(Inspired by “Sore: Istri Dari Masa Depan” (Sore, Wife from The Future), a movie by Yandy Laurens)

If one day I wake up and find someone next to me claiming to be my husband from the future, I think I would be stunned into silence. Not because I don’t want to believe it, but because deep down, I’ve never been so sure that I would actually find him. And yet, if he did appear, my first words would probably be: “Are you really my husband from the future?”

I would want to know what made him decide to come back to this very moment. Did he want to bring me a message? A warning? A glimpse of what’s waiting ahead? Or perhaps a gentle guidance on the things I should change, so that one day, I will carry fewer regrets.

But first of all, let me ask about the dark cloud that is hanging over me.

Do I still look the same: someone who hides misery behind her smile? Has the sadness that once weighed so heavily on my heart finally softened with time? Do tears still wait quietly in the corners of my eyes, ready to fall at the smallest trigger? Does my breathing still feel heavy from grief, or have I finally learned to breathe freely again? The deep pain I’ve carried for several months, tell me, has it healed?

And then, what about the life we’ll share? What kind of wedding will it be for someone like me, who has never been able to picture herself in a wedding dress? What kind of family will we build together?  What kind of home will we call ours? Will it have a small backyard garden, like the one I’ve always dreamed of?

Of course, I know he might not give me any answers. Maybe he would just smile, keeping the future a mystery. Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be, because some journeys are not meant to be spoiled in advance, but lived, step by step. And that’s okay. Because just knowing he exists, knowing that somewhere out there, someone is destined for me, would already be enough to make my heart a little lighter. I would carry that thought with me: that I am not walking toward nothing, but toward someone.

So thank you for existing. Thank you for letting the current me know that you exist. I have a lot of shortcomings, so please treat me with patience, understanding, and mercy. And I promise, when our paths finally cross, I will take good care of you, too. For now, let’s pray for each other until the day our prayers are answered in each other’s presence.

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(I write this today on my late mom’s birthday. Her last wish was to see me get married. I am deeply sorry that I couldn’t make it happen while you were still here. That regret still weighs on me every now and then. I pray that your wish, though delayed, still found its way to me. I will sincerely pray about it.)

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P.S.: It took me 5 months to finally be able to write again. Hello, everyone. I hope you and your loved ones are doing well. 

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image source: idntimes.com

“Please come home now. Your dad and mom faced a misfortune.”

My heart stopped. This is the moment every child living far from home fears the most: the call that asks you to come back, but not from the voices of your parents. The call that shatters the illusion that there will always be more time.

I rushed home in tears, my hands trembling as I clutched my ticket, my breath uneven as I boarded the train. The journey stretched endlessly, each mile carrying me closer to a reality I could not bear to face. I pressed my forehead against the cold window, silently pleading: please, let this be a mistake. Please Ya Allah, I beg you.

But it wasn’t.

I arrived home to find two lifeless bodies lying in the living room. My parents, who once filled this home with laughter and warmth, were now covered in white shrouds.

Time stopped. My world stopped. I wanted to wake up, but this nightmare was infuriatingly real. As I walked closer to their corpses, these thoughts ran through my mind: How am I supposed to continue life without their voices calling my name? Without their prayers in every step I take? Without their hands, once so strong, now forever still?

I tried to console myself with words meant to offer comfort:

“Someone’s fate, including their death, is already decided 50.000 years before the world was created. Please accept it.”

“Your parents were taken in such a beautiful way, you couldn’t ask for better. You should be patient.”

“No matter how much you cry, they will not come back. Please be strong.”

“Hold yourself together. Your younger brother needs you to be someone to comfort him.”

But nothing could reach me. Nothing could make this hurt less. All I thought was: I am supposed to continue life after this? Isn’t it too impossible with the heart that will carry great pain all my life? Also how? Someone should tell me how to continue life after something so heartbreaking like this.

I thought, maybe with time, the pain would dull. That grief would grow tired of tormenting me. But days passed, and I remained numb. I still cried even when I told myself to let it go because there was nothing I can’t do anymore to bring them back. I moved through life as if in a fog, my body present but my soul somewhere else, somewhere still clinging to the past, still reaching for hands that would never again hold mine.

As I couldn’t rewind time, I would try to do everything I could do, including saying the words I never said. Here are the words I’ve been wanting to tell you both, Mom and Dad. I regret that I couldn’t say them while staring at your eyes:

Mom and Dad, even if I could choose my fate, I would still choose to be your daughter a thousand times over. I asked Allah to make me yours not once, but twice: here in this world and in the hereafter. Forgive me for every time I failed you, for every hardship I unknowingly caused. Forgive me for being difficult when all you ever gave me was love. I regret every unspoken thank you, every moment I took for granted, every time I thought we had more time. Thank you for raising me, for giving me all that you had, for being my home. I witnessed that you two had done your best. I pray you both have a beautiful life there.  

Until we meet again in the hereafter. 

Love,

iim

I watch him the way one watches the sea: awed, yet knowing that they can never be part of its vastness. He moves through the world like sunlight breaking through leaves, warm and kind, never failing to bring light to those around him. Even in his quiet moments, I can see it: the way his life must be filled with calm laughter, effortless joy, with a world that welcomes him with open arms. I imagine his path, lined with flowers, that he could carry himself with ease.

I have spent years wondering what it would feel like to belong in his world. To hear his stories, not as an insignificant outsider, but as someone he chooses. However, as someone with a cloud hanging over her head, I have always known that I do not belong there. I know that he deserves a woman with light in her eyes, someone who mirrors the beauty he carries. He deserves someone whose voice sparkles with optimism when she speaks of dreams. He should be with someone whose steps match his own, someone who walks beside him on a path just as beautiful as his.

He deserves a love that is radiant, uncomplicated, and full of life—everything I am not.

But if I can erase the stark contrast, I want to be someone he dearly calls home. I hope he will be looking forward to coming home because I am his safe space. I want to be the person he turns to when the world feels too heavy. How I wish coming home for him meant meeting someone who understands even the things he does not say. How I yearn that, when the day fades, he would find solace in sharing what happened with me over an afternoon tea. How I wish that even on his toughest days, he would smile at the thought of the deep conversations we would have after long hours of exhaustion.

But I know he wouldn’t want to come home to someone whose life is complicated like me. I am sure he doesn't want to spend his lively life with someone whose life is as dull as mine. 

Therefore, I will keep my distance so I don’t burden him. Instead, I will silently pray for him, asking for nothing in return. I hope he will spend his life with someone as bright as he is. I hope that person gives him a life as beautiful as the one he deserves. And when that day comes, when I see him happy, I will smile. Even as my heart breaks, I will definitely be pleased. Because if he is happy, then that is enough. That is also a sort of happy ending for me.

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The title is inspired by a letter in the Thai drama "My Cherie Amour". In the letter, the main character wrote, "I'm not sure if you would want to spend your exciting and joyful life with such a boring person like me,". 

(As always, it's labeled fiction because it is fiction)

Malam itu, jemariku berkelana di antara kumpulan catatan di ponsel. Di antaranya, aku menemukan secarik tulisan yang kubuat tepat di hari pertama tahun ini. Biasanya, aku menuliskan beberapa target di awal tahun, tetapi kali ini hanya ada satu kalimat:

"Berikan waktu kepada Sang Pemilik Waktu."

Jari-jariku yang semula lincah terhenti. Apa yang terjadi saat aku menuliskan kalimat itu? Apakah aku sedang bersedih atau justru berbahagia? Aku mencoba mengingat kembali momen itu. Tak lama kemudian, aku tersenyum. Aku teringat rasa lega dan hangat yang memenuhi hati mengetik kalimat itu.

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Di suatu subuh di bulan Maret 2024, aku tersentak oleh sensasi dunia berputar begitu cepat. Sejak saat itu, keseimbanganku seolah menghilang. Saat berjalan, aku merasa hendak terjatuh. Saat berdiam, aku merasa badanku berguncang. Setiap pagi, aku terbangun dengan kelelahan yang mendera dan kekhawatiran yang tak kunjung reda. Hari-hari berlalu dalam tatapan kosong, seolah dunia yang kupijak sedang menelantarkanku.

Lambat laun, aku mulai lelah menunggu pemulihan.

"Apakah ada kemungkinan jika saya tidak akan pernah sembuh, Dok?" tanyaku suatu sore, di kunjungan yang kesekian, dengan suara yang lemah.

Dokter itu mengerutkan kening, mencoba memahami arah pertanyaanku.

"Jika memang demikian, saya ingin belajar menerima vertigo ini sebagai bagian permanen dalam hidup saya." Aku bahkan tak tahu berapa banyak energi yang telah kuhabiskan hanya untuk bisa mengucapkan kalimat itu dengan tenang.

Tatapan dokter yang biasanya lembut kini semakin melunak. Ia menepuk pundakku perlahan dan berujar, "Kamu pasti sembuh. Percaya bahwa kamu pasti bisa sembuh. InsyaAllah."

Namun, entah mengapa, kata-kata yang seharusnya menggelar harapan itu terdengar seperti penghiburan semata. Aku tersenyum pahit. Setelah berbulan-bulan berada dalam lorong panjang yang gelap, aku tak lagi bisa melihat di mana ujungnya. Aku mulai kehilangan kepercayaan bahwa aku ditakdirkan untuk pulih, tidak bahkan setelah waktu yang panjang berlalu.

Sebagai seseorang yang kerap merasa waktu membiarkannya terbengkalai, aku mulai terbiasa tidak berharap banyak. Setelah lebih dari satu dekade dipenuhi pertanyaan tentang kapan masa-masa yang kuharapkan tiba, kini aku hanya ingin berdamai. Hati yang dulu dipenuhi keraguan: "Pasti datangkah semua yang ditunggu?" seperti dalam puisi Sapardi Djoko Damono, kini tak lagi terlalu menunggu. Batin yang dulu resah: "I used to think that I couldn't find it for my entire life. The world is very big and I walked it slowly," seperti ujar Bolin Shijiang, kini tak lagi begitu mencari.

Aku tersadar bahwa menanti dengan harapan jauh lebih berat ketimbang tanpa berharap. Maka, aku berhenti bertanya dan memilih menerima bahwa mungkin, tak semua orang mendapatkan apa yang mereka perjuangkan. Aku mulai berbisik pada diriku sendiri, "Mungkin memang begini hidupku selamanya.".

Sampai akhirnya, di suatu hari di bulan November 2024, aku mencoba bersujud, sesuatu yang berbulan-bulan tak bisa kulakukan tanpa dunia terasa berputar begitu kencang. Aku bisa melakukannya. BPPV (Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo) yang sekian lama menggelayuti langkahku perlahan mulai membaik. Air mata jatuh tanpa bisa kutahan. Aku menyadari bahwa Sang Pemilik Waktu hanya meminta hatiku lebih berlapang sebelum akhirnya disembuhkan.

"Beri waktu kepada Sang Pemilik Waktu," kalimat yang melintas di pikiran.

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Setelah kejadian itu, aku tak lagi berlari ke segala penjuru, mencari jawaban. Aku berhenti tergesa-gesa menuntut kepastian dari waktu. Aku memilih untuk berdoa dalam senyap lalu percaya.

Percaya bahwa waktu memiliki caranya sendiri. Percaya bahwa Sang Pemilik Waktu tahu kapan saat yang tepat untuk menghadirkan apa yang kubutuhkan. Percaya bahwa badai, sebesar apapun, akan berlalu. Percaya bahwa Dia sedang merangkai setiap potongan hidupku dengan baik meski saat ini aku belum bisa melihatnya.

Tahun ini, aku hanya ingin berkata pada diriku sendiri:

"Kamu sudah berusaha dengan baik, Nur Imroatun Sholihat. Tetapi untuk perkara waktu, mulai sekarang, berikanlah kepada Sang Pemilik Waktu. Dia tidak akan menelantarkanmu". 

Love, 

iim