Bab 1: Keseimbangan yang Hilang Aisha, seorang arsitek muda berbakat di Bandar Lampung, hidup dalam dunia yang terstruktur dan terukur. Kehidupannya adalah perpaduan sempurna antara pekerjaan, desain yang rumit, dan kesempurnaan yang ia tuntut dari dirinya sendiri. Namun, di balik kesempurnaan itu tersimpan kekosongan. Ia merasa hidupnya seperti bangunan tanpa pondasi yang kokoh, selalu mengancam untuk runtuh. Hubungannya dengan kekasihnya, Dimas, seorang dokter yang selalu sibuk, semakin renggang. Keseimbangan dalam hidupnya hilang. Di tengah kesibukannya, Aisha bertemu dengan seorang seniman keramik, Bayu. Bayu adalah kebalikan dari Aisha. Ia hidup sederhana, penuh warna, dan percaya pada aliran kehidupan yang alami. Karya-karyanya, vas-vas keramik yang unik dan penuh ekspresi, mencerminkan jiwa seninya yang bebas. Pertemuan mereka terjadi di sebuah pameran seni lokal, dan sejak saat itu, hidup Aish...
Locked in Time
Lori picked up her remote and clicked the television off. She was antsy tonight and couldn't settle herself. Work was swamped and there was always drama of some kind, so she had medicated herself with takeout and her favorite crime shows. When were things going to change for her? After the death of her mom 8 months ago, Lori's world was shaken up, but now she was back in her same old routine. Most evenings were spent on the couch, except when she helped her brother, Tim, clean out their childhood home.
The house was mostly empty now and Tim was fixing it up to sell. A lifetime of memories was being taken away to the Salvation Army or the dump. Turns out Mom's prized ceramic mice weren't worth anything to anyone.
"Hey, Lori," Tim texted. "I found some things in the attic for you to look at. Can you come by tomorrow?"
"Sure. I'm off work at three. I'll come by then." Lori texted back.
More stuff to sort through, she sighed and turned the TV back on.
The next day, Lori couldn't wait until 3:00 came - she was done with this day. The repetitive paperwork was sucking the life from her.
The crisp autumn day greeted her when she left, and she took a meditative breath to release the stress. It would be good to see her little brother and the progress he was making on the house. Even though it was sad to see her memories disassembled it was good to see new life in the fixer upper.
The little yellow craftsman bungalow would always feel like home. Lori pulled up next to Tim's truck, whose bed was full of junk.
"Hello," she called, walking in the open front door.
"In the kitchen," Tim called, from the other room.
"Wow!" Lori said, surprised. "It looks so bare in here. And larger now," she added.
The ancient red linoleum had been stripped revealing rough, wooden planks.
"Can these floors be sanded?" She asked.
"Definitely," Tim said, taking down one of the cabinets. "Just needs a good sanding and stain."
Nostalgia rippled through her as the memories in this kitchen flashed through her thoughts. Like most kitchens, it had been the hub of their lives for many years. Tim tossed the cabinet out the back door to the dumpster and another memory was discarded just like that. It was almost painful to watch. It was like a part of her life was being taken apart bit by bit.
"There's a box in the dining room for you. I think it had been yours anyway," Tim said, nodding toward the other room. "It was under the rafters in the attic. Didn't Grandpa Carl make it for you?"
I ducked into the empty dining room to look. The faded wallpaper was peeling in places. A wooden box sat on the floor by the entryway.
"OH MY GOSH!" I shouted with excitement. "I forgot about this. Aww, Grandpa made it for my 12th birthday! I used to keep my favorite things in it," Lori called to her brother, running over to tenderly retrieve it.
It was a solid, wood box and she lugged it into the kitchen and put it on the only remaining countertop.
She ran her hand over the smooth wood, thrilled to find this connection to her past. With bated breath, she lifted the hinged lid and was transported back to her childhood.
Memories flooded her, as she reached in and gingerly touched the various links to her past. There was her favorite frosted pink lip gloss from Avon. She couldn't remember the name of it, and it was too worn out to read. Her fingers lifted the geode she'd gotten in Harper's Ferry, WV; the white and purple crystals still glittering.
"Oh, Timmy!" she cried out his childhood name. "My sketchbook! I never knew what happened to it. I thought it was lost forever."
Lori was grinning from ear to ear as she flipped through the little black book, which was filled with her pencil drawings. She felt like she'd just found a treasure.
"You were such a good artist," Tim commented, looking over her shoulder. "Why did you ever stop drawing?"
"I don't know," Lori said, transfixed by her find. "It wasn't practical I guess; dad would've said."
"Sounds like him," Tim agreed.
There was an old troll with pink, tufted hair that was dressed in a little outfit she'd sown. She had been so creative, she marveled. What had happened to all that creativity? When was the last time she had picked up a pencil to draw or to paint? How had she lost such an important part of herself?
"Look, a postcard from lake Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Remember that summer we vacationed there? God it was so beautiful. I always wanted to go back. I was going to live there and be an artist," Lori reminisced.
"My opal ring!" Lori squealed. "Remember from the opal mine on that trip? It fits my pinky now!" She said, putting it on her finger. "Just a little snug," she said, triumphantly, holding out her right hand.
In the bottom of the box was a photo booth picture. "Oh my," Lori grinned, holding out the picture to Tim. Here's Kate and me. We must have been 13 or 14. We look like babies."
"Are you still in touch with her?" Tim wondered.
"Only on Facebook. I've got to send her this," Lori vowed.
“This box is like a time capsule to my 15-year-old self,” Lori gushed.
“I’ve already got an offer on the house,” Tim tells her, as he resumes taking out the cabinets.
“I’m not ready,” Lori frowned.
“Price is good. That might make it easier,” he said. “It will be a nice nest egg for us.”
“I can’t argue that” she said. We’ve had the house so long. How will it feel to not be able to pop by any longer? It'll feel like ripping off a band aid."
“We’ll always have the memories, Lori,” Tim said, pointing out the truth.
“I know,” she agreed. “Need any help before I go?”
“No,” he grunted, as he yanked the cabinet from the wall. “I’m almost done for the day.”
Lori went home with her bittersweet memories and her childhood treasures. Instead of flipping on the TV, she poured herself a glass of wine and studied her old sketchbook.
“Not bad,” she admitted to herself, wondering why she’d stopped drawing. She could almost hear the worried voice of her Mom and Dad as they questioned what she would do with an Art degree, so she’d switched to business before giving up and dropping out after two years.
Glancing threw her sketchbook, Lori was suddenly filled with creative inspiration. After some digging, she found some of her art supplies in the guest room closet. With a blank sketch pad, she sat down and started drawing. It was frustrating at first since she was so rusty but after a while she started to get into it. Placing the postcard from Idaho on her table, she roughed out the lake with the boats moored at the dock. It wasn’t brilliant, she thought, holding it up, but she felt energized in a way she hadn’t in years.
The next day, Lori’s euphoria at finding a lost part of herself lingered throughout her workday, making her job bearable. After work she stopped off at the craft store to browse. She felt like a kid in a candy store. Buying a new sketchbook and some charcoal pencils and supplies, she went home filled with a new hope.
Almost immediately she cracked open her new sketchbook. She sat on her front steps and drew the old maple with its colored leaves beginning to fall. Lost in her craft, she sketched away until it started to get dark. She grabbed the mail and headed in to make something for dinner, eager to get back to her drawing.
As she tossed the mail on the kitchen table, she noticed the Continuing Education catalog from the local college. On impulse, she scanned the classes while she made her dinner, when she came across the Arts and Craft section. She was thrilled to see some interesting art classes were coming up for the winter semester. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make some changes in her life, making a promise to herself that she would rediscover the creative young girl who used to spend hours making art.
Lori picked up her remote and clicked the television off. She was antsy tonight and couldn't settle herself. Work was swamped and there was always drama of some kind, so she had medicated herself with takeout and her favorite crime shows. When were things going to change for her? After the death of her mom 8 months ago, Lori's world was shaken up, but now she was back in her same old routine. Most evenings were spent on the couch, except when she helped her brother, Tim, clean out their childhood home.
The house was mostly empty now and Tim was fixing it up to sell. A lifetime of memories was being taken away to the Salvation Army or the dump. Turns out Mom's prized ceramic mice weren't worth anything to anyone.
"Hey, Lori," Tim texted. "I found some things in the attic for you to look at. Can you come by tomorrow?"
"Sure. I'm off work at three. I'll come by then." Lori texted back.
More stuff to sort through, she sighed and turned the TV back on.
The next day, Lori couldn't wait until 3:00 came - she was done with this day. The repetitive paperwork was sucking the life from her.
The crisp autumn day greeted her when she left, and she took a meditative breath to release the stress. It would be good to see her little brother and the progress he was making on the house. Even though it was sad to see her memories disassembled it was good to see new life in the fixer upper.
The little yellow craftsman bungalow would always feel like home. Lori pulled up next to Tim's truck, whose bed was full of junk.
"Hello," she called, walking in the open front door.
"In the kitchen," Tim called, from the other room.
"Wow!" Lori said, surprised. "It looks so bare in here. And larger now," she added.
The ancient red linoleum had been stripped revealing rough, wooden planks.
"Can these floors be sanded?" She asked.
"Definitely," Tim said, taking down one of the cabinets. "Just needs a good sanding and stain."
Nostalgia rippled through her as the memories in this kitchen flashed through her thoughts. Like most kitchens, it had been the hub of their lives for many years. Tim tossed the cabinet out the back door to the dumpster and another memory was discarded just like that. It was almost painful to watch. It was like a part of her life was being taken apart bit by bit.
"There's a box in the dining room for you. I think it had been yours anyway," Tim said, nodding toward the other room. "It was under the rafters in the attic. Didn't Grandpa Carl make it for you?"
I ducked into the empty dining room to look. The faded wallpaper was peeling in places. A wooden box sat on the floor by the entryway.
"OH MY GOSH!" I shouted with excitement. "I forgot about this. Aww, Grandpa made it for my 12th birthday! I used to keep my favorite things in it," Lori called to her brother, running over to tenderly retrieve it.
It was a solid, wood box and she lugged it into the kitchen and put it on the only remaining countertop.
She ran her hand over the smooth wood, thrilled to find this connection to her past. With bated breath, she lifted the hinged lid and was transported back to her childhood.
Memories flooded her, as she reached in and gingerly touched the various links to her past. There was her favorite frosted pink lip gloss from Avon. She couldn't remember the name of it, and it was too worn out to read. Her fingers lifted the geode she'd gotten in Harper's Ferry, WV; the white and purple crystals still glittering.
"Oh, Timmy!" she cried out his childhood name. "My sketchbook! I never knew what happened to it. I thought it was lost forever."
Lori was grinning from ear to ear as she flipped through the little black book, which was filled with her pencil drawings. She felt like she'd just found a treasure.
"You were such a good artist," Tim commented, looking over her shoulder. "Why did you ever stop drawing?"
"I don't know," Lori said, transfixed by her find. "It wasn't practical I guess; dad would've said."
"Sounds like him," Tim agreed.
There was an old troll with pink, tufted hair that was dressed in a little outfit she'd sown. She had been so creative, she marveled. What had happened to all that creativity? When was the last time she had picked up a pencil to draw or to paint? How had she lost such an important part of herself?
"Look, a postcard from lake Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Remember that summer we vacationed there? God it was so beautiful. I always wanted to go back. I was going to live there and be an artist," Lori reminisced.
"My opal ring!" Lori squealed. "Remember from the opal mine on that trip? It fits my pinky now!" She said, putting it on her finger. "Just a little snug," she said, triumphantly, holding out her right hand.
In the bottom of the box was a photo booth picture. "Oh my," Lori grinned, holding out the picture to Tim. Here's Kate and me. We must have been 13 or 14. We look like babies."
"Are you still in touch with her?" Tim wondered.
"Only on Facebook. I've got to send her this," Lori vowed.
“This box is like a time capsule to my 15-year-old self,” Lori gushed.
“I’ve already got an offer on the house,” Tim tells her, as he resumes taking out the cabinets.
“I’m not ready,” Lori frowned.
“Price is good. That might make it easier,” he said. “It will be a nice nest egg for us.”
“I can’t argue that” she said. We’ve had the house so long. How will it feel to not be able to pop by any longer? It'll feel like ripping off a band aid."
“We’ll always have the memories, Lori,” Tim said, pointing out the truth.
“I know,” she agreed. “Need any help before I go?”
“No,” he grunted, as he yanked the cabinet from the wall. “I’m almost done for the day.”
Lori went home with her bittersweet memories and her childhood treasures. Instead of flipping on the TV, she poured herself a glass of wine and studied her old sketchbook.
“Not bad,” she admitted to herself, wondering why she’d stopped drawing. She could almost hear the worried voice of her Mom and Dad as they questioned what she would do with an Art degree, so she’d switched to business before giving up and dropping out after two years.
Glancing threw her sketchbook, Lori was suddenly filled with creative inspiration. After some digging, she found some of her art supplies in the guest room closet. With a blank sketch pad, she sat down and started drawing. It was frustrating at first since she was so rusty but after a while she started to get into it. Placing the postcard from Idaho on her table, she roughed out the lake with the boats moored at the dock. It wasn’t brilliant, she thought, holding it up, but she felt energized in a way she hadn’t in years.
The next day, Lori’s euphoria at finding a lost part of herself lingered throughout her workday, making her job bearable. After work she stopped off at the craft store to browse. She felt like a kid in a candy store. Buying a new sketchbook and some charcoal pencils and supplies, she went home filled with a new hope.
Almost immediately she cracked open her new sketchbook. She sat on her front steps and drew the old maple with its colored leaves beginning to fall. Lost in her craft, she sketched away until it started to get dark. She grabbed the mail and headed in to make something for dinner, eager to get back to her drawing.
As she tossed the mail on the kitchen table, she noticed the Continuing Education catalog from the local college. On impulse, she scanned the classes while she made her dinner, when she came across the Arts and Craft section. She was thrilled to see some interesting art classes were coming up for the winter semester. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make some changes in her life, making a promise to herself that she would rediscover the creative young girl who used to spend hours making art.
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