikit merengut. Terbukti benar bayanganku. Di kedua mata hitam itu ada rasa kasihan, membuatku sebal.

"Kamu udah kangen sama dia?"

"Dia? Nggak kok." Kualihkan lagi perhatianku pada gumpalan kapas putih yang bergerak pelan di luar jendela pesawat. "Ngapain juga kangen sama orang yang nggak kangen sama aku."

Kakak kembali menepuk bahuku. "Kangen juga nggak apa-apa. Sampai seminggu yang lalu, kalian kan masih pacaran," ujarnya, berusaha membuatku tenang.

Aku menutup mata dan membiarkan ilusi malam itu kembali muncul di dalam otakku. Pacarku, punya pacar lain. Semudah itu. Satu-satunya alasanku memutuskan hubungan dengannya. Tanpa mendengar alasannya, tanpa menghiraukan konsolasi teman-temanku. Aku memang anak manja yang egois, tapi kurasa kali ini keegoisanku masuk akal.

"Nggak ah," gumamku. "Buang-buang energi aja. Toh dia sudah ada yang punya."

Kakak tidak menjawab, dan aku berterima kasih karenanya.

-fin-

[Orific] Maybe Tomorrow

Title: Maybe Tomorrow

Author: Vianna Orchidia

Rating: K+

Genre: Romance/Humor

Word Count: 861

Warning: short, no real plot, weird and maybe doesn't make sense. Misstypo and vocab and grammar. Title taken from the song 'maybe tomorrow' by Kajiura Yuki.

A/N: Wrote this in a whim. I just needed to write something to make my head lighter. Heh. And meet my two OCs from my unwritten story, Dreamweaver. The girl is pure Japanese whose mother remarried with an Indonesian man, so she now lives in Indonesia. The man is Indonesian, teaches Nihongo at girl's school. Stuff happens and, bam, they're going out. So if a student-teacher relationship disturbs you, feel free to leave this post.

Good Girl Gone Bad

in the land of twilight, under the moon
we dance for the idiots
ring-around-the-roses, jump to the moon
we sing with the castanets
[Kajiura Yuki - in the land of twilight, under the moon]

Adakah saat di mana kalian merasa dada ini begitu sesak, ingin meledak?

Di sini saya mau cerita tentang 'metamorfosis'. Cerita nyata. Bukan dalam novel apalagi sinetron. The best story of my life up until now.