Day 3 - Seven Deadly Sins

Character created by Marija Tiurina

Since my first inception, seven has been my lucky number. I guess. Like, when I was hanging on a thread because of my mother’s immature labor when her water broke with 28-week me inside, in which I had to spend 10 days being radiated in an incubator like a chick. Being fed mashed banana and water by my Granny when I wasn’t even 24-hour. And still having a blast, 30-something years later. And then everything just rolled from there. 

As I grow up, my life has been nothing but the episodes of full-blown cardinal sins that start from my ears, to my heart, over my mind, and run their courses through my veins. And as I stranded here with nothing to do but making syllabus and preparing my next teaching material, I’ll be a good girl and uncover them one by one. 

So, forgive me Father for I have sinned… 

Character created by Marija Tiurina

The place was Mandala Krida, Jogja (again), where I watched Helloween concert with my then boyfriend. It was the first concert that we went to, and we can hardly wait. Being an average guitar player and extremely shy, he projected his dream of becoming a rock star into the music he loved. And I loved him for that—for Dream Theater and Korn, for Koil and Ayreon, for Metallica and Race Against the Machine. But he was crazy for Helloween the most that he purchased three tees of their official merchandises—using strangers’ credit card—among other things, like, Victoria’s Secret catalogue subscription for 10 years straight, sent from the U S fucking A to an old, moldy, derelict house where he lived, at the back of Pasar Peterongan, Semarang. 

Helloween got a new additional member at that time, a Sascha something, the youngest among the wisest. Growing up with one too many guitarists around me, I always find guys with guitar sexy as hell. But nothing—I repeat—NOTHING prepared me from watching the glorious Mr. Gerstner. He was so cool, so powerful, so... sweatyiwannalickhimcleanomafuckingGOSH! I was hypnotized. My uterus exploded. He made me wet, right then and there, without anyone knowing, with my boyfriend’s arms around me, protecting me from the pumped up crowd once the Band played Eagle Fly Free. And two days later, back in campus after I wrapped up that day’s classes and hung out with a senior, I found out that she literally pursued the sexy Sacha, slipping through the bodyguards, fucking him, taking some pictures after, without ever knowing who he really was. Fuck. 

Character created by Marija Tiurina

Post family lunch in weekend at home means Kalangkang, full album. And there we were, having food comma from Bu Anggi’s delicious cooking, with the amazing Nining Meida AS gently stroking our ears.

But I was once being so full of Incubus, Deftones, and Rancid. A guy I wasn’t familiar with sending me mixtapes—in CDs instead of a real cassette—of those kinds of ‘skater songs’. Few weeks later, the mystery guy showed up right before my door—a friend of a friend whom I sometimes exchanged texts with, but very, very, rarely—and insisted to go back to Jogja with me. So, rather than sending him back to Serang, we were sitting side by side on a packed train.

I never knew his reason for sending me those mixtape. But what I remembered was:
“Gue mah aslinya seneng lagu-lagu Malaysia, kayak Gerimis Mengundang gitu. Lagu skater mah buat gaya-gayaan aja ke elu…” 

Character created by Marija Tiurina

I was always the youngest and the only female in the group. Any group. Including those I hung out with in my neighborhood. We were close knitted. They’re like older brothers to me, and our parents went to the same Pengajian. Because of this, when I was in Senior High, I had Chemistry, Physics, Math, and Biology tutors—for free! 

The closest were the two brothers, and they were both guitarists. I was in a band with one of them, and that’s how I knew Mr. Big. I took it as one of the best moments in my life. I was spoiled rotten. They never forced me to drink or smoke or did drugs. When they had it—whatever suited them at that moment; drugs, joint, booze—they always buy me something to make me stay. And that was mostly chocolate bar and ice cream.

Days went by, and my family decided that I should attend a university in Jogja (again). My brothers sent me off with a blast. We rode around town passed midnight, went to Ancol and reminiscing the one and only gig we participated in, playing Green-Tinted 60’s Mine with only one guitar (yet gained the longest applause because I went in my Junior High uniform, right after school), catcalling the transgenders in Taman Lawang, and got me home at dawn—laughing their ass off and hollering while watching me climbing the locked front yard gate and knocking on the door until my father opened it for me, grumbling. It was their last sober night with me. 

Character created by Marija Tiurina

In between, there was this bald guy from Karawang. He was a friend of a friend, too. One night they came to my house with a guitar, a very fine, expensive, acoustic guitar, in contrast with their shabby outline. My friend didn’t stay for long. He had an appointment—he was drug dealer—and the baldy guy stayed with me on the porch. We were talking and laughing like old friends. He was quite a rare breed compared to my brothers. He did smoke, but he didn’t drink or doing drugs. Yet, he’s very good in rolling and dragging the joint. “It’s herbal,” was his defense.

Until he strummed that fine, expensive, acoustic guitar. It was Harem Scarem’s Honestly played perfectly to the dot. I was mesmerized. Not only because that was the first time I knew the band and the song, but I’ve never thought someone could play better than those two brothers who had won so many awards as Best Guitarist in so many festivals. And I didn’t expect what came next: he pulled a folded paper from his back pocket and handed it to me. It was the lyric, handwritten in neat, beautiful strokes. “Sing with me,” he said.

And that had been our routine every time he dropped by, on and off, for almost a year. It’s very comfortable just sitting there with him, listening silently to what he was playing. No words needed. Time stood still. The Planet Earth populated only with the three of us: him, the guitar, and me. And we always ended it nicely, with Harem Scarem’s Honestly.

Character created by Marija Tourina

And then somebody introduced me to Homicide, a stranger among my playlist. The first impression when I heard Ucok ranting was: why is he so full of anger, what’s his problem? Turned out, his was ours, too, Indonesian mediocre, who work our ass off just to pay the bills, to survive another day, and have to take a really good care of ourselves and our family while at it. And where’s the State?

Tantang Tirani and Siti Jenar Cypher Drive were my source of strength and comfort when I felt like the world was rapidly pressing from every corner. I played those two songs on looping for more than an hour with a pair of headset, once upon a time, inside a meditation room at the most secluded house in Kintamani, and crying my fucking eyes out. It was the hardest, the longest, yet the most instantaneous “purification” I’ve ever experienced. They always got me channeling my anger and sorrow within, without harming anyone and myself, without having to say anything to anyone at all.

Character created by Marija Tourina

It was just another sleepless night, both of us in a room, him with a laptop and me with a book. He typed, flipping over the pages in one of the books scattering across the table, checking it, and typed again. His eyebrows were embracing one another.

Until Mozart’s Lacymosa from his media player engulfing us whole. “This has been my working anthem,” he said, with eyes glued to the screen in front of him. As I carefully listened to it, I envied him for his taste in fine music. What he didn't know was that I always play that song ever since, when I needed to think thoroughly before I write. It reminded me of how confident yet calm he was in facing his demons. I wanted to be like him.

Character created by Marija Tiurina

It was very early in the morning and I had to catch a plane in an hour. We were extremely sleepy, but too anxious to close our eyes we spent the night talking instead. The road was almost deserted, and I just wanted to drink that moment to the bottom, to enjoy it in silence, to be grateful for a soft-spoken guy on the driver seat next to me, to count the blessings, while suddenly he reached out for an auxiliary cord dangling from the dashboard and plugged it into his phone.

He waived my protesting groan. “But I wanted to sing,” he said, always so softly and always so carefully. And the acoustic version of Suck It and See from Arctic Monkeys gently filled up the space.

He was full of surprises. He caught me off guard, when I least expected. And he took pride from it. Including from the marks he had to bear for a week or so. We caught up to the lost moments that we never knew, wondering if our paths had once crossed way before our minds did, exposing each others’ battle scars and lost fights, becoming fully aware of each other’s existence.

The short trip to the airport ended abruptly. I prepared for the mellow, sorrowful goodbye but ended up with cheerful sing-alongs. In him I found a kid and a grown up. A left to the right. The pious and the pervert. The gentleness and the wild. The other living and breathing paradox that I was glad I encountered. And all of the pride in the world was mine, when he looked deep into my eyes, saying, “I am happy if I can make you happy.”

We were parted at the Departure entrance. I saw his back slowly disappearing before I went inside, thinking that he was, indeed, rarer than a can of dandelion and burdock.