“Ms. Niswanto, would I receive something for this year’s Khayyam?”, tanya Mr. Jackson kepadaku ketika berpapasan di tangga sebuah gedung sekolahku. Mr. Jackson adalah guru bahasa Inggris yang paling berumur dan berpengalaman di sekolah kami.
Aku menoleh kepadanya. Nelangsa. Dalam dekapanku masih terpeluk erat buku-buku dan folder pelajaranku untuk jam pelajaran berikutnya. Benar-benar tak kuharapkan ‘tantangan’ macam ini sekarang. Benar bahwa aku suka menulis, terutama essai-essai formal dan puisi. Namun chemistry practical report dan beberapa assignments lain yang due minggu depan sudah pasti akan mengisi weekendku kali ini.
Di satu pihak, aku benar-benar menikmati keikutertaanku tahun lalu dalam menyumbangkan naskah cerita naratif tentang kedatanganku ke
“So, is that a ‘yes’?”, desak Mr. Jackson.
“I’ll try, Sir. But it’s not a promise. I’m overloaded by work.”, kujawab sesopan mungkin.
Dan entah inspirasi dari mana dan kapan, tiba-tiba kudapati diriku sedang menyerahkan draft pertama kepadanya di senin pagi kemudian.
Dua bulan kemudian, kudapati draft-ku yang dikembalikan lengkap dengan komentar-komentarnya, kesalahan-kesalahan dalam penyusunan kalimat atau frasa-frasa tertentu dan hal-hal gramatis lainnya.
“You know, it’s quite unique of you to have written this piece. I’ve never seen teenagers at your age write this way.”, senyumnya. “Sorry it took awhile for me to go through it and edit it. It’s in. I would like to see the second draft please”, sambungnya.
Maka kuperhatikan lagi draft pertamaku dan kuselesaikan draft keduaku. Begini ceritanya…
One night, my slumber was dreamless.
In the following morning, I woke up with it.
My slumber left me a quest,
To be solved, to be defined.
About something that was sung cheerfully.
About something that was praised up to the heaven.
It was known as love.
I didn’t quite know why love was sung,
Why love was praised,
Why love was addressed enticingly by those who admit to love
One thing I did know about love,
It had made my mother pray for my father’s safety every morning…
Further than that? I knew no more.
Out of my dreaming curiosity,
I walked through the bush of roses and hurt by its thorns.
I ran through the sand storm and blinded awhile by it.
But I enjoyed the complexity of this quest though,
Even if it was as complicated as finding the probability of whether it would rain in the following year.
One day, I stepped into a room full of knowledge.
A wise man started talking about truth, feeling, emotions and… love.
I straightened my back and sat properly as I wanted to know more about this very word.
I listened to him and every word he said about love.
The room eventually faded away as well as his disappearance.
I was left by myself.
Then I suddenly fell lugubrious,
For the answer of my quest floating high above the stars.
I cried more.
It didn’t last for long.
I stood up and looked up,
So that all my tears would leak out no more.
A screen appeared next,
Full of choices.
“Should I opt one?” I asked.
“Yes”, a strange man said, with a smile.
The man was in a black suit, fairly charming and heart-melting
That time, I knew I had fallen in love,
With the man in black suit.
I knew I was sunk in it,
Couldn’t get out and was breathless.
I attempted to hypothesize the possibilities and manipulated some variables,
So that I could do an investigation there, right now.
But I couldn’t.
He made me shut my mouth.
He stole the lock of my heart’s door.
He watered the flowers of passion in the front yard of my feeling.
This love bound me sometimes,
Like the covalent bond formed between the two fluorine atoms.
It put me in danger in other times,
As if it damaged one of my motor neurons and stopped me from having a plantar reflex.
In one of the mornings,
He knocked at my heart’s door and smiled.
“This is my last smile for you. Pass my regards to the wind…”, and off he went.
I lost my ground.
I reached for a rope.
I grasped nothing.
I ran out of the air of life.
Then why did they say that the colour of love is pink,
Like the one they always advertised on February 14th?
Or why did they say it was dark red like a heart,
Like the one they always put between the words “I” and “You”?
It wasn’t as enchanting as they had been gossiping about,
I didn’t see anything like that!
I only saw my broken heart!
Then He came, with countless buckets of roses,
Offered me another love.
But I had already suffered from post traumatic stress disorder,
I shook my head.
I said, “No!”
He looked undistracted. “You won’t be left alone. Trust me… I am the Only One, The Most Merciful, The Most Compassionate.”
I moved my head to the north,
He was there.
I moved my head to the south,
He was there.
I moved my head to the west,
He was there.
I moved my head to the east now and I could guess that
He was there too.
He was The Greatest Ever,
I was astounded.
I questioned Him, “Who are You?”
“The air belongs to me.”
“You haven’t answered my question, who are You?”
“The wind also belongs to me.”
“What are You trying to say?”
“I am the owner of love…”
I couldn’t remember how I had fallen for another love,
But this was different.
This love never abandoned me.
He fulfilled His words that He would never leave those who love Him sincerely,
He had said he would come in a thousand steps if you came to Him in one step.
He would watch over you every second, every moment.
I was cured.
I was fine.
I was done…
That was it what I had been searching for.
And the man in black suit?
Let’s forget about him for a moment…
By Nuril Annissa Niswanto 12B
18th of May 2007
 Khayyam adalah majalah literature tahunan milik sekolah saya di mana students bisa ikut kontribusi