Stania’s Blog: This is not my life story

I’m Dumb.
That’s my name.
Everyone who hear it for the first time thought that I was joking. But I was not.
And they soon realize why I was inherited the name.
I am a stutterer. I can’t speak easily, especially in front of audiences.
My hands would shake, my knees would tremble and my pant would soon get wet. I am clumsy as well, like to procrastinate and forgetful.
It’s not something I’m proud of, but these traits seem running wildly in my blood. Do people mock at me?
Sure, and the scorns even get louder if I was caught doing mistakes.
But it’s better to be underestimated. When you’re doing things correctly -even if it’s a small thing- people will give you credit; but if you are overestimated, you will carry a burden of people’s expectation that you might not want to know in a first place.

Afterall, God is very kind to me.
I am blessed by green thumbs. Tener mano para las plantas. I like taking care of plants and pinching off the plant’s growing tips is my specialty. It makes the plant send out lateral shoots and make it bushier. My bosses always satisfy because the plants juices and cells in their garden become lodged under my fingers.
Nature is my place.
Like Nabokov, I feel the highest enjoyment when I stand among butterflies and their food plants. It’s an ecstasy and behind the ecstasy is something else, which is hard to explain. It is like a momentary vacuum into which rushes all that I love. A sense of oneness with sun and stone.

But still, I’m Dumb, the careless and sloppy person.
On one important day, I was late to Kebun Garden, the place where I have been working for the past three years as a gardener. It was a prestigious centennial gardening contest my boss always wanted to participate. Seeing my great jobs with plants and lovingness to butterfly, they decided to join the competition. They believed my tender touch will make us win.
I worked my butt off to prepare for that day. I was doing extra ordinary efforts for that… but maybe because I’m Dumb, I was late and mistakenly gave a stinky fertilizer instead a nice fragrant one on the hallway side.
I was devastated. Do they know that my heart was also shattered into pieces because of that? My work owns a special room in me. I love it and watch the feeling grows everyday. It calms me and gives me meanings.
But isn’t it very human to be wrong? Perfection only belongs to the Divine.
I don’t regret it. If I have to regret all the bad things in my life, then I also have to regret the good things too. And she is one of the good things happened in my life.
Dumber.
That’s her name.
Dumber is the butterfly who dances in my tummy.
She’s my butterfly. She’s mine.
She always told me that she’s not dumber than me. In contrary, much smarter.
But I think that’s only her way to convince herself because… well, you can see it from her name, right?

I first met her when she was nervously crossing the street in front of my garden. She was almost hit by a truck if I did not pull her fast into the sidewalks. Fretfully, she explained her anxiety that day. She was a microbiology student. That early morning, her lab’s autoclave blew up when she tried to disinfect all of her glass equipments. She has already set the right temperature, checking the pressure and turned on the alarm clock. But my oh my, she fell asleep like a log, which a normal alarming clock couldn’t wake her up. Birds of the same feather flocks together and I quickly feel attached to her.
I accompanied her into a supporting group. No, not for the alcoholic one, this was a special class for students who have problems finishing their final projects experiments.
First, she would go into the front of the class and said,
“Hi. My name is Dumber….., ” she looked around and continued hesitantly,
“..and I have problems finishing my thesis…” she took a deep breath.
The crowds then replied, “HI DUMBER!!!”

I accompanied her through the sessions until graduation day.
We were inseparable.
I wrote many secret poems and stories of her during my off work in the garden.
I read countless poets and literary works to copy their skills into mine.
My life was never been better than that. I even lost my startled tongue around her.
But there comes another Dumb one day. He works as a mechanical engineer. Yes, his salary in a multinational company is twenty times higher than my gardening pay out, but nothing special about him.
The Dumb-male is a mediocre person, in my opinion.
He always utters awful jokes and his face…is soooo… mechanic!
I couldn’t care less why Dumber feels very attracted to him. And it’s a shitty thing to share a same name with someone you hate. I wish he knew manner by seeing that Dumber is mine and cautiously kept away. But he didn’t. Dumb!
One day Dumber told me that she wanted to marry him. I was panicked.
I asked Dumber,
“Why do you have to marry him?”
“Ya iyalah, masa gue mau ngejomblo terus… nanti gue dibilang perawan tua lagi. Kata orang tua, bawa sial, tauk.”
“Please stay with me. I will write you stories; I will bring you poems and poetry, I will pick the most beautiful flowers in my garden to take home everyday … Why do you even consider him to be your other half? He doesn’t write. He didn’t even understand a single verse. He only cares about money, business, flourishing and reproduce. I read Whitman, I worship Rumi and I adore Coelho. Engineer is a noble profession, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are where we stay alive for. I can give you life; I can set you free…”
“Hah? Ngomong apa sih elo? Mending lo cari pacar aja, biar lo gak ngejomblo kayak sekarang. Sana gih gih gih …”

She married him on a high hill, Bukittinggi.
I lost her forever. My butterfly has gone eternally.
I was defeated by that Dumb male.
Since then, I let him keep the name.
I decided to change mine into Dumbest.

~ by stania on July 29, 2006.