September
September came and ended with a cruel transition. The heat of the dry season still clung to my skin, dry skin slowly shrinking, losing its moisture. But occasionally, the air carried traces of the rainy season. Slipping away, it was still reluctant to stay, and so it left. Yes, moments like these overlap, where one thing wants to stay and another insists on its arrival. This state, not here, not there. Both hold memories and carry a sense of anticipation. Of what has been, of what will be. To dwell in between means to inhabit the pause — where the flow of time and place and every object they touch blurs, blending into one. Where we are suspended between what has been, and what will be. That is the “in between” I know.
September datang dan berakhir dengan transisi yang kejam. Panas dari musim kemarau masih saja melekat dikulit, kulit kering yang perlahan menyusut, kehilangan kelembabannya. Namun, sesekali udara membawa jejak-jejak musim hujan. Terselip begitu saja, yang mana ia masih segan tinggal, dan maka ia pergi. Ya, momen-momen seperti ini yang tumpang tindih, di mana satu hal ingin menetap dan hal lain bersikeras pada kedatangannya. Kondisi ini, bukan di sini, bukan di sana. Keduanya menyimpan memori dan membawa rasa akan penantian. Atas apa yang sudah, atas apa yang akan. Untuk tinggal di antaranya berarti untuk mendiami jeda — di mana aliran waktu dan tempat dan setiap benda yang disentuhnya mengabur, membaur menjadi satu. Di mana kita ditangguhkan di antara yang sudah, dan yang akan. Itulah “di antara” yang kutahu.
September
September came and ended with a cruel transition. The heat of the dry season still clung to my skin, dry skin slowly shrinking, losing its moisture. But occasionally, the air carried traces of the rainy season. Slipping away, it was still reluctant to stay, and so it left. Yes, moments like these overlap, where one thing wants to stay and another insists on its arrival. This state, not here, not there. Both hold memories and carry a sense of anticipation. Of what has been, of what will be. To dwell in between means to inhabit the pause — where the flow of time and place and every object they touch blurs, blending into one. Where we are suspended between what has been, and what will be. That is the “in between” I know.
