Arial vol II: The Girl in the Tree

Arial, July 2023—somewhere on the beach

In defence of my lover-girl era, here I am, willfully and continuously loving Arial—the bane of my existence; whom I will stand by between the heaven and the earth no matter how many times I tell him to get lost—Satriyo. 

I can’t believe we have reached this milestone, being in a healthy relationship for more than two years. When did I last write you this kind of appreciation letter? A year ago? HAVE YOU READ IT? (A bit of yelling, because why not, xixixi)

On our second anniversary, let me tell you a story about a girl who was cold and cruel, and cut off any chance of compassion and connection. She had a resentment that grew into a giant gap of grief, guilt, and “Groot” (for the sake of rhyme). Let us see this story through her lenses.

The Girl in the Tree

For many years, I saw silence from the trees, as I placed my wish, thirst, and passions on them. I was always watering them with the most sacred, sainted water, which I barely tasted. I looked at other kids; instead of doing what I did, they were given gold and gems and glory and water—more sainted water—even milk and sweets and fruits. 

What was I doing wrong? Why did I always give and never take? The other kids were just fine, only by being there—sheltering under their respective trees—and sleeping peacefully. What was I doing wrong? I never slept peacefully, as I was afraid of the possibility of the snakes biting me; the snakes that dwelled among the branches of the trees that I lived in. 

I never complained about my trees to anyone. From my deepest heart, I was thankful, even though the unevenness of antidotes and outcomes remained, despite how hard I tried to be the most saintly among the others; it was still the quarter, after all. Nevertheless, it left an enormous hole in me that no one could ever see. The void grew bigger and bigger, day by day; it had become a gaping wound. I had no time to peek at them or heal them. 

I only knew how to conceal, unfeel, and be unspoken. All I did was yearn in silence; with the tears of blood, I whispered to my own heart, 'It’ll pass.' Would it? Would it ever pass? I was sceptical, as I had always been. Perhaps what people said about the power of minds and manifestations did exist. But I was in a position where I regarded those as bullshit. It never happened to me. With my blood, sweat, and tears, I mourned every day, hoping that I would be blessed with a bit of luck in finally finding my unknown. I even named it unknown because I had no idea what kind of luck it was; neither had I expected nor experienced it. Wasn’t it the most natural response from a girl who never received love? 

I rejected all the trajectories of other trees, roots, and branches, which offered me more solace and consolation. It was just a mask, after all; they would eventually unveil their true colour and take everything, just like what my trees had done to me. I chose to stay in torment, silently. I cursed myself in awe; you can’t even show your true colour to anyone, why would you expect them to show one? Then, I remembered a line from the book I read, “He who seeks does not find, but he who does not seek will be found.” Would I find whatever it was that was being highlighted there? Should I just wait to be found, but not know what it was? I had lived in a world where my expectancy lay in the fate of my trees; holding onto them was my core.

One day, I met a white Labrador Retriever who sang a full album called To Pimp a Butterfly in front of my trees. As a creature who never left them, no matter how many times my mind told me to run away and let go of all the strings—the heart wants what it wants—I only chose to scan this white, angel-like, and lively dog. I was so curious, but the emerging reaction was me side-eyeing him. To be honest, this white Labrador Retriever captivated my heart when he was about to disappear from my sight. I named this move as 'intending to avoid my bitter heart, life, and fate, or even face.' My calculation was wrong, nonetheless. He ran towards me and leaned on me as if he wanted to express his gratitude for my existence. That day, I realised that the Labrador had a fresh-cut wound on his paw, but he looked unaffected and still could perform awesomely and even transfer his blissful energy to my miserable life. He said, “I finally found you.”

From that day on, the Labrador was my unknown. He was the one I went to when I was sad or glad, scared or bleak, in discomfort or despair. Also, at the very happiest of my series of luck and fortune, he was here with me, since this white, unknown Labrador Retriever had come from the unknown to share his series of luck with mine. I never intended to find anybody, despite my darkness, but the red, invisible string finally showed its presence through the company of a white Labrador Retriever. Live a long life, my unknown. I cherish you so much in my life. Now, I am found.

The end.

us, July 2023—somewhere on the beach

Let us go back to the lover girl’s POV. Alright, that was all that I got after months of my writing slump stage. I hope you (my Arial) enjoy the “Coretan jam 5 pagi” above. This series of me (the writer side of me) should not die, seeing I enjoy this process so much; romance never dies. Hopefully, the next volume will be published soon [manifesting]. Man, I’m sleepy.