Most of the time
the most painful ones in life aren’t
the ones that scars
your body

It’s the ones that stay
the ones that hide behind
all those memories
you try to forget



Again, I went and left my blog untouched for months.

To me, writing a blog seems like an act of undressing myself to those who might not even care to understand where those marks on my body came from.

But maybe,

Just maybe, writing a blog is actually an act of wearing my own selection of words and stories to face the world.. and I am yet still not confident enough about mine.



Love, words can cure wounds
like prayers for the glooms
yet none slipped from your lips,

nor warm kisses
or tender wishes,

and no thoughts slipped from your head,
thoughts of me
thoughts for me

But of course if I speak them out loud
you will miss the point
and I will be the one who doesn’t get it
as if things just do not fit

things just do not fit

Action speaks louder than words,
and here I hear nothing.

Woe is me, i am the cursed
I stacked my feelings that can never be cured
Yearning for love yet it come with a different taste
but do i like it bitter?
longing for coffee,
and some conversation,

or some proper attention.

My mother

My mother cannot hear well, but now I’m starting to believe that she is blessed to be instantly selective with what she hears.

All the bad things that came out from my mouth without thinking were not clear enough for my mother’s ears, so they simply went and never reached her heart.


My family members badmouthed my mother literally behind her back, and voices that are as low as the owners’ morals were not clear enough for my mother’s ears, so they simply went and rotten, back into those mouths

My mother cannot hear well, but I really believe she, actually, only listens to people selectively; She didn’t bother to listen to those who warned her about her own daughter whom they believe will have a disgraceful future for not going back home as early as they wanted her to, not acting as proper as they hoped her to.

My mother who cannot hear well, she took her time to pay attention for her daughter’s wishes and dreams, thoughts and actions, likes and dislikes, close and apart. My mother who cannot hear well — she listens to me.


Screen Shot 2016-05-07 at 9.34.58 PMAs the first child and a daughter in a conservative chinese family, I could’ve had a rough, strict life where every step that I take belongs to the family. There is always a long, unwritten list of the do’s and don’ts that strictly needs to be followed. Yet, my mother gave me something I never thought I could have from such early age: A freedom to be me.

Because of that, my childhood was filled with things I loved dearly, things that have shaped me to be who I am today. She encouraged me to do what I wanted to do despite our limitations as a not-so-rich family. She supported me in every decisions I’ve made, every aspirations I had, every wishes that came out from a silly young me. “Mom, I want to go to Bogor alone by train, there is this community gathering that I want to attend”, said the 13 years old me, and she gave me instructions on how to go there safely.

She equipped me with a skill that helped me embrace the so called journey of life. My mother was an avid reader who not only taught me how to read — so much that she created a game, challenging me to read what’s written on the billboards whenever we passed the highway, but also infused me with a growing habit of reading. She believed that books will help me to find other lives, other worlds; to find lessons I had never been in a position to learn. I am forever thankful for this.

Screen Shot 2016-05-07 at 9.39.10 PM

I fail often and I fail hard many times, and I am never afraid to fail because I know she will always be there to welcome me, my bruises and all, and tell me that I’ve fought hard and I can fight better next time. My life is full of imperfections and yet she fits in there perfectly, as a friend and as a mother, as a guide and a true listener.


Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and this is my attempt to let the world know that there is this woman who might not realize how much she meant to me. My love for her, is for ever.

Image source: here.

Morning blues

It’s sad how I turned myself into a person who can never fully appreciate how great a morning can be. Mine is rushed and fuzzy. It is fast-paced. Never a fresh mind, always a constant battle with sleepiness. Never a relaxing shower, always a race with time. Residues of last night’s activities are all around my face, teeth to be brushed as my morning breakfasts.

Morning lights are delightful and delicate, but not for me. Morning is not for me.

I cannot see what people see on their blissful mornings. I cannot hear the beautiful songs, they are noises to my ears. I cannot taste their sweetness. I cannot feel their tender breeze sweeping my hair, why do they only play with the dancing leaves?

This morning my cat decided to hide inside his favorite cardboard box. I wish i could’ve joined him.


Sunny days are fuzzy days in the office. There were tasks to be done, and I could only finish some. It was hot and steamy. By it, I meant both my brain and my coffee.  


There was the heat that I could taste from the back of my neck. There was my second glass of iced coffee to satisfy the thirst, but only at first. There were palms that gets sweaty easily, and lucky enough there were clean socks for my sad, sweaty feet. There was fire on the tip of my tongue that I have to spit. And then there were recently crafted playlists that made the day a little brighter, differently from how the sun did it for me.

Slipped from the sleep

At 2 AM, everything is loud noises. The day passed by and I didn’t even have to wait for long. Busyness feels like nothing but a mere distraction. Task after task, from one deadline to another.Contents, plans, meetings, what else is new? The lunch was great, and meeting friends was fun. The day was bright and the night was slow. All the good reasons for calling it a good day.


When one is so tired one can only sleep, and that is what I should do now. But no, my brain decides to play and enjoy the loud noises. Notifications. Midnight playlists. I’m on my bed but sleepiness doesn’t tag along. Maybe I should look for another song. What for tomorrow’s lunch?

Image source: here