I have lived for 25 years, and perhaps, in moments of silence and noise, I have heard the name Sheila Majid, like the scent of the earth after rain — it lingers briefly but binds itself to the mind. Today, I met her in a romantic ambiance, living joyfully, and her beautiful bass voice resonated in my ears.
Malunya hati ini
Bila ku ingat saat itu
Kami hanya saling berpandang
Dan terdiam, terpaku
Isn’t it true that when we meet, it is they who ignite a fire within our souls? A tumultuous presence within, tranquil on the surface, and all we desire is for them to know, even if we must entrust a letter to the moon in the darkest of nights. In certain phases, we perceive things and words from angles that never align with Jakarta or the world. She often eludes us in fleeting glimmers of her eyes and the knots of smiles we carve from dusk till night. The cold pole becomes the measure that binds us in a vocabulary of sacrifices, with wet palms clasped tightly.
Hagel, the master of masters, has a method he calls “ratio,” which, in literal translation, is a calculating balance in the realm of life. If we know it in the context of friendship, when what exists exceeds the limits of ratio, it places things beyond predictability. Perhaps that is the meaning of our exchanged glances and silence because, until that day, the ratio we knew was 1:10, while for her, 0 was what we used. Just as Arab mathematicians introduced symbols in the form of angles, and Al-Khwarizmi discovered the number 0, which was previously nonexistent.
Nevertheless, I am delighted to have met her today, amidst the continuation of her melodious voice and the passion that sets apart expressions of love from the music I heard today.
