MY LOVE IN YOGYAKARTA

Tugu Station, Yogyakarta. I straightened my back after sitting too long on the train that brought me from Jakarta.     Jogja, a city of a million stories. Just like many songs I've heard, which often tell of this city's beauty, hospitality, and serenity. Malioboro, angkringan, Parangtritis, and other icons that seem timeless. Jogja, with its classic romanticism, always brings me a longing that leads to an unknown place, a longing that perhaps now leads to the wrong person, wrong because he is no longer mine.     “Herlin, you made it to Jogja. Welcome!” exclaimed Mas Faris, immediately shaking my hand and patting my shoulder so hard that I felt even more shattered after being tormented by the train's jolts for over six hours.     “You're a bit too enthusiastic with the welcome, Mas, I'm shattered, I just arrived and I'm already being 'assaulted'!” I grumbled.     “Sorry, sorry, let me carry your suitcase, shall we head straight to the hotel?” he asked.     “Whatever. Going straight to Parangtritis is fine too.” I replied carelessly, following his long strides.     “Oh, our event location is actually near Paris, do you have a sixth sense, huh?” he teased.     “Shh, don't mention Indra, it's bad luck.” I warned.     “Hey, this 'indera' is with an 'e', not Indra, the one with dimples...”     “Ugh, why are you making it even clearer now?” I complained.     “Hahaha relax, Lin, why are you still sensitive about that name? It's been a year, you know...” Mas Faris teased me even more relentlessly. Ugh, truly a manager with no morals. Oh right, I haven't told you yet. My name is Herlina Saraswati, and I'm a rising singer. After making my debut by participating in a talent search on a TV station (and going viral at the time), I started traveling out of town frequently for performances. Thank God, even though I didn't last long in the competition, I was still able to expand my career in the music industry, even though I don't have my own single yet, hehe. Understandably, I still have to focus on college first; after I graduate, then I'll make a song. Although, I could actually start making songs now, because my major is also music, so it aligns. But for some reason, I still find it difficult to create a song, because, in the end, the lyrics always turn out melancholic, even though I'm in the process of recovering from that heartbreak. But what can I do, the pain still lingers, so I'll fail to heal if I write lyrics according to my heart again.     “Lin, how about it?” Mas Faris broke the silence.     “How about what?” I asked, looking up from my phone.     “Are you really not planning to make a song?” he asked.     “I don't know, I want to, but I'm just one step away from moving on. It still stings, Mas, if I fail to move on again, my year-long struggle would be for nothing,” I replied.     “Lin, good work starts from within,” he said.     “What do you mean?” I didn't understand.     “Creating art must be honest, creating art must come from the heart. Just start with what you feel, who knows, it could be a new opportunity for your career. Many musicians, writers, or anyone else, for that matter, start all their great works from their own experiences, from other people's experiences, from what they see, hear, and feel. That's why artists are actually always demanded to be sensitive and observant of their surroundings for that very purpose,” Mas Faris explained. I nodded, trying to digest and absorb his words. Without realizing it, because we were so engrossed in conversation, the car we were in had arrived in front of the hotel courtyard. And my heart had to leap because of it. ***     I irritably ran my hands through my hair, sharply scanning the entire interior design of the hotel room, as if I wanted to obliterate it all with the power of my eyes. How could everything today remind me only of one person; from the colors of the furniture to what was available on the table near the telephone. I have to protest to Mas Faris, I just have to!     “Hello, Lin, what's wrong?” he asked casually, unaware that I was annoyed to death here.     “Why did you choose this room for me, I mean...”     “Oh my God! You're right!” Mas Faris said, surprised. I imagine he was slapping his forehead right now. Unfortunately, it was a voice call, so I didn't know exactly what he was doing.     “Hello, Lin, how is it?” he asked, a little anxious.     “Hmm, oh well, it'd be too much trouble to ask for a room change so suddenly.” I said resignedly.     “I'm sorry, I really forgot, Lin, seriously,” he whispered. I sighed, trying to be understanding. Because it wasn't entirely Mas Faris's fault; he just forgot about this hotel, and all the stories that made me hate everything I saw now. ***   “Surp....” I froze in place. My grip suddenly tightened on Mas Faris's arm, who was helping me hold a cake box. In front of me, there was Mas Indra – my boyfriend – looking awkward, standing next to a woman I didn't know, in a situation inappropriate to witness, especially for minors.     “I-I can explain everything, Lin...”     “No need!” I snapped. I covered my face in frustration, hoping not a single tear would fall, wasted on a scoundrel like him. I gestured to Mas Faris to just put the cake box on the floor, then quickly pulled his hand to leave, abandoning the heartless man who chose to sleep with another woman precisely when I was struggling in Jakarta, competing and chasing my dream of becoming a musician. I did everything for him, or rather, for us, but why did I have to receive this, and ironically, I had to witness this disgusting thing right after returning from Jakarta, after being eliminated in the top 15. To make matters worse, today was actually our second anniversary. My God, imagine how precious those past 2x365 days would have been if I had spent them with the right person. And that ill-fated day finally ended with my tears soaking Mas Faris's blue shirt on the beach of Parangtritis, here, in Yogyakarta, my hometown. ***   “Congratulations, Lin, I think this was your best performance,” Mas Faris praised, moments after I stepped off the stage. I smiled, accepting his outstretched hand. And for some reason, I suddenly wanted to hug him tonight. I had never been this happy, welcomed with such enthusiasm by my fans in my own hometown.     “Hey, why such a short hug?” he teased, pulling the tip of my nose.     “Don't hug too long, you'll get addicted,” I teased back, crossing my arms over my chest.     “Exactly, I want us to hug for a long time...” he said.     “Well, how do we do that?” I asked.     “Why are you acting so innocent?” he protested.     “Huh, acting innocent about what?” I asked. Without further ado, he took my right hand and slipped something cold and perfectly fitting onto my ring finger.     “W-What?”     “Let's get married,” he proposed, getting even more absurd.     “Wait... What kind of proposal is this?” I couldn't believe it.     “A new kind, different from the rest. But even if it seems strange and not serious, my feelings are actually serious, I've harbored feelings for you for a very long time... So, will you?” he asked again. This time he looked straight into my eyes. And for God's sake, I couldn't dive any deeper into the depths of those eyes, which contained nothing but comfort and tranquility. I think I was starting to fall for his charm. Love can come from anywhere, right? Including from the trust and comfort I allowed to grow while he was my manager and personal assistant. After a long gaze to fathom each other's feelings, slowly but surely, I finally nodded, granting his request. And he hugged me, longer than any hug we'd shared before.     “Thank you so much, Herlin. Allow me to make you happy...” he whispered right into my ear. I nodded. I knew this wasn't a promise, because he didn't say “I will”; he only asked for my permission, asked for my willingness to be made happy, now and forever.     “Though you are gone and won't return     Your city brings your eternal smile   Allow me to always come home again   When my heart begins to feel lonely, unhealed” The voices of buskers singing the hit song by Kla Project stirred us from our reverie and that unforgettable embrace. Yogyakarta, my hometown. Here I found love, was hurt, then found it again in a different form, person, and time. Yogyakarta, a special city, as special as every story etched within it. Like this love story of mine, which will finally find happiness.       THE END