An Indonesian writer from West Sumatra, once said, all written criticism comes from things that cannot be written by critics. But I know there is not absolute-truth. In my young-ages when I still in middle school, there are event after met Gadis Embun Pagi with Latin-name 'Puella Roris' and I wrote many of poems about her and also my philosophical text with 2 notebooks by my favorite pen called My-Gel, the philosophical letters it was I given titled as Emil's Mentation, after know about philosophia from Pengantar Filsafat[1] book by Burhanudin Salam the red one. One only philosophical-preface before really understanding about philosophy, then my headmaster in my ex-school said, "Every philosopher is dead!"
I disagree, so I prove to publish Emil's Mentation with my pseudonym that's make kind of other texted my mind. And because I want to prove that I'm a genius-person, when my mom's look-like surrender about myself and ask me to join with her to meet a psychologist, I said to the psychologist, "Am I get bipolar?"
"No!" said the psychologist, "I mean, we can check that if you agree to answer the question about your personality."
Then I came to philosophical-world after I answer a dozens of question in a exam-paper of personality, a few days before I have to consume my medical-recipe that's make me bad-mood. I feel so suffering, struggle and like a zombie. My mother always got me up from my sleep and after that even if I still sleepy, I have to woke up from my dreams. I feel like get a jabbing with mysterious reason, then I know then for a few years that's because my medicine it has poisonous side. Even I have to taking to asylum, just because I do demonstration in the way near of our house in Padang City, around of middle 2017. Then my mother asked me to join with her to psychologist clinic on the evening.
Curious because my mother get in to the toilet with a strange-man, I feel confuse and I said, "Mom?" I look at her tears, and then my mouth clogging and then I just look all of pattern black-fully. After that, I awake and rebelling and get smacked with a young-man that I don't know who is, then I scream, "This is violation of human right!"
"No human right for insane person!" said him, so he slapped me.
Because I feel so tired, I just sleep while my body was roped off.
I sleep after I sing a few song of Indonesian fighter like Internasionale and Darah Juang, kind of Indonesian-Marxism song which the hymn of many activist at New Order Era. It feels like when I'm the one of them, one of activist like novel titled The Sea Speaks His Name by Leila S. Chudori, being a victim of the Soeharto the Tyrant that's told up there, even I haven't read that's novel because the original version, Laut Bercerita, it's just published a couple of months after I caged on asylum.
Then I have to stay in asylum for 4 weeks. It was boring and monotone times. Four weeks it was 1 month!
[1] Introducing for Philosophy (English translated)