Entah sudah berapa undangan buka bersama terabaikan. Atau lebih tepatnya, ‘terpaksa’ diabaikan.
Entah sudah berapa banyak telepon masuk yang tak terjawab, atau ‘terpaksa’ tak dijawab.
Dan kau bertanya pada kami, mengapa kami seegois itu.
Kami tetap bergeming. Hingga kau tuntas meluapkan berbagai tanya dan prasangkamu.
Kami menunjukkan padamu secarik kertas bertuliskan kode tertentu di tiap harinya..
..dan kau bertanya apa makna dibalik itu semua.
Makna di tiap kode yang menunjukkan jadwal jaga malam kami. Atau jaga 24jam kami.
Tapi kami sedang berjuang disini. Untuk membantu mereka yang terluka, membantu setidaknya meringankan beban mereka yang tengah meregang nyawa,
membantu mereka yang bisa jadi bagian dari sanak saudaramu nan jauh di pelosok sana. Dan seringkali kami berada di tengah kegawatdaruratan tatkala kau menelepon.
Mungkin, kau tak tahu. Atau tak mau tahu?
Atau mungkin, sekedar tak mengerti.
Tapi kumohon, kuharap ketidakmengertianmu pada kami tak menjadikan itu sebuah prasangka yang akan meleburkan persahabatan kita. Semoga tidak.
Karena kau tak tahu betapa seringnya hati kami mencelos dalam iri, dengan tangis tertahan di pelupuk mata, setiap mendengar seseorang berujar akan kebahagiaan mereka berkumpul bersama sahabat dan keluarganya.
the first time we met was on a friday, and i hoped you’d be there after the weekend.
though your eyes were downcast, i tried my best to connect, words seemingly bouncing off a surface which depression has hardened, darkened, opaque, incapable of transmitting light.
the words that i wrote on your…
You have been fighting Palestine for about 60 years now, using advanced weapons and America’s financial aid against a country that has no army, no weapons, no money and no central government. And you still haven’t managed to win. When will you get it? You can’t beat a country that is protected by Allah.
The first time I went for Isya and tarawih prayers at Ibnu Sina, the mosque inside the hospital I’m currently studying in.
As usual, it was pretty hard to convince people (the women) around to stay closer in our shaf. At least, make sure that each other feet were touching. But no, people stared like I’m a weirdo. Especially those who were older than me.
People (or we should call, women) kept rejecting my offer to scoot closer. They told they wanna stay in their OWN sajdah.
And, it happened again. At this night.
I felt like crying, somehow.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the woman beside me went backside after Isya’s prayer. Then, another person - which was a young woman, about my age - came to replace her.
I moved my feet towards her before tarawih prayer started. Alhamdulillah, she somehow also reacted and did the same thing like me.
At the end, we made sure that during the prayers, there was no space between our shaf.
One thing which made me surprised, and literally cried during tarawih prayer: the surah recited by Imam was my favorite one. The one that touched my inner-self, completely slapping my face.
And I weep, quietly.
How I wish Ramadhan will last forever.
Only God knows how much I miss you, and love you as well. Have a blessed Ramadhan, my dear family wherever we are
#family #love #miss
Have you ever tasted the death like?
Feeling like you will die at seconds, and the nerves keep getting at your worst side?
I have.Those times, years ago. When I lied down on the operation table.
Because I knew so well what they were gonna do to my body. Because I had no other choice instead of getting it done to fix my problems.
Ironically now, I’m being the one with the surgery gown, scalpel, mask, and competing against my own doubts to assist a simple surgery.
The feeling of the human flesh beneath your scalpel on your hands, the smell of burning flesh, the bloody stained clothes, the sound of the patient’s prayers during the local-anesthesized surgery.
For us, they’re only simple procedures. The risk of patient’s death on operating table was almost nonexist.
But for them, it’s their life they put in our hands.