Cokotetra

"Hmm.. The Perks of Being A Wallflower."

No, I'm not gonna talk about that movie of Stephen Chbosky's bestselling book. It's just, this is my first time here. In this little coffee shop not far from where I stay in Bandung. This place is pretty famous for the people around here. Most of them are college students, like me. I've been in Bandung for one and a half year and yes, this is my first time here. This place was renovated for like, 6 months ago. So I thought to myself why not give it a go and fulfill my curious mind.

Okay, so the only spot that was available when I stepped into this place was that booth in the corner of the shop. There was a girl who sit there and I asked the barista if he could ask her to share the booth with me. She agreed, so I joined her. Then I went to order a drink and some snacks. I looked at the menu book for God-knows-how-long. Yeah, I have a hard time deciding something for the first time. There were these two baristas. One guy and one girl. The guy barista knew that I was confused so he asked me what I would like to have, a chocolate or a coffee. I answered chocolate. He then explained to me about the menu and answered all my questions with a friendly smile and voice. Ten minutes later I decided to order Iced Milk Chocolate Peppermint with some french fries and nuggets. 

I walked to the book corner and borrowed this book called "Kukila", went back to my booth, and read the book. I chose this book because actually I have my own copy of the same book but I haven't finished reading it. This is a book of a few short stories that is beautifully written in Indonesian literature. I fall in love with how Aan Mansyur plays with the words. However, I'm not gonna talk about this Kukila book.

I am gonna talk about myself being a wallflower, and how it actually gives me some kind of this heartwarming feeling about life. Sitting in the corner of the coffee shop alone did give me a lot to think about. Oh, did I mention you that I find it tempting to go to new places by myself? You know, that tranquility you get just by sitting there alone, observing people who came in to and out of the shop. You can even listen to their conversations (on my defence, the place is not too big and small enough for me to hear such things :p)

This guy barista, besides the fact that he is really good with his job, he's really good with the customers. I could tell by how most of the people here call him by his name Ryan, how they lit the smiles upon their face every time they talk to him, and how he has the ability of awareness towards his customers especially his regulars. I'm going to give you an example for the last point I just told you about.

Rian: "Mas, Teh (sebut saja Anggi) kemana? Kok udah ga pernah keliatan bareng lagi?"

Customer: "Ah, iya..."

Rian: "Masih atau udah engga, nih?"

Customer: "Masih, masih temenan... Hahaha"

Rian: "Yah kenapa, Mas? Temen tapi demen, yaa? Hahaha.."

Customer: "Ih kepooo.."

(and so the short conversation went on...)

I don't exactly know why but that was a bit funny.

It is also funny that I just realized I have really missed this part of my life. Going places, making deep thoughts, and just letting life happen.

***

Well, it's already 10:46 PM and the shop is about to close so I'd better get going. I went to the cashier, paid for my bills. Rian offered me a loyalty card and introduced himself, "Kenalin dulu, Rian." "I noticed," dalam hati. "Afia..."

Universal Breakup Stories

Not too long ago, a friend was talking to me about a painful breakup she was going through. It was in those really rough first few weeks where, no matter how much the dumped party insists on their hatred of their ex, you can tell that it would all change in an inelegant heartbeat if they received a text from them. “I’m so much better without him,” she said, through tears, as she surreptitiously checked her phone to see if there was any news. And I knew that, at least for a while, she would be in that limbo — the one everyone who has lost someone has been in.

It’s the moment between being together and fully being apart, where everything is a reason for pathetic hope, and you’re ready to interpret the smallest gesture as a cosmic sign that you should be back together. Someone mentions their name in a crowd and you go crazy, wondering if it’s secretly about you. Even though you try to remain dignified — at least pretend that you want to talk about anything but your breakup and your beloved ex — people learn to avoid you if possible for fear of getting sucked into an hour-long paranoid breakdown of the last sad songs you posted on your Path few hours ago. It’s a raw, ugly time.

And then comes the moment of realization. “Oh, they’ve found someone else.” “Oh, they actually moved away.” “Oh, they’re really happier without me.” And even though it’s distinctly more painful than being in limbo, it’s akin to plunging into the freezing-cold deep end instead of agonizingly adjusting to it, inch by inch. It’s the medicine you don’t want to take, but which will eventually let you heal. Once you can no longer hold onto every sad little shred of hope that it will work out, you can finally start being a real person again, and having interests beyond “I wonder if they’re thinking about me right this minute.”

It was hard to see my friend going through it, of course. Mostly because, no matter what you say, you know that none of it will really make a difference. It feels like being next to someone with searing tooth pain and telling them that, in a few short weeks, chewing will be totally normal again. All they can feel is their raw nerves, and all they want is the doctor to come in with some Vicodin. And I admit that my first instinct was to cut it short, because encouraging her to obsess about her recent loss wasn’t going to help her move past it. But she said something to me, in the midst of her delusional reading-out-loud-of-indifferent-chats, that has stuck with me. She said, “I’m so glad that I can be crazy with you.”

And isn’t that what is so awful about the limbo stage, about the devastating breakups? It’s having to pretend to not be crazy. It’s having to be totally calm and collected when you briefly speak with the ex, or keep up a good face for the mutual friends, or spend entire days at college where you stare right at the board, trying not to cry. It’s having to keep living a life that has suddenly been stripped of meaning, and pretend that you’re not as utterly devastated as you are. It’s asking five other questions before you allow yourself to ask one about the ex, because you want it to seem random and offhand, instead of the only thing you can think about.

When I think of my universal breakup stories, I often think of the mess I became, the crazy that I allowed to consume me. And I think about the one, maybe two friends I truly let into my pain. I cried on them, and ate donuts with them, and watched distracting TV. When I laughed for the first few times, it was with them. And if I broke into tears right after, they didn’t judge me for it. They acted as a kind of nurse to my pain, easing it and making it feel like it was a little more under control.

Maybe a breakup story — the kind we all know — is ultimately more about the people who still love us after, the people whose love is revealed by another one stopping. I think of all the time I wasted crying for guys who would, years later, mean nothing to me. And sometimes I wish I had taken even a moment of those tears, no matter how real they felt, to tell my friends how much it meant to me that they were still here.