Indonesian has two words that look identical but mean completely otherwise.
Tinggal and tinggal. Leave and stay.
Because when we want to say I want to leave, we’d say I want to let something stay behind.
Some of us probably believe in a theory that having no one is the greatest, most beautiful privilege a life could give. A thought of being able to run on your own feet, grow your own wings, choose your own path, your own people because you are the only one who rules your own world, is beyond perfect. A thought of making your own decision comfortably. A thought of being able to stay whenever you feel to, to leave whenever you want to. Without having someone or something to hold you back.
As if having no one really means nothing is owning even tiny bit of your existence.
In fact, we are wrong. When you leave, you’d always leave something behind. You will let something stay while you’re walking away.
A person who hugged you goodbye while keeping fingers from shaking and heart from ripping. A person who secretly loves you. A person who is waiting for your answer. Or your question. A person who has never stopped watching you. Who prays for your health. Who is longing for your voice. Who has your pictures in their secret folder. Who keeps a memory of you. Who you have a memory with. A person who writes about you. A person who remembers your scar and the story behind it. A person who is craving for your uncertainty. Thirsty for your burning desire. Who has always been staying and never thought to quit. A person who’s hurt. A person who has not known that he or she is gonna hurt just yet. Who once had their sky blue and their sun shone knowing you would never leave. That you would always stay. That you wont just get away, thinking no one is losing you.
Someone somewhere has lost you.
You didn’t know, did you?