Beda Mazhab

Si Papap ketawa ngakak begitu melihat hasil saya nyalon. Kata Papap, saya mirip Polwan, atau Kowad, atau Kowal, atau Wara. Gak ada bedanya sih. Kata saya malah saya mirip Yang Terhormat Ibu Menteri Sri Mulyani.

Awalnya Jumat sore itu sepulang kantor saya harus menunggu Papap pulang kantor karena saya tidak bawa kunci rumah. Sembari menunggu lewatnya mobil Papap, dan daripada saya menunggu di pinggir jalan selama 2 jam, saya memutuskan untuk masuk ke mall. Tapi, 2 jam di mall, sendirian, mau ngapain?! Saya kan bukan model cewek doyan shopping atau kelebihan duit (2 hal itu berkolerasi). Akhirnya saya memutuskan untuk nyalon.

Ada 3 salon disitu tapi yang 2 ada embel-embel 'Salon and Training Center'. Saya melakukan hal yang saya pikir pintar: pergi ke salon ketiga daripada saya jadi korban Training Center.
Di salon ketiga, hairstylistnya bertanya tentang preference saya. Walau rada kaget, saya bilang saya normal. Masih cinta laki-laki. Masih doyan Keanu Reeves (persoalan kata orang Keanu Reeves itu gay, bukan masalah. Itu karena dia belum ketemu gue aja...).
Ternyata, maksud si hairstylist itu saya mau dipotong model apa.... Ya ampun!
Karena sadar salon itu bukan salon langganan saya, saya minta dipotong model yang aman: dirapihkan aja! Gak dipotong pendek, gak pake jigrik, gak perlu jadi kreatif, gak butuh imajinasi. But, you know what she said?
"Mbak, kalau rambut dari pendek mau dipanjangin, jangan dipotong shaggy begini. Nanti jadinya malah berantakan. Mencuat-cuat kesegala arah. Harusnya rambut mbak dipotong sama rata aja."

Waktu itu, saya pikir, "wow, that's definitely new!"
Di salon langganan saya, Mas Herman (hairstylist saya itu) punya paham begini: "Mbak, secara nih ya rambut embak itu berombak, eh, tapinya nih mau dipanjanggggiiin, kita harus potong shaggy. Ka-reee-na potongan shaggy bikin rambut gak keliatan kempes. Trus, shaggy juga bikin rambut gak keliatan berantakan. Kan kesannya sengaja shaggy, begitu. Sengaja diacak-acak..."
Selama lebih dari setengah tahun saya percaya Mas Herman. Kemarin, saya pasrah dengan si mbak pemotong rambut baru itu. Memang sih dengan si Mas Herman saya juga gak jadi lebih mirip Luna Maya. Tapi rasanya saya lebih belum siap jadi Ibu Sri Mulyani...

Perbedaan mazhab di jaman modern begini buat saya mengherankan dan jelas menimbulkan korban! Bila perkara soal teknik memotong rambut aja bisa memakan korban, apalagi soal politik, agama, dan soal berat-berat lainnya. Korbannya bukan cuma bisa terlihat gak keren, tapi bisa mati sekalian kan?! Gimana caranya untuk bisa meminimalkan jatuhnya korban?
Saya memilih si hairstylist untuk bisa memperlihatkan -atau setidaknya menggambarkan- hasil akhir dari mazhab yang dianutnya. Kalau dia bilang saya harus potong shaggy, dia harus bisa kasih lihat tampang saya nantinya. Kalau seorang politikus mengajak saya untuk mempercayai partai politiknya berdasarkan mazhab yang dia anut, dia harus bisa memberi gambaran kepada saya akan jadi bagaimana saya nantinya kalau saya setuju dengan dia. Whether I'll end up being rich or in jail. Kalau seorang guru agama menyarankan saya untuk percaya dengan mazhab yang dia anut... nah... umm.... dia juga harus bisa menjelaskan tentang mazhab yang lain...
Saya berhenti disini dulu deh....

Eh, pesan moral saya kali ini: you'd better stick with the hairstylist whom you are familiar with. If you look ugly still, at least you know just how ugly you'll get.

Ini Jawabannya...

Mungkin karena sudah bawaan seorang guru, setiap kali saya menulis (fiksi) saya selalu menyelipkan sepotong dua potong pesan moral. Cerita-cerita saya biasanya juga berkembang dari potongan pesan moral itu. Sepertinya hal kayak begini tidak terlalu baik untuk dicontoh: you'll end up feeling older and looking older than you wish you were not.

Begitu juga dengan Hair-quake.

Ada pesan moral saya disitu yang saya yakin bisa bikin para laki-laki manyun. Papap salah satunya. Pesan moral saya hanya satu, eh, lima kata.

Laki-laki (itu) gak penting!

Buat yang udah baca (yang belom baca silahkan mengejar ketinggalan kalian), yok kita balik ke Andita. Lewat Andita, saya ingin menggugat suatu konsep kebahagiaan perempuan yang katanya hanya ada di dalam hubungan dengan laki-laki. Sebenarnya, kalau saya boleh lebih jujur dan kasar lagi, saya ingin menggugat kata-kata seorang teman perempuan saya yang mengatakan prestasi tertinggi seorang perempuan adalah dengan mendapatkan pendamping dan menikah. Kenapa saya jadi inget pembantu saya yang ijin pulang kampung setahun lalu ya? Jadi, ketika Andita dipaparkan pada kenyataan kehilangan (dalam bahasa Santi 'kaburnya') seorang laki-laki yang dia cintai, peristiwa itu tidak harus jadi akhir sebuah cerita (baca: novel). Buat saya, ending terbaik adalah Andita dapat beasiswa ke Amerika, bo! Masa bodoh dia mau dapat pacar atau enggak. Hidup tidak berakhir pada kepergian (atau kehilangan, atau kaburnya) seorang laki-laki. Hidup baru berakhir ketika diri sendiri memutuskan hidup itu harus berakhir. Begitu juga dengan kebahagiaan. One can decide where s/he wants to start.

Itu pesan moral saya hari ini. Juga jawaban saya atas janji yang molor. Juga pemaparan teori saya bahwa penemuan sepotong pesan moral berarti satu tambahan garis kerutan di wajah. You'll end up feeling and looking older.

What's for the anniversary?

Teman : Hei, De', happy anniversary ya.
Saya : Thanks.
Teman : Candle light dinner dong?
Saya : Nope.
Teman : Terus? Dirayain?
Saya : Nope.
Teman : Terus? Ngapain dong elu?
Saya : Ngasih kartu.
Teman : Elu ngasih kartu ke si Babe?
Saya : Iya.
Teman : So sweeeeeeeeett....
Saya : Hm.
Teman : Isinya apa tuuuuh?
Saya : "Selamat tanggal 14. Semoga tahun ini menjadi tahun terakhir kamu lupa tanggal 14."

A Player or Not A Player

"There is something sexy about men and musical instruments."
My girl friend said that some 20 years ago. And we were like thirteen something years old wearing a white-and-blue uniform.
This girl and I were at our school festival and she was staring at 5 seniors who were doing their band perfomance on the stage.

My friend discovered sexy and mEn at the age of 13. I found out about sexy and mAn about 10 years later when I watched Val Kilmer in The Saint. Please noted that I met Papap earlier before watching Val Kilmer...

I separated from my girl friend a year or more later, but her words have stayed with me ever since. Not because she was right, but because she was deadly right.
Whenever there is a band performance, girls scream out loud and go nuts for the band players. Mind you, the players are not always (hardly ever always) handsome. Yet, girls don't seem to mind. It looks like a musical instrument could suddenly increase the level of sexiness to whoever (read: men) touches it. That girl friend I was talking about eventually went out with the drummer because she thought he looked cute when he held the sticks. (I'm wondering if chopsticks have the same effect...)
The sad part is I still cannot see the truth of my friend's wisdom. So, in this world of girls-loving-band players, I am blind. If a man is a band player and he is not sexy (or Val Kilmer, or Keanu Reeves look-alike), then hitting a drum or strumming a guitar won't make him suddenly become sexy on my eyes. The fact that I think Sting is sexy is purely because he was born sexy. I bet he was sexy too when he was still a teacher (which makes him even sound sexier).

Papap, I think, knows this phenomenon -I mean me being not affected by men holding musical instruments. That's why he never tried to win me by a guitar, which is the only musical instrument he can play a little. But, I know once upon a time he had won some admiration from some girls only by holding a guitar (he didn't necessarily need to play it, trust me).

A week ago, Papap went home with a CD of Indonesian Top 40 songs. He played the songs over and over again in his discman and watched the music channel. I almost got a mental breakdown when one day he tried to make me listen to the songs. When I couldn't handle it again I screamed.
Papap laughed. He just loved it when he saw me cracking.
"I'm practicing Top 40 songs."
"It's been awhile since I keep track on the Top 40."
"And there is this band at the office..."
"And I am in."
He stopped and watched my face. I know that Papap could (some 15-20 years ago) played a guitar, but I also know that he doesn't sing. I don't have to tell you how terrible his voice is so you just have to trust me. Papap trusts me on this too.
"You mean you are applying to be in the band?"
"No, I am in the band. I am the lead vocalist."
"You what?!"
Papap belly-laughed.
"Why would they do that?"
"Because there is nobody else."
"And I have to keep practicing the songs."
"Why? To make your voice sound nicer?"
"No. To make me remember the songs. Sometimes when the band plays a song, I have no idea which song they are playing."
At this point I had to laugh.
"So..." Papap eyed me. "Can I have a guitar for my birthday present?"
Papap has never asked for or wished for a birthday present ever. When he mentioned the guitar, I knew it was serious.
"Well, sure, but why?"
"May be I can sing and play the guitar too."
Suddenly the voice of my 20-something-years-ago girl friend rang in my ears.
"You know who is the sexiest, De'? The lead vocalist who plays instrument."

Happy Birthday, Papap! I'll buy you the guitar but you have to drop the singing. One cannot have everything in this world, people say.

God is in the office

My life has been like a roller coaster.
Healthy to being Sick
Happy to become Sad
Having some jobs to jobless to having more than I can handle
Having no money to having some, then no money again
Getting more friends to quarelling with a few
After that, people love to tell me how life is like a wheel.
Once you are up, the next time you are down there.
I never think of life that way.
My roller-coaster life is just a proof that God is in the office.
And He is in charge.
And he never takes a leave. Even on holidays.

Happy Eid Mubarak, friends.
Let's renew our faith.
Stronger as years go by...