Photography / Writing

She Doesn’t Ask for Your Attention

Text and photos by Dimas Gilang Saputra.

You’re standing in the middle of a desert. On sands. Empty. You try to turn your body, your head, trying to see around. Nobody’s around you. All by yourself. The only living things are desert plants. Green-ish yellow-ish grasses. Savanna. Grassland. Sandland. There are rocks. But they fail to accompany you. There’s a long standing cliff surrounding you. Fence. There are grasses, trees, rocks on that cliff. In some places, you see mountains peeking behind that cliff and hills. Green hills. You listen to winds singing around by your side. You breathe dusts. They make you alive. Then you see above. The sky. Blue sky. No clouds. Not dark. Bright. You like blue. That is a good blue. Every color in that place looks good. But it’s not dark.

Then you sit. Not waiting. Not doing anything. You don’t care about time, sour, or bustle. You see through your eyes, breathe through your nose. Sensing cold winds and heat from the sun. You sit for a long time. You’re not thinking anything. Your mind’s clear. You’re not seeing anything. But your eyes are open. Blank stare. Listening to the winds. Sitting. For a long time.

You lay on the sands. Consolidating with dusts and sands. Surrounded by the cliff, desert, mountains, hills, grasses, trees, rocks. Your eyes are half close. Your nose are full open. Seeing that good blue sky. Quite dazzling that day. Not blinking. Your mouth is half open. Your ears are full open. Your nostrils are full open. You close your eyes.

Long before that, in the night, was very cold. Too cold. That was the coldest you’ve ever felt. You’ve stood in front of a freezer before. This was colder than that. You’ve played football while raining before. This was colder than that. The cold was pleasant. The cold didn’t torture you. He was playing with you. Invited you to sip him. Very precise. Not a single part of your body didn’t freeze. You shivered. All of your muscles tensed. Stars were seen above your head. Clearly visible. Seemed excessive. You’ve never seen stars that clear. No pollution. No light, no smog, no cloud, nothing between you and the stars. Very clear. Almost abnormal. You were freezing but gazing at the stars. You weren’t sure whether those stars also freezing. That night was dark. No ground, no sky, just stars.

You’re always interested in spacious, quiet, empty, un-claustrophobic place. And now you’re in that place. Only if there are no people and their lives. You can hear winds. You can see dusts whirl. Though your eyes are closed. Your eyes are still closed. But now you’re thinking. You don’t know what you’re doing there. Everything feels wrong. Everything looks wrong. And now you’re thinking. You’re there. Bromo. In this beautiful Bromo. This Bromo lays with you. This Bromo sings with you. Plays with you. This Bromo doesn’t ask for your attention. She only  wants you to feel her. Feel everything she has. Getting inside of her.

It was obvious. You saw dusts. Why didn’t you see her? You listened to winds. Why didn’t you listen to her? You felt the sun heat and coldness from the stars. Why didn’t you feel her? It was all obvious. You didn’t realize. But now you do. You know what she means. Know what she wants. Clearly. You open your eyes. Now you see it differently. Correctly. You see every shade. Every line. Every cyan and brown of her.

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Mono·logue

any composition, as a poem, in which a single person speaks alone.

“She Doesn’t Ask for Your Attention” is a monologue based on Dimas’ impression when he was visiting Bromo. Through this monologue, he invites us to imagine the unknown place. He invites us to… contemplate. Contemplating the meaning behind every whirled dust, star on a clear dark night sky who sucks us to its depth, and the wind that somehow brings not only you but your mind to the wildest imagination you’ve ever thought of. Like what its title said, the mystical beauty never asks for an attention.

What do you feel after reading this monologue?

Cheers,

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