🔸By: Alicia Lidwina🔸
🔸By: Alicia Lidwina🔸
🔸By: Alicia Lidwina🔸
🔸By: Alicia Lidwina🔸
Pagi kemarin, saya terbangun dengan mata yang masih mengantuk.
Mungkin sebenarnya ini bukan sesuatu yang aneh atau janggal, karena toh, pada dasarnya saya memang bukan seseorang yang biasa bangun pagi hari. Bekerja pada sebuah perusahaan swasta yang menuntut saya bangun pagi setiap harinya sama sekali tidak membuat saya terbiasa dengan kegiatan bangun tidur sebelum matahari terbit.
Namun harus saya akui, di saat-saat seperti itulah, ketika saya baru saja terbangun dari tidur saya yang nyenyak, selalu ada momen-momen inspiratif yang selalu menjadi bensin saya untuk bekerja di siang harinya.
Whenever I’m alone with you, I begin to hear sounds I usually don’t notice.
Like the sound of raindrops when we were waiting for the rain to subside on our first date.
Or the sound of a truck’s horn when we kissed sloppily in the dark alley, giggling our worries away.
Also the sound of a crying baby next door when we started talking about marriage; about convincing our parents and raising a child.
But among every sounds I have noticed, there were sounds I could never forget, even if I wanted to. They rang true and clear that day, and they ring even clearer now.
Like the sound of your laughter when you were having fun without me–the sound of them making jokes, and the sound of you responding in glee to every sentence.
Or the harmony of violin strings when you took her out to the concert, without knowing I also went to the same performance.
The sound of my own cries when I realized you were doing fine without me.
The cracking sound of threatened hopes and dreams–nurtured with and forsaken by love.
And the sound of my heart, breaking beyond repair, when you told me we couldn’t be together anymore.
I dedicate this post to L,
my true love, my broken Valentine
My writing career began roughly fifteen years ago.
Fifteen years–that’s a very long time, isn’t it? Certainly long enough for me to commit some very embarrassing writing moments. There should be something; a very over-the-top acknowledgements, crappy novel chapter, or a page from a diary.
I first heard about that word from my literature teacher, roughly fifteen years ago.
“It is a word in Japanese that you can’t translate to English, or any other languages directly,” he explained during class. “A rough translation is the interplay between light and leaves when the sun shines through trees.”
I took a note of that word in my notebook. I wasn’t the type to jot down anything during class, but there was something about the way he pronounced the word that made me wanted to remember it. Komorebi. A Japanese word. Light through trees. I replayed his explanation over and over again until the word stuck to me.
A dead star–that’s what I am.
Just like a star that ran out of fuel–destined to wane in the dying universe. A star that shrank in size so greatly it couldn’t even turn to black hole. Like a solar system that lost its core; a hollow space populated with planets no longer bound by celestial gravity. I was left adrift in the boundless ocean of negativity.
And on the edge of the observable universe, there I stood by the entrance to my heart.
There was the door you once opened.
It is now closed.
He didn’t know what crossed his mind when he decided to leave that message.
It’s not like he expected anyone to read it, actually. You wouldn’t find a person crazy enough to reach beneath the seat of their seat on the train, expecting to find a secret message from a total stranger. Yet after serious contemplation, he scribbled his message with tiny writings on a scrap of paper, folded it really small, and stuck it beneath a seat on the train with a duct tape.
He knew people would be eyeing what he’s doing if he snuck the secret message in broad daylight, so he decided to wait until the last train. He ensured the car was mostly empty–there was only one elderly who was half asleep and a girl too busy with her phone–and used the opportunity to did what he was set out for.
On the paper, he wrote: “Hello, my name is Edward. If you read this, please reply with your name and stick it back into place. Thank you.”
First of all, I know that it’s February. It may seem too late to announce my writing goals for 2017 now, but since I want to participate in Wordbound, I might as well complete them all. (At least that’s the grand plan. Let’s see how this turns out.)
Wordbound is a term used to describe this really cool project kickstarted by Kristina Horner. The idea is, she will be posting new writing prompts every Wednesday all year long in order to encourage writers all around the globe to write more. You will be given a week to complete the writing prompt (until just before the next prompt is announced).
I think the beauty of this project is that we are not alone in doing this, kind of like how NaNoWriMo always feels like a joint project even though the novel writing process itself is a solitary effort. What’s more important is that we get to have something to write about every week. And what are writers if we don’t write as frequently as we can?
Not only that, Wordbound will also be retweeting your submission on their official twitter account. So on top of getting back to writing regularly, people who follow the Wordbound account can also read your submission and give comments, feedbacks, and just be nice to each other. You will have to agree with me: productivity + feedback + making new friends = a must try, hands down.
So unsurprisingly, I will be jumping into the bandwagon. We all knew what happened to my writing muse and productivity in my previous post. And in order to get in shape for writing as soon as possible, I thought it is a good idea to start with the basics once more: writing more stuff.
More specifically, posting more regularly on my blog.
Also writing for my upcoming novel project, which has been delayed for an eternity.
I will try to keep this blogpost as minimalist as possible, since there will be tons of writings in the future. So instead of bombarding you with paragraphs of writing goals and why I thought it was a good idea to put them up on the website, I’d do this instead.
Alicia Lidwina’s 2017 Personal Writing Goals:
And although the Wordbound prompt didn’t specify for it, I will also include my 2017 Reading Goals.
It is not completely unrelated, if you think about it. Reading is to writers like listening to good music for musicians, after all.
Alicia Lidwina’s 2017 Personal Reading Goals:
As you can see, the two lists are not very extensive. I try to keep it as realistic as I thought it would be by not exaggerating or overestimating my abilities. While reading 500 books seems like a necessary goal in order to decrease the tower of books I have not read, it is not realistic. For example, if I have enough time to read 500 books in a year, I’d rather use the time to write and do my other hobbies.
So that’s my personal goals. I just hope the doing part will be as easy as the writing the goal part.
(We all know it won’t).